Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Why had Tharmr put him up to this?

Cid stood at the edge of the ramp leading off the ship, staring up at the expanse of city that lay before him. Oriflamme, the capital of Sanbreque. A city he’d spent the past few years at war with, trying to conquer. It felt cheap, finally getting to stand here when he hadn’t fought for the privilege. He hadn’t conquered anything, he hadn’t won the land beneath his feet. He was here as a fucking diplomat, because for some insane reason Sanbreque had decided they wanted a truce, and for whatever even insaner reason Tharmr had agreed.

And then sent him to negotiate it. Yes, that was exactly what was needed, Barnabas. Send the low born mercenary from the Outer Continents to negotiate a peace treaty with royalty. He couldn’t help but chuckle at that thought though. Honestly, it was a brilliant move if the goal was to rub Lesage’s nose in it one last time. Cid was the Lord Commander after all, it wasn’t unheard of for someone of his position to speak on behalf of a country. It would keep King Tharmr safe at home in case this was a trap, which was likely, and still allow the peace negotiations to continue without real issue. But it would also mean the high and mighty Emperor would have to talk as an equal to someone who was nothing more than a common sellsword if not for a quirk of fate.

Yes, that irony suited him just fine. It at least made the diplomatic tedium he’d have to go through bore him just that little bit less.

Cid arrived at the palace with his small entourage; a few guards and attendants, an amount of people calculated to show his status and offer some reasonable protection but also not enough to cause insult. Someone much more involved with the petty details like that had told him who’d be accompanying him, and he hadn’t cared enough to argue. All of this was a dance, a duel of tiny moments and insults and comments and pokes, trying to gain advantage with every detail. He was the spearhead, yes, but the whole kingdom was working to ensure this went as well as it could. And he’d be a poor leader if he didn’t trust the skills of those around him. He was told to bring these men, and thus these men came.

The Emperor and his spouse met him at the steps leading into the palace, as they should. Emperor Sylvestre and his newest wife Anabella Lesage were a matched set, blond hair quaffed perfectly and robes and gowns of silver and blue bedecked with intricate silver embroidery. Everything about them was cold, and that was saying something from someone who came from Waloed. His country was inhospitable, but its people had a rough and rugged charm and kindness to them that he’d come to love. In contrast to Sanbreque’s picturesque countryside and beautiful capital, its people felt aloof, cruel. And their leadership even more so.

At the royal couple’s side stood their son, maybe eleven or so by the look of him. He was a skinny kid, one who might fill out in the fullness of time if given the chance. The boy held himself very still at his father’s side, his blond hair a perfect match to the pair, decked out in his own surcoat of silver and blue. The silvery-white star embroidered on his breast spoke for him as to his position. This was Dion then, their son who held Bahamut. Cid remembered well the sight of Bahamut flying over the battlefield not that long ago, held at bay by a shield of levin and a lancing blow from Odin’s sword. The child would grow even stronger, given time. It was likely for the best that this truce went smoothly; he didn’t want to face a fully grown Bahamut in a few years. As it was there was a fierceness in his eyes as he looked at Cid that proved Dion knew exactly who and what he was, as well.

“Welcome, Lord Commander Telamon,” the Emperor said, waving a hand as if to banish formality when Cid bowed to him in greeting. An act, and they both knew it. Cid continued to play polite.

“Thank you,” he said as he straightened up, “for welcoming me to your lovely city. I come as a servant to King Tharmr, as requested.” A smaller bow, just a tip of his head this time, in acknowledgement but also as a reclamation of status. “I hope my time here can be beneficial, for both our country’s sakes.”

“Indeed,” Lesage said. “Well, I’m sure you are weary after your trip here. The Narrows are not kind at this time of year.” He gestured toward one of his attendants who stepped forward smartly. “We have rooms prepared for you and yours, this one will show you the way. Rest, and join us for dinner this evening.”

His wife spoke up now, her words and smile welcoming even if the stiffness of her neck belied her dislike of hosting them. “Tonight is for relaxing,” she said. “Tomorrow you can discuss the fate of the world, but for tonight you are our guests. Please, partake of all Sanbreque has to offer.”

Cid’s lips twitched, fighting to keep his smile from turning into a sneer. Anabella Lesage wasn’t the only one who didn’t want to be here. But like her, he could play cordial. “Thank you, my lady. Your hospitality is most appreciated.”

—----------------------------

The rooms that had been set aside for him were spacious, with a large balcony in the main room whose view was filled with the bulk of the mothercrystal rising up beside the city. The windows of his bedroom offered the same view, the light reflecting off the crystal sending shimmering rainbows of color across the walls as the sun moved across the sky. Tapestries hung on the stone walls depicting various stories of their religion. This one was Greagor battling a fierce wyrm, ruby red and snarling as it attacked. The one beside it was of Greagor taming the wyrm, drawing out its darkness and creating the shining white Bahamut. The last on that wall was of her raising the twin moons into the sky, the smaller red orb of Metia a dim companion to its larger glowing counterpart. Not a bad fairy tale, all told, and well woven besides. A tapestry on the far wall was actually a stylized map of the Twins, each mothercrystal picked out in jewels so they sparkled when the light of Drake’s Head shown on them. He noted that all the destroyed mothercrystals were still represented; either this tapestry was extremely old or the Emperor just didn’t want to face the reality of the world slowly failing around them. It was gaudy in its extravagance, but seemed perfectly apt for this backwards country.

He dressed in one of the many fine outfits he’d been provided for this trip for dinner. Dark blue surcoat over a silk undershirt with Odin’s crest on the back, leading to black leather trousers and matching black boots. A little somber for his liking, but it made a decent enough statement. At least the seamstresses had actually listened to him about not wanting all the fancy chains and jewels sewn into it like they’d been planning. There was such a thing as being too ostentatious, even for him.

The castle wasn’t hard to navigate, so he didn’t feel any particular need for an escort down to the dining hall. He was as safe here as he was ever going to be, he was a guest after all. It would show extremely poorly on Sanbreque if their diplomatic guest was struck down in their own halls. Not that anyone would get a chance, even with his blades tucked safely away in his rooms. Ramuh’s lightning was always just a thought away, after all.

As he walked he noticed the sound of muffled talking, and a moment or so later pinpointed it to a slightly ajar doorway farther down the hallway. The voices were hushed, but sharp; it sounded like they were arguing. His curiosity got the better of him, both due to his nature and his current situation. It was always good to know what clandestine things were happening around him, some of them might end up involving him. He tried to move as quietly as possible without making it obvious, coming to a halt just outside the door. He leaned against the wall with an air of nonchalance, looking around to make sure no one else was in the hallway before turning his attention to the words coming from inside.

A woman’s voice, one that sounded somewhat familiar. “I expect you to do whatever you have to. As does the Emperor.”

A young man’s voice next. “I can’t, please, mothe-”

He flinched as the sound of a slap echoed out into the hallway, stopping the lad from finishing his thought. Silence reigned for a moment before the woman spoke again, her voice chill and biting.

“Know your place, boy. That you are here at all is purely by the grace of the Emperor and I, and only as long as you prove you can be useful. If you won’t do your duty, I’m sure that Joshua-”

“No-” the boy, Clive, responded hurriedly. “No, please. I- I can handle it. Leave him be. Just-” the lad hesitated, clearly trying not to provoke the woman. “Can I see him after? Please? I haven’t seen him in so long, I just want to know he’s safe.”

“We shall see,” the woman said. “ If you do a satisfactory job, that is.”

“I will, mo- your majesty. I swear.”

Cid moved away from the door quickly, hiding himself down another corridor before the occupants of the room could emerge now that their conversation seemed to be wrapping up. The Empress, hm? What scheme was she planning? And what poor sap was caught in her web?

—--------------------------------------------

Dinner was nice, for all that there was tension all around the table. Everyone was trying to be cordial, polite, welcoming. It was exhausting, all the facades. He hoped he could take more of his meals with his men after this, at least there he could let his hair down and be a bit more himself.

He excused himself almost as soon as it was polite to do so, taking the excuse of being weary from travel to get him out of an evening of sitting around listening to music or bad poetry or whatever the Emperor had planned. Rest was what he preferred, tonight.

“I hope you don’t mind, Lord Commander,” the Empress said with a cool smile as he stood to leave, “but we left a small gift in your room.” Her smile shifted into one more knowing, a look he didn’t particularly care for on the woman. “I hope you enjoy it, and get all the rest you need. Sleep well.”

Damn that woman, but her schemes were starting early it seemed. He made a non-commital noise, bowing out his exit and taking a short walk outside in one of the palace gardens to clear his head. The wine they’d shared with the meal had been strong, strong enough that even he felt it after only a glass or two. Or maybe it was the meager portions of food dressed up too fancy for his taste. His stomach didn’t have enough in it to counteract the wine, that was all. But he suddenly dreaded what was going to be waiting for him in his rooms. Not a dangerous thing, surely, not with such a clear warning beforehand. Some trick to gain an upper hand before negotiations started tomorrow, most likely. He pulled at the tight collar of his surcoat, wondering if it was some blasted formal attire they’d found for him with some excuse for why he had to wear it. That might be the worst thing he could think of, given the circumstances.

What awaited him in his room was not what he was expecting. The guards had done a onceover of the room before he’d gotten there, sharing odds looks between them but saying that the room was safe. No, it wasn’t a stupid outfit laid out on his bed or anything of the sort. Knelt at the foot of his bed was a young man, hands resting on his thighs as he waited, black hair hanging low over a bowed head as he waited. His body was clearly that of a fighter’s, light skin tanned from the sun, with muscles that were clearly present though he was clearly still young and not fully bulked out yet. He was bare chested, clad only in loose pants and-

The lad looked up at him as he entered, and a flash of metal reflected the dim glow of the mothercrystal from outside the window. That and bright eyes, shimmering in the low lighting, staring up at him. Around the lad’s neck was a thick necklace, a collar of leather and gold with chains attached to it that draped artfully across his shoulders and chest. All that was shown in a flash, then the lad’s head dropped back down into a bow, hiding eyes and collar both from view again.

“Pardon the intrusion,” he said, and his voice tickled the back of Cid’s mind. It was deeper than he’d expected, but only just. He’d heard it before. “I had.. I am…” the man took a steadying breath. “I was sent to accommodate your interests, Lord Commander. I hope I am to your liking. Whatever you would have of me is yours to take, for as long as you’re a guest at the castle.”

Cid tilted his head, studying this new turn of events. His interests, hm? It’d been no secret that he’d preferred the stronger sex in Waloed, he was just surprised that the information had made it across the Narrows to the Empress. He wasn’t sure if the lad’s look was an intentional choice or not, with that black mop of hair and piercing eyes bearing a not-insignificant resemblance to the Waloeder King. A dig at him? Tharmr? Both? Or a simple understanding that interests were what they were?

“Stand up,” he ordered after a moment, watching the lines of the young man’s body as he unfolded himself off the floor. He moved hesitantly, but not without grace. His eyes remained glued to the floor though, clearly nervous to not upset his new… well, to not upset Cid.

Cid stepped toward him, noting the stiffening of his muscles as he drew close. Up close he could see the chains more clearly, their links of gold and silver interlaced with a few sapphires. This was an expensive costume, for all that it covered. Light chains traced paths against smooth skin and firm muscle, and he raised a hand to run his fingers over the lad’s chest as it rose and fell with his breathing.

“What’s your name, lad?” he said quietly, trying to temper his tone into one that would put the young man at ease. His touch may make this more intimate, but he wasn’t a barbarian. He’d know the name of whomever he was with, regardless of rank.

“Clive, my lord,” the lad almost whispered, and Cid’s fingers faltered in their tracing.

Clive. The male voice he’d heard with the Empress before dinner. The one who was being coerced to-

He pulled his hand back, forcing what he hoped was a kind smile onto his face. It only somewhat reached his voice as he said, “Our hosts are kind to think of me, but I think they overestimated my needs if they felt an offering like this was necessary.”

He turned to go, but was stopped by hands grasping at his hand, holding him back. He turned and looked at the lad, shaking like a leaf though still daring to lay hands on him.

“I know you don’t want this,” he said, trying to be gentle. “I have no interest in an unwilling toy, regardless of your looks.”

“Please,” Clive said, his voice still just barely above a whisper. “Please, I… I can’t see him if you don’t..”

“Who is ‘he’?” Cid asked, turning back to look at him. Clive held onto his hand still as if it were a lifeline, which more and more it felt like it might just be.

“Joshua,” Clive said quietly. “My brother. She hasn’t let me see him since we came here. I need to see him, I need to know he’s ok, I need to-” Clive’s eyes widened, unshed tears filling his eyes as he struggled to contain them.

Clive and Joshua. And in connection to… a number of pieces clicked into place, and he swore to himself for being an idiot and missing them earlier. The Rosfield children, both thought dead after the coup during the Night of Flames. But that had been over a year ago. Standing before him was the young Marquess of Rosaria, being offered up to be used by a foreign dignitary by his own mother as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

“Fuck me,” he breathed, turning to look at the guard stationed at his door. “Out,” he barked, and the soldiers hastened to leave the room, closing the door behind them. Clive still held onto his hand, quite possibly not even aware he was doing so, staring after the retreating soldiers with dread, as if they too were a lifeline being cut out from under him.

Cid picked him up in one smooth motion, cradling the far to skinny body against his chest as he carried the lad over to the bed. Clive let out a yelp of surprise and protest, but was more surprised when he was dumped unceremoniously onto the mattress and a blanket thrown on top of him. With a disgruntled “What are you doing?” Clive clawed his way out from under the blanket, finally emerging with his hair, if possible, even more disheveled. It was surprisingly very cute, especially when paired with his confused expression. Cid stepped forward, grabbing the edge of the blanket and pulling it back up over the young man’s shoulders before turning and walking away. Clive flinched at his touch, but didn’t pull away.

“Wait,” Clive said, clinging to the fabric around him. “Are you not-?”

“This is your room tonight,” Cid said, keeping his voice as even as he could, turning just enough to look back over his shoulder. The lad looked so small… he sighed, turning away again. “There’s shirts in the wardrobe, feel free to wear whatever fits. I’ll figure out what to do with you in the morning.” He turned to go again before pausing one last time. “And take that damn collar off. I never want to see that again.” And with that he walked out, closing the door behind him.

Chapter Text

It was hard to stay still, once the Lord Commander had so unceremoniously left. Clive had stripped, as requested, hiding away the offending collar in the bottom of the wardrobe and donning one of the spare shirts he’d found there. It was decidedly big on him, with the shoulder caps hanging well past where they should, but at least it covered him in front. Lord Commander Telamon had wide shoulders, after all, it wasn’t a surprise the shirt hung off him like a chocobo barding. He tied the chest strings as tight as he could to reclaim some space, and at least the gathering at the wrists kept the pooling fabric from covering his hands. The looseness of the garment made the fabric rub against his skin at surprising times, and the fact it was silk was a strange feeling as well. He’d been in simple linen for over a year now, he’d almost forgotten the feel of fine fabrics against his skin.

He studied himself in the mirror hung up by the wardrobe, trying to figure out what would be best. Wearing the man’s shirt was evocative enough, what with how it hung just low enough that he could pretend at decency. He’d heard somewhere about imagination being almost as effective as showing skin? His eyes traveled back up to the chest strings, tied in a hasty knot and giving him a decidedly strangled appearance. Imagination was good, but skin would be good too. He undid the ties, pulling at the collar until he’d bared himself down to the collarbones, examining himself in the mirror again. The hasty suggestions from his commander in the barracks hadn’t given him much to go on, but he trusted the man’s opinion. Officer Harte was also inclined towards men, though he tended to go for court dandies and not his own soldiers. Would the same tricks that worked for him work on the Lord Commander? Waloed was such a different place, from what he’d heard. Maybe Lord Telamon didn’t even want someone as skinny as him, maybe he liked to be the bottom, taken by someone even stronger?

He wrapped his arms around himself, shuddering. Taken. Used. Abused. He knew it could be loving, had to feel good, otherwise it wouldn’t be such a desirable thing to so many of his fellows. But he just couldn’t picture it. And Cid was so big, his arms so strong from years of wielding a sword. Clive had been pushed around and hit by other soldiers enough to know that while he wasn’t weak, he was still miles below a fully grown man in terms of strength. Even if he had the ability to say no to Lord Telamon, which from his mother’s threats he very much didn’t, he didn’t think it would do any good. The strength difference was just too great. Lord Telamon would get whatever he wanted, and all Clive could do was try and make it bearable.

Because he had to do this. His mother… the Empress had been very clear. Get in the Lord Commander’s bed, get him to talk about his plans. Everyone had loose lips after sex, even he knew that. And if he couldn’t, or if he wasn’t able to satisfy, she’d throw him back out into the barracks and put Joshua in his place. He shook his head at the thought. No, he couldn’t do that to his brother. Clive was Joshua’s Shield, his protector. He couldn’t allow his brother to be put in that position, not when he was capable. And maybe, just maybe, if he did well enough, she’d finally let Clive see him. He’d not seen his brother since Phoenix Gate, the Empress had said he’d been gravely injured and needed to be kept safe. For Joshua, for just the chance to see him, Clive would do anything. Even this. He crawled back into the bed, trying to position himself in a way that would be alluring once Lord Telamon came back for him.

But the Lord Commander never returned. Clive waited in bed for him for hours, watching the door patiently for him to come back in and take what had been offered. But he didn’t. The night wore on, the glow of the mothercrystal through the window the only light to see by. He couldn’t even see any light coming from beneath the door to the main room, as if it too wasn’t occupied. Had he really been left here, alone? The time wore on, and the cool of night soon had him wrapping himself up in the bed’s blankets for warmth. He pulled the blanket tight around his shoulders, remembering stronger hands doing the same not a few hours ago. They’d been surprisingly gentle, even with the manhandling.

Eventually sleep claimed him, wrapped in the blanket’s warmth.

—-----------------------------------

Cid slept horribly, all told. He’d kicked out the guards as soon as he’d closed the bedroom door behind him, sitting down on the settee with a thump as soon as he was alone. The guards wouldn’t leave his door, he wasn’t foolish to banish them to the point of leaving himself exposed, but at least he had this room to himself.

His eyes turned toward the bedroom door, just a simple wall of wood between him and- he shook his head, rubbing at his forehead to distract himself. Clearly this was a setup of some sort. The Empress’ own son, for Greagor’s sake, left in his room like a plate of hor dourves. What in the world was her plan? As far as the world knew, neither of the Rosfield children had survived the Rosarian coup. Why would she advertise Clive’s existence to him, and in such a state? Where was Joshua? Alive, so Clive said, and presumably under the Empress’ thumb. That meant that Sanbreque didn’t just have Bahamut, they had the Phoenix as well. That changed everything.

No, no it didn’t. Two Eikons were more than they’d bargained for in terms of Imperial might, but both boys were about the same age, weren’t they? Neither Bahamut nor Phoenix had grown into their strength yet, there were still a few years where Waloed would hold majority power. They had three Eikons, even if Garuda was still new to her skillset. He and Barnabas made up for that, at least for a little while. Hell, Odin himself was a powerful force, and Barnabas had a surprisingly adept control over it. Even when the Imperial boys grew of age, Waloed would still likely hold their own.

But this was a wrinkle. Clive had been given to him on purpose. He was likely a spy, sent to get into Cid’s good graces and report back to his mother anything he heard. He sighed. If he sent the lad away, she’d know Clive’s secret had been found out. And she’d just send another toy, going down the line until she found one that he couldn’t resist. Hell, the bitch was a crafty one, she probably assumed he’d learn who Clive was, hoping the chance to fuck a royal would be enticement enough. Maybe she expected him to try and use Clive too, to learn about what Sanbreque was planning. Tricks within tricks. What was he going to do?

What he didn’t do was sleep, at least not very well. The settee wasn’t exactly built for sleeping on, and even with his legs hanging off the end he didn’t fit particularly well. But there was no way in hell he was going back to his bed. So he tossed and turned, and got a few hours of shut eye eventually, though he woke up groggy as hell.

Negotiations started today. Ugh, maybe this was part of her plan as well. Ruin his sleep any way she could so he wasn’t on his game when it counted. No, damn the bitch, he’d show her. He’d been trusted with this by his King, he’d do his job even if he had to drink the entire castle out of caffet to stay awake.

He paused at the door to the bedroom, collecting himself before slowly opening it and moving in. He just needed to wash up and change clothes, he didn’t have to go anywhere near the bed. But he did anyways, damn his curious nature. The rising light coming in through the window illuminated the bed as if it were a dream. It also lit up the shape of the bed’s occupant, sleeping peacefully. He stood still a moment, just taking in the young man. He’d put on a shirt, as requested, though that was now all he wore. He’d clearly gone to sleep under the blankets, but had kicked them off during the night, leaving his smooth legs and bare ass exposed to the world. At least his position, laid out on his side with one leg curled up slightly, gave him a tiny bit of modesty. The long shirt did the rest, thankfully. Cid forced his eyes off of Clive’s body and up to his face, now that he could get a better look in the light. His sleep-tousled hair framed his face as if it were a bloody painting. Hell, the whole scene was a painting, that artful pose as if he’d planned it, the gentle curl of his hands against the bedsheets. The long lines of his bare legs traveling up to be hidden beneath an oversized shirt, the same shirt that had gotten pulled just enough to bare his shoulder through the large neckhole. The sunlight against his skin just added to the effect. The lad was beautiful. Beautiful and tragic.

He shook his head, banishing the thought. There was no way this would work. Clive was a pawn, and from what he felt of the lad shaking last night an unwilling one at that. Cid would simply have to tell Anabella to try again, this particular gift was not to his liking. Even thinking the words was hard, but that’s what he’d have to do. He couldn’t be tempted by this.

He went over to the wardrobe, opening it as quietly as he could and pulling out his attire for today. He changed his shirt, adding to it a sleeveless dark purple jerkin decked out in silver lightning bolt embroidery. He kept the black pants from yesterday, they were still perfectly fine. With the same boots as well he’d strike a good figure, and one that reminded them that while they may not be talking to a King, they were still talking to a Dominant. He was important in his own right, and would be treated as such. And mayhaps the reminder of the Arbiter of Justice would go over well today. His gaze shifted from himself in the mirror to the bed, and he realized that Clive had woken up. The lad was sitting up, watching him as he dressed. Cid put on his best disarming smile through the mirror.

“Sleep well?” he asked, rolling up the cuffs of his sleeves so he could get a quick wash up with the basin of water nearby.

“Yes,” Clive said from the bed. “Thank you.” He paused a moment. “I- I waited for you.”

Cid hid a sigh, covering it by splashing the cold water from the basin on his face. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, not looking back toward the bed until he’d finished and toweled off. Then he returned to the mirror to fix his hair and cuffs. A quick glance up showed Clive was still watching him.

“I told you I’d figure out what to do in the morning,” Cid said eventually. “There wasn’t a reason to wait up. I’m not going to touch you, lad.”

“But I…” Clive shrank in on himself. “Why am I still here then, if you don’t…?”

Cid sighed again, finally turning to face the bed proper. Clive looked up at him with confused, watery eyes, and damn but his heart broke a little at the sight.

“You’re here because you were told to be, yes?” Clive nodded. “But there’s something for you to gain from it as well. Your brother?” Clive’s eyes widened and he nodded again. Cid gave him a quick smile. “If I kick you out, she’d just send another. And you’d lose your chance to see him again. I can’t guarantee she’ll keep her word if we don’t sleep together, but you have more of a chance if you stay than if I send you away.”

“What should I do, then? If I’m not..”

Cid snorted, picking up the edge of the blanket. “Sleep. Eat, I’ll make sure they send food. We’ll pretend your offer worked, and now you’re laid up in bed recovering. See if that keeps her off both our backs.”

“She’ll want information,” Clive said, perhaps the first sentence he’d spoken so far without hesitating. It was good to know the lad wasn’t a complete wilting flower.

Cid studied him for a moment before slowly, calmly, crawling forward onto the bed. He didn’t rush, didn’t hurry, just steadily crossed the distance between them. Clive’s eyes widened in fear and he leaned back, but he didn’t run. And once Cid’s hands landed on either side of Clive’s legs, he couldn’t. Cid shifted to kneel in front of him, hands coming up to cradle his face, fingertips itching to stroke through that silky black hair. Cid leaned in close, watching as Clive’s eyes fluttered shut, smiling as let out a ghost of a breath against the lad’s lips.

“You’re beautiful, lad,” he breathed, lips moving forward just enough to dance his own lips across light pink skin, “but I’m not that easy.” His grip on Clive’s face hardened, and he couldn’t help the dark smile that spread over his face as Clive’s eyes flew back open. One hand shifted up to grab onto Clive’s hair, pulling his head back, and Cid leaned in, biting hard into the meat of the lad’s neck. Clive cried out beneath him, struggling, but Cid pulled away only when he wanted to. He released the lad with a shove, pushing him back into the bed as Cid sat back, smirking down at him.

“What was that for?” Clive yelled as he clasped at his injured neck, his body shaking again.

Cid snorted, rolling off the bed in one fluid motion and taking a moment to straighten his jerkin out. “She’ll have to accept proof, since information won’t be coming. At least not yet.” He turned around and tapped his neck where he’d bitten Clive. “That should be an obvious enough mark, even when you’re clothed. If you spin it right, that should be enough to keep your place here.”

And just like before he left without looking back, though this time there was a noticeable spring in his step. If the Empress wanted to play, she was going to find him a perfectly capable opponent.

Chapter Text

Clive sat there shaking after Lord Telamon had left, hand pressed against his aching neck. Fuck but that had hurt. His heart was racing still from the older man being so close like that. Damnit, why did he have to do it like that, crawling up to him? And that kiss… He pulled his hand away from his neck, checking it to see if there was any blood. None, thankfully, and he went back to gently rubbing the spot.

So. No sex. He couldn’t help the relief he felt at that, though now there was a different worry. He wasn’t a great liar, and his mother could usually see through his attempts easily. If she asked him straight up if he’d slept with the Lord Commander, they’d be found out. And he had nothing to give her. No information, no guarantee he could even get any. She may let him try a little more, but if he couldn’t deliver at all, she’d revoke their deal. All he had was thi-

A knock at the door startled him, and he hastily pulled the blankets up around himself. “Come in,” he called, and the door opened to reveal a castle servant, the Brand prominent on her otherwise pretty face. Someone he didn’t recognize, thankfully, but one who also didn’t seem surprised to see him here.

“Just here to clean up, my lord,” the woman said, bowing her head and moving to tidy up the clothes the Lord Commander had left by the wardrobe. “The Lord Commander requested breakfast for you as well, before he left,” she said as she worked. “Is there anything in particular you would like?”

“Anything is fine,” he said looking away, trying to cover himself even more. The Brand, another threat held over his head, though only he and his mother knew it. If he failed too badly, if he couldn’t serve the kingdom how he was expected, he could always be branded and thrown into the meat grinder of the Bearer soldiers’ ranks. Most people didn’t know who he was, to them the Phoenix’s blessing would look just like normal aetheric ability. That his face didn’t already bear the same tattoo as this poor servant was only due to his mother seeing a use in him unmarked. But it had been a year, and he’d at best become just a common soldier. Her patience was wearing thin, this gambit with the Waloeder general was probably his last chance. His last chance to prove he was useful, his last chance to get to see Joshua… he had to make this work, somehow.

Her work done, the servant girl bowed and exited, likely to go report to the Empress. Well, hopefully he looked decently disheveled, sat here in bed with only the sheets and a shirt for modesty. He definitely felt worn out from the nerves of the evening, hopefully the combined effect would give her the desired impression.

He dressed, pulling his own pants back on and tucking the oversized shirt in as best he could. It still hung off him oddly, but he was covered at the least. The bite mark on his neck had bruised, dark red skin that would likely go purple within an hour or two. He wasn’t sure even a well-fitting shirt would hide the mark, but wasn’t that the point? Announce loudly that he’d been claimed to anyone who saw him. His face flushed at the thought, his hand coming up to cover the bruised skin. Claimed…

He pushed the thought aside, walking over toward the door out to the sitting room. Peeking through showed that no one was there, presumably the Waloeder guards had left with their Lord Commander for the day. He had the space to himself. How long had it been since he’d had privacy? Since he’d been allowed to just rest? He looked over the small pile of books set on a side table, pulling out one he’d recognized. The Saga of Starstrider, he’d read these plays dozens of times. The plot was melodramatic and silly, if you really thought about it, but there was just something so earnest in the telling that he always got hooked into the story anyways. How lucky he was that this book was in the selection. He sat down and began to read.

—------------------------------------------

Food arrived eventually, a plate of bread and cheese and meat with a small dish of jam. Simple, but satisfying. It was perfect for him, he’d had nothing even this nice since coming to live in the barracks. It was also easy enough to eat while reading, though he was careful to only turn the pages with clean fingers.

A few hours passed this way, and he settled slowly into the peace of it. It was quiet, the sunlight shining in through the balcony kept him warm, it was almost enough to make him forget. Almost.

He certainly remembered again quickly when the door to the main hallway opened, and instead of Waloeder guards or even the Lord Commander like he’d expected, in walked his mother. He froze as he saw her, watching as she looked around the room as if expecting to see it destroyed. Waloeders were staying here, after all, certainly they wouldn’t have respect for the finery on display. She walked around with hands clasped lightly in front of her, moving as if it was perfectly normal for her to just come into a guest’s room like this. When her gaze came to rest upon him he finally startled into motion, closing the book and setting down at his side before standing, giving a formal bow to the Empress.

She came over on whisper quiet feet, her steps on the carpet soft and controlled, as was everything else about her. Always controlled, always calculated. He felt her hand against his cheek, almost a loving gesture until she pushed his face away, turning his head so she could see the mark left on his neck.

“Well you don’t seem to be a disappointment to him, at the least,” she said, her hand leaving his skin and returning to its former position resting in front of her. “Have you learned anything?”

“No, your majesty,” Clive said, head still bowed. Her last slap when he’d slipped and called her mother was still fresh on his mind. “The Lord Commander… wasn’t in a talkative mood last night.”

“Clearly,” she said, shaking her head. “Well then you had best make up for it tonight, hadn’t you?”

“Can I ask,” Clive hesitated, steeling himself for more retribution for daring to speak out of turn. “Is there something specific you want to know? I wouldn’t want to waste your time by asking after the wrong topic, is all.”

Anabella tapped her fingers on the back of her other hand, considering as she looked down at him. Eventually she let out a small sigh. “For simple minds, simple orders it must be. We wish to know about their military strength, the ability and health of the Dominants in their employ, anything that can be used to defeat them.”

“Defeat them?” He looked up at her. “But he’s here to work out a peace treaty? Isn’t the war over?”

She let out a small laugh. “You really think barbarians like that would honor such a treaty? It’s simply a piece of paper, one I’m sure they will ignore at the earliest opportunity. Which is why we need to be prepared.” She reached out and took hold of his jaw lightly, turning his head again to see the mark on his neck. “Barbarians,” she muttered with a small snort. “But what is your training for, if not to handle brutes like that?” She released him again, apparently satisfied as she turned to go. “I expect progress, Clive. Clearly he’s not too discerning, likely anyone warming his bed will do.” The unspoken threat hung between them. Joshua.

“I understand,” he said, to her retreating back.

—-----------------------------

Cid returned to his room late that night. Talks with Sylvestre Lesage took forever, what with servants and couriers coming to him throughout the whole thing with other business that had to be handled right then. It was clear to Cid that he was being treated as not a priority, but the talks still happened so he put up with the slight. He had been sent to negotiate peace, and damn Greagor herself but he would get it.

His guards preceded him in, so he wasn’t surprised when he entered his rooms to see Clive standing at attention near the fireplace. A soldier through and through, for all he was being put through. He was surprisingly glad to see the lad here, for all the trouble his presence caused. He opened his mouth as if in greeting, but Cid waved him off, heading to the bedroom to get out of that damnable jerkin he’d been in. He waved his guards off too, back to standing in the hall or to their own bunks, whatever the rotation they’d worked out gave them. He had to pretend to have a lover, after all, and that was easier if they weren’t around to hear the lack of anything going on. Greagor’s tits but he hated being so dressed up. Seriously, did he have to dress so bloody formally here? Yes, of course he fucking did, but that wasn’t going to stop him from complaining about it where he could. Outside of a perfectly valid respect for the Waloeder weather, he went around Stonehyrr in just his undershirt as often as he could get away with it. Stuffy formal layers just never sat well on him.

He heard the door close behind him, and didn’t even have to guess when soft footfalls came up behind him. “How did it go?”

Cid shrugged. “Well enough, though I doubt you really care. Probably a bit above you at this point, eh?”

A beat of silence. “She cares.”

He turned to look at Clive standing there before him, still wearing Cid’s shirt. The lad had his gaze cast down at the floor, hands by his sides as if unsure what to do with them.

“She come visit?” Cid asked, though he was sure he knew the answer. Clive just nodded, and Cid let out a small sigh. “Well, you’re still here. That’s good, yeah?”

Clive gave a helpless little shrug. “For now. But I need to give her something.”

“I fail to see how that’s my problem.”

Clive looked up at him finally, shocked. “But, but I thought-”

Cid waved him away and returned to his task. “I said I’d help you stay. I didn’t say I’d do all the work for you. You want information, you’ll have to get it on your own. I have my own orders to carry out.”

“And what are those orders?”

He let out a laugh at that, shaking his head. The cheek… he finally finished unbuttoning the jerkin, peeling it off with a grateful groan as his back finally gained the ability to bend again. “My orders,” he said as he stretched, “are to negotiate a peace treaty in as favorable a way for Waloed as I can.” He glanced back at Clive. “But that’s not news to anyone.”

“You have to give me something,” Clive replied with surprising force, stepping forward. He laid a hand against Cid’s chest, though the action lacked the vehemence of his voice. Cid just looked down at him for a moment before gently grabbing his hand, lifting it away from him.

“How about,” Cid said slowly, “we do a trade, then? I’m curious about you too, Clive Rosfield.” Clive stiffened at the name, trying to pull back from Cid, but his grip on the lad’s hand instantly tightened, keeping Clive in place. “As far as the world is concerned,” Cid continued as if he hadn’t noticed, “you and your brother died in the Night of Flames, and yet here you stand before me.” Cid released his hand finally, allowing Clive to step away from him. “So answer my questions, and I’ll answer some of yours.”

“Truthfully?”

Cid snorted. “That’s on you to figure out.”

Clive stood there for a moment debating his options. But he really didn’t have any, not as far as Cid could see. So he wasn’t surprised when the lad gave in with a nod just a short moment later.

“Fine,” he said resignedly. “What do you want to know?”

Cid beckoned him back into the sitting room, pouring himself a glass of water and settling down on one of the chairs there. Clive sat down on the settee, next to a book Cid noticed as out of place. The lad’s afternoon entertainment, most likely. Cid studied him for a minute before asking his first question.

“What happened that night?”

Clive sat silent for a moment, his gaze going distant as his mind traveled back in his memories.

“I don’t know much,” he said eventually, his voice gone hollow. “There’s… gaps… in my memory from that night. I know we were attacked, I know-” he gulped. “I know Joshua primed. But everything after that is something I was told after the fact. I don’t remember it myself.”

“So the rumor about a second Eikon of Fire?”

Clive nodded, his face gone ashen. “I think I remember it, vaguely. It was a horrible looking beast. It attacked Joshua. I couldn’t do anything to stop it..”

The pain in his voice hurt to hear, for all that Cid knew what he would stir up with this conversation. He tried to shift the topic. “But Joshua survived. You both did. And you’re here.”

“I’m here,” Clive agreed with a small nod, looking away. “The Empress said Joshua was badly hurt in that fight, so he was taken somewhere safe to heal and recover. He was always sickly, so an injury like that would take even longer to mend. No one’s been allowed to see him since, not even me. They put me in the army as soon as I got here, I wasn’t even allowed into the castle until mother- until the Empress heard you were coming.”

Cid sat in silence for a moment, digesting what he’d heard. “Wait,” he said, catching on something. “So you haven’t seen your brother since that night? You mean after he unprimed, right? You saw him after the battle?”

Clive shook his head miserably, and Cid’s heart broke just that little bit more. “I was unconscious for the end of it,” Clive said. “When I woke, we were already in Oriflamme, and Joshua had already been taken away.”

“Clive,” Cid said carefully, but stopped when fierce eyes flicked up to stare him down, anger strong in their gaze.

“He’s alive! I know he is.” Clive’s voice faltered, but his vehemence didn’t. “He’s alive and he’s recovering. I’ll get to see him, once he’s healed.”

The room descended into silence, Clive vehemently refusing to acknowledge what was right in front of him, and Cid unable to say it. Eventually Cid looked away, letting out a slow breath.

“I don’t know why King Tharmr agreed to this peace treaty,” he said quietly. “We don’t actually expect Sanbreque to honor it. Maybe they will for a couple years, at best, just long enough for Prince Dion to grow into a fully formed Bahamut if I had to guess.” He paused, then added, “The Phoenix too, since you say he’s alive. But when that happens then they’re going to try and expand again, it’s in their nature. It’s in our best interest to let this thing fall through and continue the fight while we have the advantage.”

“So you don’t want peace?”

Cid shrugged. “I am the Lord Commander, lad. My job is war. Peace would be nice, yes, but it’s my duty to plan for the worst so my kingdom survives.” He gave Clive an appraising look. “Your Lord Commander should have done the same, and his failure is why Rosaria is no more. I’ll not make the same mistake.”

Clive’s hands balled into fists, but he kept whatever thoughts he had to himself. Cid let him stew for a moment, taking a drink from his glass. “Is that enough for your master, lad?” Clive started, but gave a small nod. Then he blinked, clenching his eyes shut before he spoke again.

“Almost,” he said quietly, looking up at Cid with a defeated look. “You need to hurt me again.”

“Hurt you?” Cid set his glass down, albeit probably harder than he intended to if the rattle of glassware and the wince from his companion weren’t enough clues. Clive just nodded.

“She saw the mark,” Clive gestured to his neck. “She’ll… probably expect more.”

“You know, lad, I don’t usually intentionally hurt my partners.” Cid tried his best to keep the anger he felt out of his voice, but he failed at that too.

“Lord Commander, she-”

“Cid.”

Clive blinked at him. “What?”

“My name,” he said slowly, “is Cid. We’re supposed to be bedfellows, aye? I’d want you calling out my name, not my title. So you can and should call me Cid.”

Clive paused for a moment, taking that in. “Cid,” he said slowly, “She thinks you do hurt people. She called you a barbarian. She’ll get suspicious if she doesn’t see more damage.”

He couldn’t help it, he let out a low huff of a growl at that. “And you wonder why I don’t think they’ll honor their own treaty?” he rumbled. “Very well.” He stood, striding over to Clive in just a few short paces, reaching forward and grabbing roughly at his wrist, pulling him up off the settee by it. Clive let out a yelp of surprise and pain, which just made Cid’s grip tighten all the more. He grabbed Clive’s jaw with his other hand too, pulling his face up to look Cid in the eyes.

“This should do it,” he growled, clenching Clive’s wrist hard until he cried out again. He held the grip just a little longer before finally releasing it, arm snaking around instead to hold Clive close when he tried to pull away. Clive fought to escape, but was stilled by a gentle shushing from Cid. His hand along the lad’s jaw softened, pulling his face up so Cid could kiss him. It wasn’t a ghost of a kiss like this morning, it was full and tender. Gentle pressure, soft and kind. They held it for a long moment before Cid pulled away, looking down at the confused expression on the lad’s face.

“But for every pain, a kindness,” he said, his voice dropping dangerously low despite himself. He pulled Clive’s head back toward him, bending it forward this time so he could plant another kiss on the top of his head. Cid kept him there for another moment, just holding him. When was the last time Clive had received any form of kindness? Any form of love, even this thin facsimile?

They stood like that for a moment, Cid holding him and Clive not moving. Cid felt the softest of touches, fingers just barely touching against the fabric of his shirt but not enough to even reach his chest, before Clive pulled away and ran to the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

Chapter Text

Clive sat leaned against the wall cradled his wrist, wincing anytime he tried to move it. Well, he had asked for this, hadn’t he? He’d asked to be hurt, and Founder but the Lord Comm… Cid… had delivered.

“But for every pain, a kindness.”

He reached up with trembling fingers to touch his lips, remembering the kiss they’d shared. His first real kiss, he didn’t want to count whatever that barest touch of skin yesterday had been. He’d been surprised by it, at its sudden gentleness after the harsh grip and the pain at his wrist. How soft and warm it had felt, and how kindly Cid had held him after, just… wrapping him up as if he was something worth holding. He’d been unable to pull away from that grip of steel just a moment before, but when Cid had held him like that he suddenly didn’t want to go. He’d frozen, unsure what to do, fighting between melting then and there and running as fast as he could. He’d tried to keep himself there, even to reciprocate the hug, but his fears had gotten the better of him and he’d fled.

It was stupid, really. He wasn’t bothered with fighting, or getting cut by a sword or anything when it came to his work in the army, hell he’d been almost proud to take that pain back when he’d been a Shield, but Cid scared him. Not the pain, not the threatening aura he felt from the man at times. Those he understood. No, what scared him most was when the Lord Commander was gentle, it just didn’t make sense. Waloed was full of barbarians, it was ruled by power-hungry madmen who wanted to destroy everything that wasn’t them. That’s what he’d always been told, that’s what he’d believed. But Cid, their second in command, he wasn’t like that. He was gruff, sure, and there was a dark streak in him that came out at odd times, but he wasn’t some cruel brute like Clive had been led to believe.

Cid had protected him. Cid had realized who he was, somehow, and that had stayed his hand that first night. He wasn’t going to touch Clive, he’d said as much, but he also wasn’t kicking him out. Clive’s reputation was ruined, what little he had left to ruin at least, but he was still safe. He’d expected to be… well, used. Taken. Raped, though he shuddered at the word. He would have played along, but he didn’t want this of his own volition. This was a means to an end. But then Cid had given him the chance to reach that end without having to give up that part of himself, and he felt…

He felt confused. He was relieved, but also oddly let down. He’d built the evening up as some big hurdle he’d have to get past, but before he knew it he’d blinked and it had vanished in front of him. He had dreaded the act itself, but he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t also been curious if it would feel good at all. He was relaxed, whole, but still sporting an injured wrist and a bruise on his neck that would take a week to heal. His world was a small, closeted whirlwind of contradictions, and it made it hard to think.

A knock on the door made him jump, heart catching in his throat. But there was silence after, a patience as the person outside waited for permission to intrude. He worked a dry mouth until he was able to croak out a “Come in,” not the least surprised when Cid entered a moment later, closing the door softly behind him. He looked around the dim room for a moment before spotting Clive, giving a small smile when their eyes met.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, lad, but I can’t do another night in a chair out there. Back’s not as young as it used to be, after all.” He stretched his shoulders for emphasis, wincing at their tightness.

“Oh.. oh!” Clive scrambled up off the floor, wincing himself as he forgot and put pressure on his injured wrist to push himself up. He clasped his other hand around it, holding it still as he regained his feet. “Yes, of course. Sorry. I’ll just go-”

“Eh, don’t even think about it,” Cid said, shaking his head. “Bedfellows, remember? I’d not kick you out once we were done, so you need to stay here. We were lucky this morning I was up before anyone came in, but if they catch one of us sleeping out in the sitting room the cat’s out of the bag.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Clive mumbled, dropping his eyes to the floor as he blushed. He had no experience to go on himself when it came to these things, so all he could really do was trust Cid’s words. Granted, even if he had, what Cid wanted out of the arrangement was all that would have really mattered, right? “I can sleep on the floor, then,” he added.

Cid chuckled at that, shaking his head. “Nice try, but again, no. You’re in the bed with me, lad.” Cid saw him start at that, and put up a hand to calm him. “I said I’ll not touch you, and I meant it. Have no fear, you’ll be just as safe as if there was a locked door between us. But no reason for either of us to sleep rough when there’s plenty of mattress to go around.” His lips twitched into a smirk. “Besides, if we get caught in bed together that’ll just help sell the story, no?”

Heat rushed to Clive’s cheeks at the image and he turned his head to hide the blush. He could just picture the servant girl from this morning coming in, seeing him and Cid wrapped up in blankets and-

Cid’s laughter cut through the mental image, startling him back to reality. “Hah! Paint a pretty picture for you, did it? Can’t say you look like you hate the idea.” His eyes sparkled with the jest, and it felt weirdly like he was seeing through Clive, reading his mind and not just his face.

Clive blushed harder, turning to walk toward the bed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said stiffly, studiously refusing to look up as he readied himself for bed. After all the corrections from Cid as to their charade he figured he couldn’t sleep fully clothed, it wouldn’t sell the story they were going for. But he wasn’t going to sleep nude either, that would be a step too far. He settled on taking his trousers off, leaving just the excessively large shirt and his smallclothes on. He heard more quiet chuckles and some shuffling from the other man on the other side of the bed, but at least no more comments were forthcoming. He crawled under the covers quickly, curling up tight around himself to take up as little space as possible. The bed shifted behind him, the blankets pulling as they moved to cover another, but that was it.

Eventually the soft sounds of sleep came from his companion, and Clive began to relax. This was fine, he was fine. He was safe for another night.

—----------------------------------

Morning came far too soon, and with it a knock on the door. He blinked, coming back up to the world of the waking at the noise, feeling a jolt of anxiety when a rumble far, far too close to his ear called out “Come in.”

He started up, or at least tried to. A strong arm wrapped around his shoulders, keeping him still. He pressed down, wincing as an aching wrist refused to take his weight, only to realize his hands weren’t resting on the mattress or blankets. Beneath his fingers was warm flesh, firm with muscle but relaxed, with a tickle of body hair trailing…

He twisted in the grip, looking up at Cid, who he was apparently laying against. The sparkle of mirth and that damnable smug smile was instantly both infuriating and embarrassing; he knew the blush on his face gave him away instantly. Cid’s hand around his shoulders shifted up to his head, pulling him gently back down to lay against Cid’s chest, fingers playing idly with his hair.

“Hush now,” Cid said quietly as the door to the sitting room creaked open, and Clive felt the soft rumble of his voice through his chest as he spoke. “Save your affront for after we’ve sold the story, aye?”

He heard the servant girl come in again, exchanging a brief greeting to Cid before going about her tasks. Clive couldn’t look up, he didn’t want to meet her eyes. Founder, here he was lying like- well, like lovers. That was the act they were trying to sell, after all, so at least Cid had had the wherewithal to keep him there when he woke. But how did he even get here in the first place? He’d woken up already in this position, and it wasn’t like he was a particularly heavy sleeper. Had he rolled over and snuggled up on his own? He was suddenly very, very glad Cid couldn’t see his face, his ears were damn near burning from embarrassment. It was surprisingly soothing though, Cid’s fingers sliding through his hair, petting him. For all his hands were rough from handling a sword, his touch was gentle. Loving. He’d said last night he didn’t hurt his partners, and like this Clive could almost imagine it. He probably could get rough, he had the muscle to do whatever he really wanted, but it was clear he could also be kind. He closed his eyes, sinking into the feeling, trying to relax while he waited for their audience to finally leave.

The room wasn’t in much of a state, so the servant girl left again after only a minute or two. He let out a breath once the door clicked shut, shifting beneath Cid’s touch to make it clear he wanted to get up. In an instant Cid’s hand was gone from his head, and he felt a surprisingly sense of loss from it as he sat up.

“Sorry, lad,” Cid said, shifting to get out of bed. “I woke up and you were already there. Didn’t feel right moving you, with you sleeping so peacefully. Then,” he waved off toward the door, “an opportunity presented itself.”

“Right,” Clive mumbled, moving to get out of bed himself. In the act of moving though he realized he had a problem. A, uh, hard problem. Damnit, why’d he have to go hard now? He grabbed at the blankets, piling them up in his lap so that Cid wouldn’t see him. It was just morning wood, it was normal. It wasn’t because he’d just been in a compromising position with Cid-

A chuckle from the other side of the bed drew his attention, and he was aghast to see Cid looking over at him, head tilted to the side as he studied Clive, that damnable sparkle back in his eyes and a smirk on his lips. Cid’s gaze dropped down to the blankets then bounced back up, and the smirk grew.

“Not exactly subtle,” he mocked, shaking his head.

“Shut up,” Clive muttered, the blush returning to his cheeks.

“Uh huh.” Cid turned around and walked over to the wardrobe. “If you’re this bad a liar with your mother, it’s a wonder she thinks we’re together at all.”

Clive groaned, flopping back in the bed and covering his face with one hand, the other studiously keeping the blankets as bundled against his crotch as he could. “It’s nothing,” he lied, “don’t tell me you’ve never had morning wood.”

“Oh I wouldn’t dream of lying to you,” Cid laughed, “you’re doing that enough already.” He turned his attention to his clothes, getting dressed rather quickly for all the closures he had to work on his jerkin. He turned around once he’d finished, giving Clive one more appraising look. “I’d like that shirt back at some point, you know.”

Clive grabbed idly at the fabric of the shirt, feeling its looseness against him. Right, he’d come here half naked. He’d been wearing this thing for over a day now, he’d just kind of forgotten it wasn’t his. “Of course,” he said, sitting up again, “Sorry. I need a change of clothes myself, really. I’ll go get some from my bunk while you’re gone.” Eventually. Once Cid had left and his boner had calmed down.

Cid seemed to think the same thing, because that damnable smirk returned. “Uh huh. At your leisure, my lord,” he said with a small mocking bow before heading toward the door. He couldn’t help one last parting shot though, his words sending a flush of heat from Clive’s cheeks all the way down his neck.

“Have a good time. Think of me, eh?”

And then he was gone, and Clive was left feeling very, very conflicted.

“Damnit,” he muttered, rubbing at his face to try and force away his blush. Cid had a point, even if he’d been taking the piss out of Clive when he said it. Playing with himself would indeed make the problem go away, and probably much faster than anything else he could try. And if he needed to go back down to the barracks, best to go early while most of them were out in training.

His fingers grabbed at the shirt hanging off him, suddenly not wanting it on his skin anymore. Cid’s shirt, Cid’s bed, he was surrounded by the man and it made him feel oddly lost. He yanked at the shirt, pulling it off over his head and bundling it up to throw into the corner of the room. But he stopped, instead holding it in front of him as he looked at the bundle of fabric.

There were feelings there, when it came to Cid. Confusing feelings. Trapped here with him, using him and being used in turn. Pretending to be his toy, his lover, while being promised he’d be left alone. Not asked, but told. Always told. What did he want? Who did he want?

He hadn’t wanted this just two days ago, but he’d not had a choice then. But having some autonomy, even in this room, gave him a choice now. And he realized he knew what he wanted.

He slid a hand down his front, feeling just how hard he was beneath his smallclothes. When was the last time he’d played with himself? It had been back in Rosaria, that was for sure. He’d never had time alone once he’d been dragged to Sanbreque, let alone the desire. But here? Now? He could indulge, at least this once. And maybe it would help him keep his calm around Cid.

He slid his small clothes off, freeing himself from their confines, leaving him in a warm bed, under warm blankets, paying attention now to how the fabric brushed against his skin. It reminded him of that night where he’d waited for Cid, wanting and dreading him to come back into the bedroom. Well he wasn’t coming in now, it was just Clive.

He wrapped his hand around himself, stroking gently. His grip was light, avoiding harsher friction for just the feeling of contact. The warmth of his own hand around him felt good, but not enough. Not strong enough. He tightened his grip some, closing his eyes as he imagined a different hand wrapping around him. Still not enough. He pressed the bundle of cloth that was Cid’s shirt against his chest, his neck, rubbing his face against it, pretending it was a person. Someone warm, someone gentle. That worked, the feeling of him in someone else’s bed, thinking of someone else’s hands on him, he could feel wetness gathering on his hand as he continued stroking himself.

He tried to extend the mental image, trying to picture Cid’s face over him, his body pressing against Clive’s own. He’d heard people going on and on about their partners and their features, that was what he was supposed to do, right? He’d always just enjoyed his own company, when he’d masturbated before, but he was picturing himself with Cid now, and it wasn’t that much better. The idea of hands though, of pressure, that worked, just not more defined images. He gave up trying, following his instinct on what felt good, instead focusing on the feel of the shirt fabric against his skin. He wished it smelled like someone else besides himself, maybe that would do something. But the accumulated sensations were working just fine on their own, his pleasure building. His hips started to thrust up into his hand, his need taking over as he surrendered himself to the growing feeling. What did he need? He didn’t know, he just know he needed. He needed to move, to chase that spark of pleasure that was growing inside him, pressing up into his hand hard and fast, shoving the shirt fabric against his nose, smothering himself with it, wishing there was a body behind it.

He felt the edge approaching, racing toward it and over it without stopping. He shoved the shirt down from his face, fucking into it for the last few thrusts before he came, his spine arching as he spurted and shuddered into the fabric. His eyes fluttered, and he bit at his lip to keep from crying out, wishing he could cry out with abandon but afraid of being found out for his actions. His mind went blissfully blank as he emptied himself, his cock throbbing as it pushed out the last few spurts of liquid.

An eternity of seconds later he relaxed, settling back into the bed as he panted, working to catch his breath as he came down from the high. The euphoric feeling lingered, his eyes shut tight as he let himself pretend this moment could last forever. Founder, that had been quick, and yet so, so good. He hadn’t come that hard before, had he? He wished he could have let go enough to cry out, but the freedom of a quiet room to recover in was worth having to hold back on making noise. He let the fuzzy feel-good sensation fade slowly, muscles lax as he basked in the afterglow of release. He could fall back asleep, but he knew that wasn’t the right answer. He’d done this so he could walk outside the room without a hard on, it would defeat the purpose if he took a nap instead.

He mopped at his groin slowly with the fabric in his hand, cleaning himself up gently once he wasn’t so tender to touch. A moment later he realized what he’d done, raising up the wadded up shirt to see the streaks of sticky come on it. Well, that wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. He felt heat rising to his cheeks again, and he rubbed at his eyes as he tossed the shirt off to the side. He’d just wanted to keep the bedding clean, he’d forgotten it was Cid’s shirt he was holding and not his own. He sighed. Well, what’s done was done.

He forced himself to get up, redressing in his smallclothes and trousers, kicking the messed up shirt under the bed in hopes Cid wouldn’t notice it. Not likely, but he could get lucky. He shook his head, trying to clear his mind as he prepared to go back out into the main castle. He didn’t have a shirt, but honestly looking at himself in the mirror he looked less lewd shirtless than he had wearing Cid’s oversized one. More proof that leaving something to the imagination really did work, huh? He still didn’t want to run into too many people, hopefully he remembered the path back to the barracks well enough to not need to hunt someone down for directions.

He slipped out of the door before he could think any more about it, surprisingly calm and relaxed for the first time in a long while.

Chapter Text

He got outside the keep fine, thank the Founder, though there were those two servant girls who’d run across him going through one of the back halls and had frozen in shock. They’d given him a once over, breaking out into twittering laughter as he fled. He swore he could still hear them, even though he’d left them far behind.

The barracks were blessedly quiet, most all the soldiers out in the yard for morning training. He quickly moved past the rows of cots to the one earmarked as his, digging into the small footlocker at the end of the bed that contained his few remaining possessions. The clothes he’d come to Oriflamme in had been stripped from him long ago, they were far too fancy for some mere brat in the army, after all. He had a pair of shirts, an extra set of smallclothes, and some socks stuffed in there, the rest of his clothing was already on his back. He quickly threw on one of his shirts, relaxing a little now he was fully clothed again. What he had was standard issue for the army, just enough clothing to keep clean but still travel light. Even then that thin cover was welcome after traversing the keep shirtless. Because of the general worthlessness of the clothing they were given though, the other soldiers didn’t tend to ransack unattended footlockers. There wasn't a point since there was nothing of value inside.

Which was a boldfaced lie, all told. Most everyone had something small stashed away, some keepsake of their current beau or their former life if they were lucky. It was just the one code of honor that actually got followed here: you didn't go digging in others’ footlockers, especially if you didn't want people digging in yours. He pulled out his one treasure that had been hidden by his few clothes, his ear cuff, silver metal shining in his palm.

Some of the more assholish soldiers had tried to rip it off him when he’d first come here, it was only thanks to one of the old guard soldiers stationed here scaring them off that he still had it and an intact earlobe. His savior had told him to hide it or lose it, rare few around were going to protect him like this again. He had been loath to take it off, but when faced with the idea of losing it completely he’d eventually unclasped the metal cuff, hands shaking as he’d held it up before him. It was the last remnant of who he was, who he’d been, and he’d had to hide it away.

He pocketed it quickly as he heard the door to the training yards open. He didn’t look up, didn’t act like he’d been caught out, just quietly moved his clothes to his rucksack as the footsteps approached. He was following orders, doing what he was told, he didn’t have to hide or feel guilty for being here.

That did stop assholes from being assholes.

“Hah, damn curr came slinking back once he got used. Waloeder get tired of your high and mighty attitude as well, brat? Kick you back to the army like the trash you are?”

It was Prendil, possibly the worst person to come in now. He wasn’t bad on his own, he wasn’t one of the groups of bullies who never left each others’ sides. He was a loner, and a rat, someone who seemed to just enjoy finding what bothered others and intentionally setting them off.

“I just came to get a change of clothes,” Clive said, trying to remain non-confrontational. “It’s not like they’d have anything in the keep for me to wear.” He glanced away as he remembered the chain-draped collar his mother had dragged out and forced him to put on. He didn’t want to know why that existed, or who had had to wear it before him. At least Cid had liked it just as little as he had.

“Of course not,” Prendil gave an ugly laugh. “Even if they did, they’d not want the stink of a Bearer on them.”

Clive’s head flew up, eyes widening with fear. Prendil knew? How long had he known about Clive’s Blessing? Did he know about his lineage too, or just the magic? Fuck, this was bad. He was only safe from the Brand because no one besides his mother knew about it.

Prendil laughed again at his look, turning Clive’s worry to confusion. He couldn’t ask though, to voice the question might draw suspicion where it might not currently be. He just had to wait to see what the bastard decided to say next. Thankfully he didn’t have to wait long.

“That Waloeder, they say he’s a Dominant, ya?” Prendil spat to the side in contempt. “Ain’t no better than a Bearer, for all that. Nothing but animals, the lot of them.” That ugly sneer returned, and he pointed to the bruise on Clive’s neck peeking out from under his collar. “How’d it feel getting fucked by a beast, Clive? Enjoy being bitched by a Bearer dog?” A dark glint came into his eye. “I’d be happy to show you what a real man feels like.”

Clive was on his feet before he even realized it, nose to nose with Prendil as he seethed. Well, nose to chin, Prendil still had a few inches on him in height. The asshole just grinned at him though, eyes dark and dangerous now he’d gotten the rise out of Clive he’d been after.

“I’d rather be with a Waloeder, Bearer or no, than an Imperial bastard like you,” Clive growled, eyes flinty. This was going to end in a fight, they both knew it, but Clive didn’t care. Prendil had it coming, after the hell he put so many of the other soldiers through. He’d even turned one in before as a suspected Bearer, all because the other man had been ahead of him for promotion. He was the animal, not Bearers. Not Cid. Not Clive.

Prendil’s sneer turned into a snarl, his fist raising to strike.

A hand came down, putting a heavy weight on Prendil’s shoulder, forcing him to pull his hit before it had even begun. “Now now,” a voice said behind the man, “no one’s interested in what you have to offer, soldier.” A chuckle. “At least, that’s what I hear from the brothels.”

Officer Harte came into view, the weight of his hand pushing Prendil back and away, getting between the two. A stern glance Clive’s way was enough to get him to step down, sitting back down on his bunk with a small huff as Harte turned back to Prendil.

“You said you needed to grab something, yes? That’s why you were released to come in here? Best be about that then.” Prendil glared at him, but a superior was a superior, and orders were orders. He gave a small, curt nod before brushing off Harte’s hand on his shoulder and walking off to his own bunk on the other side of the barracks.

A moment of quiet hung between Clive and the officer before Harte turned around to look down at him. His gaze was appraising, though much kinder than Prendil’s had been. Harte had always been somewhat kind to him, Clive guessed it was due to his age.

“You expected back up at the keep?” Harte asked, gesturing down at the rucksack beside Clive. Clive blushed then nodded, laying a hand on the bag.

“Yes sir,” he said. “Just needed a change of clothes.” He stood up, shouldering the back and waiting for his own dismissal.

But Harte just looked at him for a moment more, long enough that Clive started fidgeting. What was he looking for? Harte had a thing for court dandies, that’s why he’d been able to help him before. Maybe he was seeing Clive in a new light, now he thought Clive was used? Clive had avoided the attentions of other soldiers so far, but now, Founder, since everyone seemed to already know he’d been whored out…

Harte’s hand came down on his shoulder, a firm weight holding him still as the officer leaned in close. But the words he said were not what Clive had expected.

“Act more sore,” Harte said softly. “Like when you first learned to ride a chocobo. Do you remember how everything hurt the next day? You’d have a bit of a limp, and sitting should make you wince even if he was gentle.” The hand raised to tap against his neck, where the bite mark was showing. “And you’re advertising it wasn’t.”

Clive’s hand flew up to cover the spot, pulling back to look at his commanding officer in surprise. But Harte just smiled gently at him, giving him a small shooing motion.

“Get going, boy,” he said with a wink, “can’t keep him waiting.”

—------------------------------

It was hard to maintain a fake limp, he found. His attempts while walking down unused halls were either so minimal as to be non-existant or so exaggerated he knew it’d be seen as fake. He settled eventually on just walking slower, figuring if he had been sore he’d be trying his best to hide that fact anyways. News had already spread, at least in the barracks. Everyone knew he was the whore of a foreign general now. They’d see in him what they wanted to see, regardless of how he acted. What was odd was that the sting of that sentence wasn’t that he’d basically been sold, though that certainly hurt, but that his reputation had been ruined and they’d not even done anything. Would never do anything. But it was all for Joshua. He’d deal with all the sideyes and askance looks if it meant he could see Joshua again.

And so he went to his mother. Not to her rooms, he’d never be allowed in even if he wasn’t.. What he was now, but to their assigned meeting place. An out of the way hallway, where he’d wait until she deigned to make an appearance. He’d report what he knew, though he didn’t think it would be enough to satisfy, then he’d go back and keep trying. It was all he could do for now.

It was many hours before he heard soft heeled footsteps heading his way, and he made sure to rise gingerly from the bench he waited on once he saw her round the corner. He stood at attention, not looking at her, just showing honor to the Empress as she passed his way. He was a soldier, this was something that was expected of them. He remained at attention as she came up, brushing a hand across the bench he had just vacated as if to clear off dust, then settled herself down as if she was simply taking a rest on her walk. She never looked at him, never acknowledged him, but he knew why she was here.

“Speak,” she said eventually, examining her nails. “I assume he was more talkative, otherwise you wouldn’t be here.”

Clive nodded, looking down the hallways to ensure no one was approaching. “He has, but I fear it might not be what you want. He expects the treaty to go through, but he doesn’t expect it to last for more than a few years, at best.”

“That is hardly anything new,” she agreed, setting her hands back in her lap. “They are mongrels, the lot of them. What’s more surprising is he’s self aware enough to admit they won’t be able to hold to it.”

“Ah, uh,” Clive bit his lip, unsure of how to correct her. Eventually he settled on, “Ci- uh, the Lord Commander thinks that Sanbreque will be the ones to break it, not Waloed.”

The stillness that settled over his mother was palpable; he knew that feeling well. What he’s said had angered her. But she didn’t lash out, she never lashed out. But when she spoke, her words were laced with a vehemence that spoke of how she would remember this slight and find a way to get retribution for it later.

“I expect, dear son, that you will explain to him that the noble Imperium does not break its treaties thus.” She finally deigned to look at him, her eyes boring into his, and he hurriedly looked away.

“Of course, your majesty,” he murmured, keeping his eyes averted. The small acknowledgement of their kinship sent his heart to fluttering even though his stomach twisted at her words. It had only been a year since the Night of Flames, for Founder’s sake. It hurt how unsurprised he was that she could just pretend that had never happened. And how blatant a lie it would be if he repeated it to Cid. Even if Cid hadn’t figured out who he was, he clearly knew his history enough to have seen through that statement in an instant.

His mother stood up, smoothing out her skirts as she did. She was the picture of composed elegance at all times, never a hair out of place or a wrinkle to be found. “Was there anything else?” she asked, “or was that poor excuse for intel all you were able to achieve?”

“I’m sorry,” he said, keeping his gaze down. “He hasn’t seen fit to talk with me all that much. That was the best I could manage last night.”

A soft snort of derision was all the response he got, before he felt fingers tracing against the bruise on his neck. “Would I could have sent a woman,” Anabella said quietly. “They at least know how to wrap a man around their finger. But no, the Outlander had to have tastes as crude as he is.” Her nail caught against his jawline, flicking up and nicking his skin as she pulled away. “Do better, boy. Or else-”

“Oi, there you are,” a deep voice said, surprisingly close behind him. A short moment later a strong arm was wrapped around his waist, pulling him close to a broad, warm body. A chin rough with stubble rubbed against his neck. “Been looking everywhere for you, darling,” Cid nearly purred in his ear.

Clive’s panicked eyes glanced up at his mother who stood there in a rare moment of stunned silence. Founder, no, he didn’t want her to see this. He shut his eyes, squirming to try and untangle himself from arms that held him there. Their touch was gentle, but unyielding, making it very, very clear he wasn’t going anywhere unless Cid allowed it.

“Ahem,” Anabella coughed politely, and the scratch of stubble withdrew as Cid raised his head.

“Oh, your majesty, my apologies,” he said with what Clive was sure had to be a cheeky grin, “I didn’t notice you there.” Cid stood up a little straight behind him, pulling him close. “I had been meaning to thank you for the lovely gift you left me, and here both of you are. Checking in on him I see? Want to make sure he’s being properly taken care of?”

“Not at all,” Anabella said, and Clive could hear her gritting her teeth to remain polite. “It is he who should be taking care of you, after all. That’s what he’s for. I’m only sorry I couldn’t find someone more suitable.”

Did the grip around his waist get just that little bit tighter? “I’m sure you did your best with short notice,” Cid said, before finally, finally letting go of him. Clive straightened up, looking up at Cid with a hint of worry. Had he displeased Cid too, now? Cid knew he had to report to his mother, why was he surprised to find them together? Was this going to make things even harder between them?

And why did he miss that arm around his waist so much?

Cid didn’t look at him, simply gave a small bow towards Anabella. “If you’ll excuse me, your majesty, I have had a long day and would like a chance to unwind before dinner. If you’re done with him, I will be more than happy to escort him back where he belongs.”

Clive saw the tiniest twist of Anabella’s lips, the sneer she fought to keep off her face. Then it was gone, replaced with her usual placid calm exterior. She smiled up at Cid, nodding her assent and waving him off before turning and walking away. She never once looked Clive’s way, not once Cid had shown up. He fought to keep that bit of heartache to himself, buried down with all the other such moments. A brief moment of connection, then back to being a disappointment to her. Nothing ever changed.

Chapter Text

The walk back to Cid’s rooms was quiet, they didn’t share a word between them when they were alone, and Cid didn’t even look his way once he’d connected back up with his Waloeder entourage. He knew it, he knew he’d displeased Cid somehow. Had he really wanted something, someone different? Clive tried to picture Cid with the dandies Harte preferred, but that didn’t feel right. Too… feminine? Or with Harte himself, or one of the other strong soldiers, all muscular and big? That didn’t seem right either. He didn’t know what Cid actually preferred, outside of men, but he had a feeling neither of those were correct. He strangely hoped he was the Lord Commander’s type, it felt surprisingly good to think of himself in that light. 

A thought crossed his mind then, one that bothered him the moment it appeared. Had he been picked for this mission because he was actually Cid’s type, or had he been picked because he was the only one his mother could control? Cid had been so distant after coming up on him with his mother, was the charade wearing on him now too? Would he toss Clive aside when he was tired of this farce?

They made it back to Cid’s rooms, and the guards were dismissed to their posts outside as he and Cid went in. Clive could feel their judging eyes as he passed them, this worthless bottom feeder just here for carnal relief. He didn’t deserve special treatment, hell any treatment, but here he was allowed into their commander’s rooms when they weren't. He would have tried to hold his head up high before, try and pretend it didn’t bother him, but the effort felt more than he was capable of right now. He wasn't a whore, but he was being used. Just as a pawn instead of a sex toy. A pawn Cid and his mother both seemed skilled at manipulating.

He went through the next door into the bedroom, setting his oh-so-precious rucksack down beside his side of the bed. No, not his side; nothing here was his. The part of the bed he slept in. That he was allowed to sleep in, untouched. Why did that bother him so much? Why did all of this bother him now, when he’d been so terrified that first night? He had exactly what he wanted, safety assured and a path to seeing his brother. This was perfect, wasn't it?

So why was there resentment now burning in his chest?

“You alright, lad?” The voice from the door cut through him, it’s simple care somehow painful right now.

“Why do you put up with this?” he asked quietly, not turning around.

“Eh?” The sound of the door clicking closed, of trapping him here. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” he took in a deep breath. “Why are you faking being with someone you don’t like? Yes, anyone else would also be digging for information, but at least you might get something out of it too.”

“Who said I don’t like you?”

Tears sprung to his eyes as he turned around, staring Cid down across the room as the man slowly approached. “You did. You agreed with her that she could have found someone better.”

That stopped Cid in his tracks, blinking in surprise. Then he raised a hand to rub at his eyes, cursing under his breath. He stood like that for a moment before looking up at Clive again, and the pity in his eyes took Clive aback. It wasn’t just pity, that wouldn’t have bothered him. It was pity mixed with pain, and something he couldn’t quite place.

“Lad, you are far too honest for your own good. It’s like you expect everyone else to be just as truthful. Did you not realize that was a ploy?”

He blinked. “What?”

Cid sighed, stepping forward again, close enough to touch now but still holding himself back from that last connection. “Giving someone like your mother the idea that I care about you would just make it worse on both of us. She’s already using you to get information, what do you think she’d do if she realized you were the perfect choice for the role?” He shook his head. “It’s not kidnapping if this is your home. I have no right to you, but you being taken away could be used as a tool to throw off negotiations.” He gave Clive a gentle, calming smile. “It’s better she think you’re not important to me.”

“So… that means I am important? That you like me?”

Cid sighed again, shaking his head gently before fixing Clive with his piercing gaze. “Yes, lad. You’re damn near exactly what I like.”

“Then why didn’t you.. Was it because you knew who I was?”

“You were scared, Clive. You flinched whenever I even barely touched you. Your name was a part of it, aye, but more importantly I don’t lay with someone unwilling.”

Clive stood there for a moment, taking that in. That this stranger, this Waloeder who’d he’d been taught all his life would be nothing better than a brute would care so much more for him and his comfort than anyone in Sanbreque ever did. It stung, but also stoked a warm feeling in his chest. Someone actually cared.

“I was scared,” Clive said after a moment, eyes dropping to the floor. “I’ve not been with anyone before, I didn’t know what to expect outside of knowing it would hurt.” He looked back up, hoping he looked more sure of himself. “But I’d like to learn. And I’d like it to be with you.”

“I’m flattered, lad,” Cid said quietly after a pause, “But you’re lying to yourself, you don’t want this.”

a refusal. After all that. Cid liked him, Cid maybe even wanted him, but wouldn’t touch him. Anger and shame flared up hot inside him. What about what he wanted? Had anyone, ever, listened to what he wanted?

“Of course I don’t!” he yelled, tears stinging his eyes. “I don’t want any of this! I don’t want to be with you, I don’t want to be here, I don’t want to be involved in her plans; I just want to see my brother! But I don’t get a choice anymore.”

He took a breath, trying to meter himself. He’d been given a lot of leeway in this room, but he was speaking to both a guest of the throne and a superior officer. He was hurt, but if he angered Cid he might still get thrown out, regardless of their agreement. What he wanted might not matter regardless of what he offered.

“Everyone thinks I’m some kind of whore now,” he said more softly. “I already had one soldier threaten to show me how Imperials do it better, and he won’t be the last. There’s no finding the right person for me anymore, Cid. There’s just the best option available on short notice.” His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “I only get one first. I was hoping you, at least, would be gentle.”

Cid sighed again, heavy and sad. “And here I thought I was being kind,” he murmured, stepping forward again and placing a comforting hand on Clive’s arm. “You deserve to be wooed properly, lad. Taken to bed by someone you actually love, and who loves you in return. What she’s done to you is unconscionable, but it's clear the damage is done no matter what I do.” Cid’s other hand came up to thread gently through his hair, and Clive leaned into the touch. “I can be your first, if that’s what you really want. I already told you I don’t hurt my partners. It might not be all you’re wanting, but I promise you'll be safe with me.”

Clive closed his eyes, nodding quietly. A tear slid down his cheek, and Cid’s thumb moved to wipe it away gently.

“I have to attend dinner with the Emperor and that woman tonight,” Cid said quietly, and the hint of anger in Cid’s voice at the mention of his mother set butterflies off in Clive’s chest, “But I’ll be back afterwards. You have time to think about this more, get a clear head and make sure it’s actually what you want.” A gentle touch of lips against his forehead. “Regardless of what you choose, go take a hot bath, get yourself nice and clean. Get you some food, too.” The warmth of him pulled away. “We’ll talk again when I get back, aye?”

“Aye,” Clive repeated, watching on as Cid left.

—---------------------------------

The bath really did help, at least in making him feel in control of himself again. The only shared luxury between the ranks, though of course the nobles had their own private accommodations for it. But it all came from the same water source, and was always the same heat. At least it had been in Rosaria, and this bathhouse didn’t feel that different. He bathed in the servant’s wing, and since it was dinner time for the castle it was blessedly quiet for him there.

He thought, as he cleaned himself. Questioned if this was really what he wanted, even though he knew the answer. Technically, it wasn’t. But what he’d said to Cid had been true, he wasn’t going to get a choice after this. At least here he could have some control over it, and he really did think Cid would be kind. The man was strong, certainly, and that dark streak that had marked up his neck certainly wasn’t something to forget, but something about him made Clive trust him. He only touched Clive to comfort, to protect. Even his more public displays were protection of a sort, weren’t they? Laying claim to keep Clive where he’d said he wanted to be, to keep others off him. Cid was a good man.

And in reality, there were some feelings there. Too new for it to be love or anything of the sort, but he did like Cid. And Cid had said Clive was what he liked. Whether he meant physically or not didn’t matter, it still felt good to hear. It didn’t feel like when other soldiers had leered at him, calling him pretty. It didn’t feel at all like Prendil’s derogatory sneer. Cid saw him as something nice, maybe even special. Someone worthy of care. In another world, in another life, maybe they could have turned into something. But at the very least Clive felt safe trusting himself to the older man tonight. He might not get someone experienced and kind again, best to enjoy what he could while he could.

He waited in their bedroom after, sitting down at the foot of the bed and eating slowly at the plate of food he’d taken from the kitchens. He didn’t really taste it though, he was too preoccupied with thoughts of what would transpire tonight. It felt like when he’d waited here only a couple nights ago, yet so much different. He’d been scared then, shaking and worried. Now he was… resigned? Excited? He wasn’t fearful, at least, and that was a plus.

After a while he heard the door to the outer room open, and the unmistakable deep voice of Cid carrying through the closed door to the bedroom. He shifted from his seated position, pulling his shirt off and setting it aside next to the plate. He didn’t want Cid to ask him again if he was ready, the asking might scare him back to his senses. He knelt down on the floor, hands resting on his thighs, a mirror to his pose that first night though the collar Cid had despised was still stored safely in the wardrobe.

The creak of hinges signaled the bedroom door opening, but he kept his eyes glued on the floor. Breathe slowly, be calm.

“Well, I guess that’s your answer then?” He nodded to the question, swallowing. “Ok. Up you get, love.”

Clive stood, reaching to undo his trousers, but a hand stopped him, catching at his wrist. “Not yet. We’re taking this slow, remember?” Cid let go of him, using that same hand to raise Clive’s chin up to face him. In the gentle glow of the mothercrystal’s light, Cid’s eyes were shining. He leaned in close, stopping just an inch or so away from making contact.

“May I kiss you, Clive?” Clive just stared up at him, eyes wide, but Cid just continued to look at him. “I need you to speak, lad. I want this to feel good to you, and that means I need to know you’re ok with what I do. Tell me if you don’t want something, tell me if you do. Tell me if it hurts.” Cid’s thumb rubbed gently along the line of his jaw, the feeling sending shivers down Clive’s spine. “If there’s something you want to try, ask. I’ll lead, but everyone feels things differently. I want to know what works for you.”

A moment of silence, of their eyes locking in the dim light. “Kiss me,” he breathed, and Cid smiled down at him.

When their lips met it was soft, like their first kiss. Cid’s lips were surprisingly smooth, for all the rest of him was rough. It was a gentle warmth, the surprisingly quick intimacy of someone else’s face so close to his. His eyes fluttered shut, letting him focus on the feeling. Feeling Cid’s hands slide around him, one cupped against his cheek, the other shifting to wrap around his back, pulling him in just a bit closer. There was a hesitancy though, as if Cid was testing the waters between them. Well, that was what he’d said he was going to do, right? Find the things Clive liked, make him feel good?

Well, he couldn’t exactly speak up right now, not with his mouth occupied. But he did like this, at least to a point. It was the being held, the feeling of warmth and security that he liked the most. But how to express that?

He realized belatedly his hands hadn’t moved, they were down by his sides, still and stiff. Cid would probably like to be touched too, right? If it felt good to Clive, it probably felt good to him as well. He raised them slowly, gingerly, pressing one lightly against Cid’s chest as they kissed. Not pushing him away, but seeking contact. Cid let out a hum of pleasure and deepened the kiss, his grip around Clive’s waist tightening. Clive’s other hand came up, resting on Cid’s hip, fingers grabbing into the fabric of his shirt. Founder this really did feel nice, he was making someone happy, he felt desired.

He felt wanted.

Chapter Text

“I hadn’t thought to ask before,” Cid said, breaking off their kiss to nuzzle against his neck, “but thinking about it over dinner... Do you even like men?”

“I... never really thought about it,” Clive replied quietly, shivering at the brush of stubble against his skin. “No? Yes? I don’t know.”

Cid’s rich, dark chuckle so close to his ear sent entirely different shivers down his spine. “You don’t know? Well now, that’s a new one.” His teeth grazed gently against Clive’s skin. “Let me rephrase the question then.” His lips rose to just next to Clive’s ear, his whisper sultry and full of promise. “When you dealt with your little problem this morning, what was it you thought about while doing it?”

“Hands.” The words tumbled out of him, his voice barely above a whisper. “Petting. Touching. Holding me. Warmth.”

“Like this?” Cid asked, pulling him close, pressing him up tight against his chest. Arms tight around his back, he’d seen plenty of soldiers pull this on servant women, and they always seemed to swoon. It should have been warm, giving him a chance to return Cid’s attentions, but instead to him it felt surprisingly suffocating. Clive pushed against Cid’s chest hard this time, fighting for space, for the room to breathe. Cid gave in near instantly, releasing him with a concerned, quizzical look as he released him. “Not good?”

What mood there’d been forming had dropped in that moment of panic, and Clive fought for the words to describe how he felt. It had been good, just too much. Too… intimate. He wanted to be touched, just not bound up like that. It made him feel trapped.

He turned around, leaning back into Cid’s space until those strong hands caught him again, head tilting back to rest against the taller man’s chest. Warm arms cautiously wrapped around him, and he tried his best to relax into them. “I’d… rather it like this,” he breathed, fighting the embarrassment fluttering in his chest for saying what he wanted. This was more like his imagination. Safe and warm, sensations mattering more than faces. Someone who had his back while he was vulnerable.

“Oh,” Cid purred against him, “You don’t know how good it is to hear that. Much easier to enjoy the parts I like this way as well.” Those arms tightened around him, one holding him across the chest while the other hand slid down, down, across the plain of his stomach, down over his hip, pulling his back into Cid’s-

Well. They were going to have sex, after all. Why was it such a shock to realize Cid was hard behind him? Cid rubbed against him, pressing his firm cock against Clive’s lower back. It felt almost animalistic, but in a good way. Cid was hard because of him.

“You don’t want to face me, but you liked the kiss,” Cid said behind him, grinding slowly against him. His tone wasn’t accusatory, simply tracing the facts before him, though his voice was still lustful. “You don’t like men, but,” and here his hand slid lightly across Clive’s groin, feeling the bulge growing there, “clearly you like this. How do I make this good for you, love?” The arm across Clive’s chest loosened, hand gliding up his neck, across his cheek, before landing over his eyes, blocking his view. “Taking away one sense can often make the others feel sharper. Would you like to be blindfolded? Let you imagine whatever, whoever you want?”

Clive’s breath caught just picturing it, and Cid chuckled at his obvious interest.

“That,” he said slowly, pressing the palm of his other hand against Clive’s bulge and making him reflexively press back, “sounds like a yes.” He moved forward, pushing Clive along in front of him till Clive’s knees bumped up against the bed. “Keep your eyes closed and climb up, love. I’ll be right behind you.” Clive’s eyes snapped shut before Cid’s hand slowly withdrew from over them, followed soon by the rest of Cid moving away. He swayed for a moment at the sudden lack of a support before planting his hands down onto the bed to ground himself and climbing in. He didn’t know what to do once he got there though, so he simply sat in what he thought was the middle, legs tucked under him again, ears following any sounds that reached him. 

Cid moved about in the room behind him, fabric rustling as he searched for something. He seemed to have found it, for a moment later Clive heard him approach the bed again, felt the mattress sag as it took his weight too. The touch of calloused fingers of one hand on his back, trailing gently up toward his shoulder, joined quickly by a second set holding a piece of fabric.

“I’m going to cover your eyes,” Cid said calmly, “just a little blindfold. You can slip it off anytime you want.”

Clive nodded, unsure what he could say. But the nod was enough, because those hands slid over his shoulders to meet in front of him, and a smooth piece of fabric was placed gently over his eyes.

“Silk?” he asked, reaching up to touch the fabric as Cid went about tying it behind his head.

“Aye, a kerchief that came with one of the ensembles I was sent with. Too fancy for my liking, but useful for other purposes, it seems.” Knot tied, Cid’s hands left him again. “How does it feel?”

Clive touched at the fabric again, blinking his eyes beneath it. It wouldn’t block out light well in the daytime, but at night in a darkened room it was quite effective. And it wasn't tied too tight or loose, it felt comfortable.

“Good,” he said, giving a nod. A second later hands slid over his skin again, one at his hip and another snaking around his neck, pulling him up and back with a gasp.

“And how does it make you feel?” Cid asked, his voice low and dark.

Clive shivered at the contact, the pull, the pressure. “Good,” he repeated shakily, breath coming quicker.

“You look good,” Cid purred, hands gliding slowly over him, his touch fire against Clive’s skin. “You look far too good to be new to all this.” Cid’s breath, warm against Clive’s neck. “How lucky am I?”

“Please,” Clive breathed, “don’t mock me.”

“Who said I was mocking?” Cid asked, soft lips tracing patterns against his neck. “You’re a vision, love. Strong and sleek, dark and sweet, you could be anything. And I’m the lucky man who gets to help find out what that will be.”

“What if,” Clive hesitated, “what if I wanted to be top?”

Cid chuckled at that, fingers digging lightly into the flesh at his hips, kneading slowly. “Then you should have asked a woman to be your first. With a man, best to learn how to take it before you dish it out.” A kiss against his neck, hand sliding across his chest to pinch and pull gently at one of his nipples. “You ok with that?”

“It’s fine,” Clive nodded, sighing as Cid’s hands continued their gentle but firm exploration of his body. “It’s not like other people will want anything else from me.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised,” Cid said, pressing himself slowly against Clive’s back. “Interests in the bedroom are as varied as people themselves. I’m sure there’s someone out there who’d like to be fucked senseless by a young twink, especially with how pretty you are.” He thought for a moment, then added, “I’d rather someone stronger than me, personally, but given a few more years in the army you might just fit that bill too. Don’t sell yourself short while you’re still growing.”

Years, he thought soberly. Years more of being in the army, of being trapped here, threatened into obedience, into doing what others wanted. 

“I don’t want to think about that,” he said with a shake of his head. “Please, stop talking and do something.”

“Heh, patience patience,” Cid chided. “Slow and steady, that’s what I promised and that’s what I’m going to deliver.” The warmth behind him shifted away a little, his hands vanishing from Clive’s skin and leaving him feeling suddenly alone, despite Cid not having left.

“Trousers off,” Cid directed, voice low. “Give me a show, eh?”

A show? He didn’t know what would suffice, but clearly he was supposed to try things and learn. He leant forward, putting his weight down on his elbows, ass up in front of Cid. It felt humiliating, this position of submission, and he was happy that he was facing away to hide the flush of embarrassment that colored his cheeks red. He shifted his weight to one arm, using the other to undo the ties of his trousers and opening up their front. Humiliated or not, Cid’s earlier touching had gotten him somewhat hard, and he let out a soft sigh as the pressure against his cock was relieved as he freed it.

He shifted down again, weight resting on his chest and neck as he freed his other hand, hooking his thumbs in the waistband on either side and sliding his trousers down over the swell of his ass. A hissed intake of breath behind him made him pause, a flutter in his chest at the obvious interest from the older man. Suddenly this pose didn’t feel so humiliating, hearing someone else’s reaction and desire. He slid his trousers down farther, letting them pool at his knees. But now he was stuck. He couldn’t exactly keep this pose and still get his legs out, he’d have to move.

He rolled over, legs kept tight and close so he didn’t accidentally kick Cid as he moved. It left him on his back, knees up by his chest, hands sliding the loose fabric off his legs in one smooth motion, letting it drop off the side of the bed once he was free of them. He slowly let his legs come back down, one of them touching up against Cid and sliding gently past him as his feet came to rest on the mattress. He was naked now, open and exposed beneath Cid’s gaze. He was so thankful for the blindfold that he couldn’t see himself or how Cid looked at him. Was it lust? Disgust? Was it pity?

He lay there for seconds that felt like an eternity, waiting for Cid’s judgement of him. Waiting for anything.

“Fucking hell,” Cid’s gravelly voice rasped, one hand brushing up against his leg and gripping, yanking him closer. “Do you have any idea just how good you look?” he growled, suddenly over Clive, body weight pressing against him as Cid’s mouth descended on his chest. Clever lips and tongue and teeth mapping out the skin there, making Clive writhe at the attention.

“Look at you, so lovely and bare and open. Nothing on you but the blindfold and this ,” he felt fingers playing gently with his ear, with the ear cuff he’d put back on after his bath. “What new ornament has she found for you?” Cid asked quietly.

“It’s mine,” Clive stated with some heat, so far past shame at this point he wasn’t worried about Cid’s reaction. “I’ve worn it since I was five, but I had to hide it when I joined the army here.” He turned his head away. “It’s a symbol of the Rosfield family. I- I wanted to wear it again for tonight.”

“Ah.” The hand pulled away, returning to tracing over his chest and stomach. “Then of course that one shall stay, my lord.”

“I’m not-!” Clive’s rise to fight was stopped by a strong hand on his chest, pressing him back down and holding him still.

“You are tonight,” Cid purred, leaning down to kiss along Clive’s collarbone. “Else you wouldn’t have put it back on. Who am I, a simple servant, to contradict the whims of my betters?” He could hear the smirk as Cid said, “I do so look forward to showing you what I have to offer.”

Cid’s fingers trailed down, sliding between his legs, gently pressing Clive’s legs open before coming to rest against his entrance. “And if you’ll permit me, my lord, it’s time for me to start.” He didn’t push in, just prodded lightly at it, a small tap of pressure.

“We’ll go slow,” he said, “a little bit at a time, until you can take me without pain.” The deep rumble of his voice vibrated through Clive’s chest, the dark promise there making Clive’s breath come quicker. “It will be uncomfortable at first, but it shouldn’t hurt. None of this should actually hurt, not if you prep enough.”

He gulped before nodding nervously. I trust you, he thought.

The finger pushed slowly, pressing in until the ring of muscle gave, letting the tip of the finger in. He gasped at the feeling, the sudden pressure of even so little an intrusion. It didn’t feel little, it felt like more than he could handle, even though he knew it was just the beginning. It didn’t hurt, but it was definitely close.

“Uncomfortable, aye?” He nodded again, working to keep his breath steady. “It would be. It’s not even lubed. Friction is the enemy of enjoyment, when it comes to this.” The finger pressed in just a little more, and he felt the drag against his rim, a sharpness he knew wasn’t sustainable. But then the finger withdrew, and he sagged as the threat of pain eased.

“No one who cares would go farther without oil, or spit, or something to make it slide easier,” Cid said above him, and Clive heard the pop of a bottle being uncorked. “There’s plenty of options, even water in a pinch if you’re in a bath or river; somewhere you can get submerged. It's mostly based on what you have available. You’ll likely have the best access to sword oil in the army; it’ll work just fine.” Cid’s hand returned to his leg, leaving a cool, moist trail along his skin as Cid’s hand traveled back down to his entrance. “Tonight, it’s olive oil. Good for the skin, the hair, and other activities. Plus it smells a hell of a lot better.” The finger prodded at his rim again, and with just a little bit of pressure slipped back inside. “Feel the difference?”

He did. It made the intrusion feel smaller, more manageable. He no longer felt like he would tear just from one finger; hell, the first joint of one finger. “I- I do,” he said quietly. “Much better.”

“Doesn’t matter who you’re with, no matter how forced it might be. Ask for lube. They might refuse you, but honestly it makes it feel better for them as well, so there’s very little benefit in denying you.” The finger pushed deeper, shifting side to side slowly as it crept its way in. It felt so weird, wriggling up inside him, so strangely intimate. He felt it pressing against his insides, creating its own space inside him. “Now you need to help out some,” Cid said gently. “I know it’s new and feels odd, but you need to try and relax into it. A tight muscle will tear, a relaxed one will stretch.” His other hand petted Clive's leg, working to sooth him as his finger explored ever deeper.

“It’s, it’s hard to,” Clive gasped, shaking at all the new sensations.

“I know, just try,” Cid purred. “You’re doing good, love.” The finger curled up inside him, the sudden change in where it was pressing making him cry out and clench. “Hurts,” he panted, hands gripping at the sheets at his side to try and keep still.

“That’s cause you clenched,” Cid said, free hand sliding in long strokes down his leg, over and over again. The finger inside him stilled, holding that curled position that felt so strange. “Feel the muscles that are tight around me, and let them go. I promise it’ll hurt less when you do.”

Slowly he willed his body to relax, accepting the intrusion inside him. And slowly, every so slowly, the pain decreased. When the finger inside him straightened back out again, he sagged back against the mattress from the sheer relief of the pressure.

“So good,” Cid murmured, leaning forward and planting a gentle kiss on his lips again. “You’re a dream to watch. So expressive. It’s wonderful, lad, it does a lot for a partner to know he’s affecting you, even with something as small as one finger.” Another gentle kiss, and then got to work.

It took time, Cid’s finger working oil over every surface inside him. He added more periodically, making sure everything slid and moved easily. Then he added a second finger. That hurt, but thankfully only for a moment. The pressure on his rim was intense, but with the oil he knew it wasn’t near as bad as it could be. Cid pressed in slowly again, starting with just the tips of both fingers and pushing in more and more over time until he was fully in again. It wasn’t easy, but the pressure was starting to do something to Clive. It was uncomfortable, it was difficult, but he started to miss every time Cid’s fingers withdrew to apply more oil. The loss of them left him lacking, and he started to crave that pressure returning, that strange intimacy of something inside him.

“When you’re experienced,” Cid said, his voice rough and raspy for all its gentleness, “and if you find you actually like the stretch, two fingers can be just barely enough. But more makes it easier on you, makes it hurt less when you take the real thing.” The fingertips pressed against his entrance again, and he moaned as the pressure returned, even more than before. “Three fingers minimum, when you can help it.”

The difference between two and three fingers inside him was intense. He felt so full, so stretched already. And this was just to get him ready? His hips shifted up as Cid’s fingers slid in, panting and moaning as those fingers spread out, pressing against his walls and creating a pressure he couldn’t even describe inside him. He felt like his organs were being shifted around, manhandled and pushed aside to make room.

“Like that?” Cid asked, his smirk clear in his voice. Clive couldn’t really form words, he just nodded desperately, letting out another moan as those fingers curled up inside him again. It didn’t hurt this time, it felt good. It felt really, really good. Cid chuckled above him, free hand gripping the meat of his thigh. “Yeah, thought so. Three fingers already has you squirming and singing, fuck you’re going to be a sight on my cock.”

Those wonderful fingers withdrew, and Clive sagged back again, shaking and panting. He wanted more, Founder but that fullness felt good. Please bring those fingers back, that pressure, that motion…

But they didn’t. Cid’s hand came to rest on his other thigh, kneading it. Both hands worked in tandem, massaging his legs, giving them a chance to rest and stop shaking.

“You have options, when it comes to position,” Cid said above him. “On your back and on your hands and knees are the two easiest. Being on your back gets you folded up, it can feel suffocating for some. It’s also hell on your back, you’re gonna ache tomorrow. But it’s more intimate, easier for you to hold on and kiss and bite and such. And easier to hit your prostate. Less energy required from you too, it’s more on your partner at that point.”

“Then there’s hands and knees. Less intimate, more practical. Easier on your hole too, it’s not as likely to tear or injure you. You end up doing more work, but you can control your angle to an extent, and it’s easier to breathe.” One of Cid’s hands came up to intertwine with Clive’s, fingers laced together and giving a reassuring squeeze. “I’m going to guess you’d prefer that one?”

His fervent nods got a laugh out of Cid, and those strong hands helped roll him to his side, positioning him in the center of the bed. His hips were lifted, knees spread slightly, a gentle hand pressing down between his shoulder blades to get him to arch his back. He relaxed into it, the gentle touches against him meshing with his desire to be filled again and his curiosity how this position would feel different. He felt exposed and wanting, bare and comfortable, warm and-

A thickness pressed against his hole, something bigger than even the fingers, and he jumped and clenched up with a small yelp. But those hands came back to him, petting him and relaxing him again. “Shh, gotta relax, love,” Cid said, one hand leaving him again as he lined himself back up. That solidness behind him returned, and he worked to steady his breathing, to relax as he had with the fingers. “Good, good,” Cid purred. “We’re gonna go nice and slow, like before. Bit by bit. The more you can relax into it, or bear down on it if possible, the easier it’s gonna be.” The pressure against his rim grew, almost unbearably so, then it gave, the tip of Cid’s thickness making its way inside him.

He gasped, shaking at the feeling. So much! But it was ok, Cid had stopped there, letting him get accustomed to it. And from his practice with the fingers, he did. Bit by bit he relaxed, allowing Cid to push in just a little more with gentle rocking motions. The fullness inside him grew more and more, this was far beyond what the fingers felt like. But for all that pressure and fullness he felt how good it was beneath that. The craving for being filled with Cid’s fingers extending now to his cock, wanting it farther inside him, filling him to the brim.

Bit by careful bit, he relaxed and allowed Cid inside him, moaning and shaking and working to adjust to each new small addition. And inch by careful inch, Cid pressed in, until after what felt like an hour he was fully seated. Founder, but his organs felt like they were being pushed all around, making room for this oh so welcome intrusion.

“Fuckin’ Greagor,” Cid said behind him, his voice strained. “So damn tight. You feel so good around me, just like I knew you would.” His hips shifted gently, forward and back, not enough to actually slide, just moving them both slowly in a rhythm as they adjusted. “Doin’ alright, love?”

Clive licked dry lips, shaking and panting. “Ye-yes. It feels… fuck it feels good.”

“Gonna feel better once I get going,” Cid replied, hips picking up some speed as he pulled out just a little, thrusting back in and pressing himself deep within Clive.

He cried out at that, he couldn’t help it. It hurt, but in such a good way. He found himself rocking back into Cid, wanting to meet him with every thrust, wanting him somehow deeper despite how it pressed against his stomach. He moaned, and he cried, and it all felt right and good. It felt like this was where he belonged at this moment, held and used by Cid and knowing he’d be cared for.

Cid started fucking into him in earnest, the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room along with his cries. His hands gripped tight into the sheets, fighting to hold himself still, to relieve the pressure in a way that wouldn’t tense his back up. He wanted more, he wanted deeper, he wanted something, something he was missing to make this just that much more.

One of the hands at his hip slid around, wrapping around his cock with a surprising slipperiness. He jerked forward into that sudden sensation, letting out a cry of surprise and need at the contact. He hadn’t even realized he was that hard, all his attention had been directed elsewhere until now. But Cid’s hand felt so good around him, the grip gentle but firm as it stroked him.

“Didn’t even ask,” Cid chided gently between his own labored breaths. “Not even once, for me to touch you.” His firm grip wrapped around Clive’s shaft, his hips thrusting deep into Clive, pushing him into Cid’s waiting hand, fucking them both at once. “I want you to feel good, Clive. Feel it all. Feel someone caring for you the way you deserve. And that means taking care of your needs too, not just my own.”

They rocked together, Cid fucking him into his hand, and Clive’s mind turned off. He didn’t think, he didn’t wonder or debate, he simply moved, backwards and forwards, between the girth of Cid’s dick inside him and his warm hand wrapped around Clive’s own cock, every motion feeling so good in their own unique ways.

He came suddenly, the sensations spiraling up and out of his mouth with a wailing cry as he shuddered, thrusting and spurting into Cid’s waiting hand. Cid held him, feeling the sticky liquid squirting through his fingers, holding Clive tight as he climaxed. It was the most intense feeling he’d ever experienced; he vaguely realized that the silk over his eyes was wet with tears and sweat both now, but he didn’t care. His mind was blank, sated, happy and whited out after the most intense orgasm he’d ever experienced.

Cid’s hand released his flagging erection, pressing instead against his hips as Cid slid out of him. Clive gasped at the loss, but also a newfound sensitivity that made any motion far, far too much for him to handle. When Cid pulled out completely Clive collapsed completely, face pressed into the sheets as he slowly caught his breath. He heard sounds behind him, a return of the wet slapping of flesh, and a minute or so later Cid groaned, low and long, and liquid hit Clive’s back, cooling quickly as it pooled and settled against his skin.

Cid sighed and panted, leaning forward again, hands pressed into the mattress on either side of him as he fought to catch his breath. “A fucking dream,” he managed between breaths, one hand reaching up to grab at Clive’s arm and give him a quick squeeze. “Gimme- gimme a minute to catch my breath and I’ll clean this up, aye?”

Clive gave the barest of nods, lax and tired as he was himself. He didn’t even have the energy to remove the blindfold, let alone roll over into any more comfortable position. He wasn’t honestly sure if there was one; he was more than content to lay like this forever if Cid let him.

But Cid didn’t stay still for long, shifting away from him a few moments later and climbing out of bed. “Need something to wipe you down,” he muttered.

A thought entered Clive’s head, possibly the first since he’d collapsed down in exhaustion, and he let out a weak laugh as he raised a shaking arm to point over to his side of the bed. “Shirt,” he muttered. Cid followed his finger, and he laughed himself when he picked up the come-stained shirt that Clive had used just that morning.

“You sneaky little git,” Cid chided as he used the ruined fabric to wipe at Clive’s body, removing sweat and come both.

“You never said what state you wanted it back in,” Clive replied wearily, blinking to clear his vision once Cid slid the blindfold off him.

“And that’s on me,” Cid agreed with a chuckle. Clive was rolled over, despite his protestations, and Cid used the messed up fabric to wipe down his front, then lifting one of his legs gently to clean at his hole. He winced at the manhandling, and at the pressure against his hole, now swollen and sore. But Cid was gentle, cleaning him up just enough before letting his leg back down.

“It’s itchy when it dries,” Cid said as he worked. “It can be a real mess if they finish inside you, figured I’d save you that for your first time.” He tossed the fabric off to the side, grabbing a blanket and laying back down himself, pulling Clive up close to him. Their position was the same as when he’d woken this morning, Clive’s head on Cid’s chest, Cid’s arm wrapped around his shoulders and holding him close. But where this morning it felt wrong and awkward and weird, now it felt right. Like this was exactly where he needed to be, close to the person he’d just-

“Anything hurt?” Cid asked, and Clive shook his head, burying his face against Cid’s chest. His mind was clearing from the sex-drunk haze it had been in, and he remembered what he was again. What he’d done. And as much as he hadn’t been looking forward to it, it had felt good. It had felt really good, more so than he’d ever expected.

And it might never be this good again.

“Want to talk about it, or would you rather rest?” Cid asked gently, sensing the change in him. He thought about it for a long moment, but really there wasn’t anything to say. 

“Sleep,” he said eventually, and Cid’s warm arms squeezed him gently in reassurance.

“Aye, sleep then.” A soft kiss was planted on the top of his head, and the blankets pulled up just a little bit higher to keep him warm.

He lay there, resting against Cid, relaxed for the first time in who knows how long. It was oddly freeing to have finally crossed that line, to officially become what everyone already thought he was. He was used now, and nothing he could do would change that; not worrying, not crying, nothing. He simply was , and that would never change.

But as he drifted off to sleep a thought crossed his mind, one that gave him a surprising feeling of warmth. He may be a whore, but at least he was Cid’s whore. At least he had given his first time to someone who’d actually cared, and had made it something special. That could never be taken away.

Chapter Text

He woke only when he was gently moved, the warmth beneath him withdrawing and the bed shifting as someone left it. He protested weakly, curling up in search of the heat he suddenly lacked, before the blankets were snugged up around him, a warm hand on his shoulder followed by a soft kiss to his forehead.

“No rest for the wicked,” a deep voice said regretfully, “but for the sweet, sleep and recover. Plenty of water once you wake, aye? I’ll check back in when I can.”

He mumbled out an acknowledgement of the order before falling back into the embrace of sleep.

—-----------------------------------

He woke a second time to a quiet room, sunlight streaming through the window reflecting gentle rainbows as it danced through the mothercrystal on its journey to the room’s walls. He lay there for some time, just watching the light, enjoying the colors as they slowly shifted and moved. A fleeting moment outside of time, before he had to rise and face the day.

But all good moments end, as did this one when he tried to move. Fuck, his back and legs were screaming at him. Harte’s comment about it feeling like when he’d first sat in a saddle was accurate; there were muscles in his body that were sore that he hadn’t even realized he had until this moment. Muscles deep inside his body, tender as if bruised. His ass, the slightest shift of muscle screaming at him that he was puffy and swollen. How anyone could do something like last night every day was beyond him; he was simply in too much pain.

Well, not exactly pain. Sore. Muscles used and tired. It hurt, but in the same way a good workout left you sore the next day. Cid had promised him it wouldn’t hurt, and even now he was right. He was tired, and tender, but he wasn’t hurt.

A knock at the door had him start up, wincing in pain at the sudden motion. Cid had said he’d be back, right? Must be a break between sessions. A second knock followed shortly after; clearly a request for entry, not an announcement.

“Come in,” he called, wondering why Cid would bother.

But it wasn’t Cid who opened the door, it was one of the Waloeder guards. Clive clutched the blankets around him, suddenly very aware of his nudity beneath their bulk. He was vulnerable, exposed and hurt, and now there was an unexpected stranger in the room. His mother’s words about Waloeder brutishness came unbidden to his mind again. Was Cid an outlier, the only kind soul in a sea of heathens? He fought to stay still, to not show the fear that was suddenly coursing through his veins.

But the man gave him no more than a disparaging look before his eyes turned away, shifting to look instead out the window. To look anywhere but at him, like he wasn’t worth even acknowledging. “The Lord Commander said not to let anyone in. But… well, this kid, he’s been rather insistent. Says he’s your brother?” A dart of a glance his direction before averting his gaze again. “I can refuse him; just thought you’d want to be told.”

Brother? Joshua?!

“No!” he yelled, pulling the blankets around him desperately. No, Joshua couldn’t see him like this! “I mean-” It was Joshua. He was here! There was no way Clive could turn him away, not after waiting for him for so long. Not after…

“I’ll… can you show him into the main room?” he asked weakly, hating how pathetic he sounded. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

The guard grunted in acknowledgement, leaving the room as quickly as he’d entered. Clive sat in stunned silence for a moment before clawing his way out of bed, pain be damned. He had to get dressed, had to look presentable, like he hadn’t just… he shook his head, working to clear his mind. No, Joshua was here. His brother; finally. Clive needed to be strong for him, show him that he was safe, that nothing was wrong. Joshua couldn’t see him weak or hurting, that would only scare him. For his brother, he could be a Shield again. He would.

It took him longer than he’d like, his hands were shaking in his hurry, but soon enough he stood before the mirror by the wardrobe, fixing his look as best he could. Plain soldier’s pants, dark and worn, tucked into sturdy boots. A simple linen shirt that, unfortunately, could do nothing to hide the bruising mark on his neck. His wrist was bruised as well from Cid’s grip on him two nights ago, and he didn’t own gloves long enough to attempt to hide that either. At least from the waist down he looked presentable. At least Cid hadn’t seen fit to mark him up more last night. His eye was drawn to the ear cuff, glimmering and new again to his mind after so long without it. Did Joshua still wear his? Was he even allowed?

He didn’t even hesitate when he got to the door. His brother! He pushed it open, striding into the sitting room as if each step wasn’t markedly painful. “Joshu-”

Blond hair turned to greet him. Light blond, lacking any hint of red. Brown eyes, soft as a doe’s, looked up at him with worry. Brown, not blue. Same age as his brother, same height, but the boy who stood before him was not Joshua.

“Your Highness,” he corrected after a pause, shifting to go down on one knee in a bow, lowering his head to hide the wince of pain that action brought. And to hide his reaction, the disappointment. It wasn’t Joshua. Of course it wouldn’t be. He may have finally sold his body, but he wouldn’t be rewarded simply for that. If he were, his mother would have let him see his brother days ago.

“Clive!” Dion greeted, relief plain in his voice. He came over, arms wrapping around Clive’s neck in a hug, startling him with the fierceness of it. He hesitantly reached forward, one arm around the young prince’s back, holding on and holding him close. Dion… thinking about it, they were brothers now, weren’t they? A brother had come to see him, just not the one he’d expected.

“I didn’t know,” Dion said, face buried against his shoulder. “No one told me, I thought there had been no survivors. It felt like I was seeing a ghost when I spotted you with him yesterday.”

He fought the tears that pricked at his eyes, holding his newest brother close. It wasn’t Joshua, but they were a strange form of family nonetheless. And like Joshua, he could sense the fragility there, the child who just wanted reassurance. Clive was a big brother, a Shield. He could provide that for the young boy, if nothing else.

“It’s fine,” he said gently, “I’m fine. Mother asked me to join the Army when we came here, is all. It keeps me very busy.”

“You’re not fine,” Dion argued, pulling back so he could touch gingerly at Clive’s bruised neck. “I saw it when you were walking with him. You’re hurt. You didn’t get this in the army.”

Cid’s arm, wrapped around his shoulders. Possessive. Claiming. Marking him as protected, as owned, for all to see. Including Dion. The quiet vehemence in Dion’s voice when he said ‘him’ made it clear what he thought of the Waloeder Lord Commander. He had probably been taught just how Clive had, that they were barbarians. Heathens. Animals best put down for the good of the Twins.

He wrapped Dion’s hand up in his, turning his head to hide the mark as he pulled Dion’s hand away. “It’s not what you think,” he said quietly.

“I heard the servants talking,” Dion replied softly, gaze dropping to the floor. “I… I know why you’re staying here.” He glanced up toward the door to the bedroom before his eyes darted away, trying to look anywhere but there.

Clive felt a pit forming in his soul at that look; at the pity he saw in those far too young eyes. Eyes that were so like Joshua’s, yet would never be.

“I’m ok, really,” he said, pulling away and rising unsteadily to his feet. Can’t show the pain, can’t scare him. Don’t make him worry. He surreptitiously moved his bruised wrist behind him, putting on as calm and relaxed a face as he could manage. “I’ve simply been loaned to the Lord Commander as his manservant while he’s here, nothing more. The throne’s hospitality to its guests is legendary, after all, and someone so important needs servants who know the local customs.” He reached out and touched Dion’s chin, lifting his face up to look at him. Clive gave his best smile. “What a show of respect, for that servant to be noble born, hm?”

Dion longed to believe him, he could see it wavering in the young prince’s eyes. Hope, and a desire to feel like the world was just a little bit brighter than it really was. Clive reached up and touched lightly at his bruised neck, happy to feel that the ache of it was dulling. “This was a result of a failed block in sword training, nothing more. The Lord Commander was worried as well, you likely saw him speaking to mother about it yesterday.”

“If you’re sure,” Dion murmured, and Clive nodded encouragingly.

“I promise, the Lord Commander has treated me with nothing but respect and kindness.” And that was true, truer than he’d ever expected just a few short days ago. “Cid isn’t like you’ve been taught. He can be brash, and blunt, but beneath that he’s really kind and caring.”

“I’ve seen him before, as Ramuh,” Dion said, a small grimace on his angelic features. “He’s scary, Clive. I don’t trust him.”

“Then trust me,” Clive said, squeezing his hand gently. “Trust your big brother. I wouldn’t lie to you. He’s not a danger to you or me, I promise. He cares.”

“Ok.” Dion nodded, accepting Clive’s answer. He thought for a moment. “Once they leave, will you go back to the army?”

“Yes,” Clive said with a thready laugh. “I wish I could stay, but you know she wouldn’t like that.” No reason to go into more detail than that. Dion may be a child still, but he had spent the last year with Empress Anabella. Even Joshua could read the political atmosphere of their home more than a year ago. Dion was just as capable, and would know why Clive wouldn’t be welcome.

“I’ll be put in charge of the army, eventually,” Dion said, pulling his hand gently from Clive’s. “Father said so. Bahamut must lead the soldiers from the front.” He said those words as if repeating what he’d heard dozens of times, the same as Clive and Joshua had had their duties drilled into them when they were young. Dion looked up at him then with fierce, bright eyes. Eyes that wanted to fix the future. “Will you be my shield, when I do?”

Dion had to know what that meant, had to know what a Rosarian Shield was. Had to know what Clive’s role to Joshua would have been, if the Night of Flames had never happened. The room spun about him, the floor beneath his feet feeling like quicksand as he stood there, looking down at the young boy. At a brother, asking him for his care and protection.

“I would be honored,” Clive intoned, falling back down to his knees before the prince, head bowed. He hardly registered the pain, how his body protested the motion. Hardly registered the small hand that rested against his head for a moment, the words of affirmation said before Dion took his leave. He barely even registered the door opening and shutting, leaving him once again alone in the sitting room. Alone in the room of a foreign general, aching and tired. Alone, watching another brother looking up to him for protection, for connection, and knowing he’d never be able to provide it. Alone, used and damaged, not fit to serve.

The tears that had threatened spilled out then, in that quiet. Tears of thanks that he had held it in for so long, that Dion hadn’t seen. Tears of sadness that he had had to lie to the young prince, and tears of pain that his life had come to this. And tears of loss, of disappointment that it hadn’t been Joshua standing before him. It never could have been, he realized that now; his mother would never let her favorite son come to the quarters of the enemy, no matter the reason. He just had to try harder, had to get something for her. That brief bit of hope at seeing his brother again had crystalized his resolve. It didn’t matter how good Cid was to him, his goal was Joshua. He would do anything, say anything, to get back to his real brother.

Chapter Text

He found his feet eventually, sitting gingerly on the settee as he regained his sense of the world. The guards hadn’t come back in, despite how he was sure his cries had carried through the door into the hall. He wasn’t sure if they were ignoring him out of kindness or disinterest, but it didn’t matter. He wasn’t friends with Waloed, he was simply here on a mission. And it was time to do his duty.

He stood again carefully, working methodically through the two rooms, searching for anything of Cid’s. Any notes, any missives, anything in writing he could use. There had to be something. A King wouldn’t send an emissary with only an entourage and the clothes on his back, he’d have instructions, or personal correspondence, or something. Anything.

But there was none, at least not that he could find. He’d never seen Cid write in anything, never seen him take notes or read a book, there was nothing to pin him down on paper. There was nothing Clive could use.

So he thought instead through Cid’s words, his actions. If that was all he had to go on, that would have to do. He left the rooms, giving a small nod to the guards stationed at the door as he exited. Neither of them followed him, clearly Ci- the Lord Commander had instructed them to protect the room, not its occupant. That was good, he wasn’t sure he could move quickly enough to lose a tail anyways, and he had an appointment to keep. No reason to fake a limp today, at least. It came about quite naturally on its own.

He thought, as he walked. What could Cid’s actual motives be for these peace talks? His mother certainly thought he had malicious intentions, and she would know best on that front. He said he was genuine, but Clive pushed that thought aside. If that really was true, his mother wouldn’t have wasted her time on this endeavor. There had to be something, something for him to find, to give to her. Something that would fulfill his part of the deal.

But nothing came to him. Cid was calculating, but everything he’d said led Clive to believe he really was sent here honestly. If there were ulterior motives, he certainly hadn’t let that information slip in front of Clive. But his mother wouldn’t accept that. Would he have to make something up to satisfy her? He hated it, but he knew he would in a heartbeat if it got him to Joshua’s side. But what kind of lie would work?

Cid was scouting their defenses? Easy enough, possibly even true, but she’d likely have thought of that already. He remembered the subdued anger in Cid’s voice when referencing the Empress. Maybe he could say Cid was after her life? That might actually be true as well, just not for the reason she’d assume. But that felt wrong to say, too… boastful. Cid would want her dead because of how she treated him, not because she was the Empress. He’d never be able to play that off.

Maybe Cid wanted to defect?

He sat down gingerly on the bench at their assigned meeting spot, letting that idea swirl around in his head, indulging just for the moment in the fantasy. Cid defecting, coming to Sanbreque, staying with him. Clive wouldn’t have to choose then, he could get everything; his brother and his… well, it’s not like he and Cid were really anything, were they? Yes they’d had sex, but only because Clive had basically coerced him into it. “I thought you, at least, would be gentle.”   He was horrible, using Cid’s kinder nature against him like that. But that wasn’t a basis for anything, at least not anything good. It didn’t make Clive special to the Waloeder general, it didn’t make them close. They were just two people who’d come together to make the best of a bad situation and get some relief, but that was all they were. And that was all they could be. For it to be anything else would jeopardize his chance to see Joshua.

A sharp noise beside him had him start awake, looking about him quickly. The sun had shifted, the light streaming through the windows much less angled than it had been when he’d closed his eyes. Shit, he must fallen asleep. He also saw his mother, standing above him with a perturbed expression.

“Good morning,” she mocked, hands clasped before her. “Did you not sleep well? Should we postpone your report for when you feel up to being awake again?”

“Sorry, sorry,” he murmured, hurriedly standing. Or at least, as quickly as he could, with his back and tailbone aching. But stand he did, giving her a stiff bow and gesturing for her to have the seat if she wished.

“Of course you are,” she said, back to a less mocking if no less cruel tone. “You best have something for me today. That damn Waloeder is more silver-tongued than he let on, trapped with him the council of cardinals are almost useless.” Her lips twisted into a grimace. “If you can’t, then this waste of time is at an end.”

Her threat didn’t surprise him. It barely even phased him. He knew this was his last chance, long before the words left her mouth. He thought through all the ideas he’d cooked up on the way here, all the lies and half truths. His mouth opened to speak them, to lie to save himself, but he found the words wouldn’t come. All he saw was Cid’s gentle smile, all he felt were warm, strong hands petting him, holding him close. He couldn’t lie, not about him. He couldn’t betray the last good thing in his life.

“There isn’t anything,” Clive said eventually, feeling a pit form in his stomach as he watched his last hope slip away. “As far as I can tell, he really is just here to broker peace. He’s honest, he’s not cruel, he doesn’t have any ulterior motives that I can find. He just wants to do the job he was sent for and return home.”

“I highly doubt that,” his mother sneered, dismissing his assessment with a shake of her head. “Why else would they have sent a Dominant if not as a prelude for attack? He’s not said anything about soldiers, or asking for maps of the keep? Nothing?!” She turned on him, her eyes cold. “Or is he perhaps here as a thief? I heard the prince came and visited you earlier. Were you told to call for him? Is that the plan?” Her eyes sparkled with triumph at some perceived revelation. “Does he intend to capture Bahamut and leave us defenseless?”

Clive stared at her, at the manic look in her eyes, the pit inside him growing inch by inch. He… he honestly wasn’t sure if she was sad at the idea of Dion being taken. Scared, surely, but not for the loss of her son but his Eikon. What in the world? And they wouldn’t be defenseless. She’d had to have misspoken. Because..

“I thought there had been no survivors.” Dion’s innocent comment echoed in his head.

“What about Joshua?” he asked quietly.

“Hm?”

“What about Joshua?” he repeated, louder, surprising himself with the heat in his voice. “You said you’d be defenseless, but don’t you have the Phoenix?” The pit was a chasm now, bottomless and vast, but it couldn’t be stopped now. Because the look in his mothers eyes was an answer all on its own. For that one moment, she had forgotten about him. Joshua, her favorite son. The brother he had put up with so much for just a chance to see again. She’d forgotten all about him when she’d spoken.

“Where is my brother?!”

A second that lasted an eternity, a stunned silence where he watched the look in her eyes switch from surprise to anger to derision.

“Such a simple boy, how I could have birthed someone so gullible as you is beyond even the gods’ understanding.” She stood up straighter, staring him down. “He’s where you should have been, brat. Dead at Phoenix Gate, like your father.”

The bottomless void beneath his feet swallowed him whole, and the world before him vanished in a sea of flames.

—----------------------------------------------

A rumble shook the castle, a roar that echoed through its halls, deafening and primal. Cid and his retenue were up in the blink of an eye, following the Emperor and his guards as they ushered his royal highness to safety. The building was quaking, stones falling from the ceiling, and so out into the nearest courtyard they raced, all eyes scanning behind them to find the danger before it found them.

It wasn’t hard to spot, as big as it was. Not the size of Odin, surely, but a rival to Ramuh or Garuda at the very least. A hellish monstrosity of molten rock and flame, black and red and angry. Some cross between a lizard and a dog, a hellhound. The beast screamed, spiked tail lashing behind it as it struck at the walls of the castle, intent on destroying everything before it. It was an Eikon. The rumored second Eikon of Fire, here in the flesh.

A second primordial scream came from somewhere above him, followed quickly by the sound of massive wings whooshing overhead. The hellhound’s head turned up at the noise, huge black horns scything through the air as he looked for the source. He didn’t have to wait long, Bahamut wouldn’t stand for anyone destroying his home. The silvery sky leviathan barreled down, spinning and striking into the flame Eikon with his whiplike tail and sending him flying away from the main keep, crashing into city buildings many blocks away with a roar of pain. Bahamut sailed effortlessly back up into the sky, circling back and scanning the grounds around the keep intently.

Scanning for the Emperor.

Cid semi-primed in an instant, the lightning dancing across his skin drawing the Light Eikon’s eyes straight to him. It was a dangerous move, Bahamut surely would consider him a threat right now, but like this they could communicate.

“The Emperor is here!” he shouted, both out loud and mentally, the echo of his voice reaching Bahamut’s ears even so far away because of their shared Dominant connection. “Here, and safe. Waloed is not responsible for this!”

“So you say,” came the hiss of response in his mind, the distrust of him clear in the Dominant’s voice. “You’re lucky I can see the truth of your words with my own eyes. But that beast is Clive. I recognize his voice screaming in there.” A pause, the pressure of anger from the flying behemoth almost louder than his words. “What did you do to him?”

Clive? The young Rosfield boy was the second Eikon? The one that had attacked Phoenix Gate? He blanched. The one that had killed the Phoenix, by all accounts. And Prince Dion thought he’d set the monster off again.

“I did nothing!” he yelled up into the void, keeping his mouth firmly closed now so Sylvestre and his coterie wouldn’t hear. “It’s been hours since I saw him.” His eyes scanned his surroundings, mapping out the pathways of the keep despite the rubble raining down. “What was he doing on that side of the keep? My rooms are on the other side.”

Bahamut looked around again, head moving frantically, but when he spoke it was with a solemn dread. “Is the Empress with my father?”

No, no she wasn’t.

“Fuck me,” Cid breathed, turning to his men. “Ensure the Emperor gets to safety, then regroup back at the ship.” And with no more orders for them than that he turned and ran, racing toward where the Flame Eikon had crashed. Their diplomatic mission was done here; if the Empress had been attacked they’d be blamed for it. Best to retreat while it was still an option.

“How did this happen?” he asked as he ran, thoughts spinning. “Did he attack her?”

“If only I knew,” Dion replied, circling overhead. “I can’t see her. But I’m more worried about him right now. He’s not coherent, the Eikon’s the one in control.”

“Fuck.”

A roar shook the earth beneath him, his momentum the only thing that allowed him to keep his footing as he continued forward. Semi-primed as he was he could hear the scream behind the roar now, a heartbreaking cry buried beneath the rage of the beast he inhabited. One name screamed loudly, and with such a deep feeling of loss. “Joshua!” Clive may not be the one in control, but he was aware. He knew what he was now.

He knew what he’d done a year ago.

“Oh, Clive,” Cid thought to himself, pity welling up for the poor lad. “Life refuses to be kind to you, doesn’t it?”

“I can help,” he sent up to Bahamut, watching as the great fiery creature rose back to its feet from the rubble of the buildings.

“No,” came the reply instantly, sharp and bitter. “Prime and I’ll kill you. As he is, he's just a wild beast. I can take care of it.”

“Don’t hurt him!” The words escaped his lips before they even reached his brain, but he didn’t care. Clive didn’t deserve this.

Bahamut roared, his own cry full of pain and sadness as he arched down, smashing headlong into the Flame Eikon, sending up a cloud of dust at the impact. The twin roars cut out at the same time, the silence deafening for the split second until the sounds of aether impacts took their place. Bahamut’s flares, fired at close range. And screams of rage and pain from Clive.

His feet couldn’t move fast enough.

When he arrived at the scene of the rampage, the fight was already over. Bahamut’s great bulk towered over him, weight resting on his enormous great wings that blocked out the sun with their size. And in its massive shadow, half buried in rubble lay a lone, pale figure coated in dust and debris. Cid was at the lad’s side in a flash, Bahamut’s threats be damned, hands grabbing and checking for a pulse as quickly as he could. It was weak, but there; thank fucking Greagor. He held the poor boy close to him, cradling him as the relief washed through him. Clive was alive.

“You really do care,” Dion’s voice echoed quietly in his head, the heat of his anger gone, and Cid looked up at the great three-eyed Eikon who’s eyes were fixed upon him.

“I do,” he said, turning back to the boy in his arms. “He deserved better than this shitty hand he was dealt.”

Bahamut’s head lowered, focusing in on him as he knelt there, gaze piercing into him. “Swear to me,” Dion growled. “Swear you didn’t cause this.”

“I swear,” he replied without a beat of hesitation. “I swear on any damn thing you please, I did not do this.” He wiped some hair out of Clive’s face with a gentle finger. “I could never.”

A heavy silence lingered between them before an even quieter echo sounded. “Then take him. Take him and run.”

“What?”

“If he attacked the Empress, his life will be forfeit. They might not kill him, not since he has an Eikon, but he’ll wish he were dead. It was bad enough they threw him into the army as a regular soldier, but now… ” Bahamut lifted his massive head to look back at the keep behind him. “I’ll tell them I had to kill him to make him stop, that his body couldn’t be found.” He turned back to Cid. “Please. Save him.”

He looked up at that great beast, in all respects his sworn enemy again. The peace talks were over, even if that bitch of a woman wasn’t dead there was no way the Emperor would be willing to talk peace, not now that a new Eikon was on the board. But they shared something now, he and the young prince. They both cared for Clive in their own ways. And Dion was doing all he could, with his hands tied as they were. This was the only thing he could do to help.

“Fly strong,” Cid said with a small bow of his head.

“Keep him safe,” Dion replied - an order more than a request - a slow blink of his eyes its own acknowledgement.

“This I swear,” Cid returned solemnly. And then with a mighty flash of levin, he vanished. Before Bahamut now was just a bare patch of dirt and rubble, the streaks of lightning-burnt ground quickly covered by dust carried on the breeze.

—-------------------------------------

Clive awoke slowly, feeling nauseous, as if the world was shifting beneath him. He was in a dark room, darker than he’d been in in a while. Where was the glow of the mothercrystal? He tried to sit up, but only managed the slightest rise before his nausea was joined by a headache and he collapsed back onto the bed. He closed his eyes, pressing his hand against his forehead to stem the pain.

“He wakes,” a voice said nearby, one he thankfully recognized. Cid. He couldn’t help the small smile that graced his lips despite how poorly he felt.

“Where are we?” he asked instead. “I don’t remember…”

“Ah,” Cid replied, coming into view and sitting on the edge of the bed next to him. “You probably will, given time. You gave everyone quite a scare there, lad.” He laid a strong, caring hand on Clive’s shoulder, letting out a small sigh. “Where to start?” he muttered under his breath.

“Where?” Clive repeated, to which Cid nodded.

“You’re on my ship, heading across the Narrows. In my bed, though don’t think too much into that last part. There wasn’t a better place to house you.”

“Ship? What?!” Clive tried to sit up again, but Cid’s firm hand kept him down. Suddenly the feeling of the world shifting beneath him made much more sense.

“Call it an exile, if you like. I prefer the term jailbreak.” Cid smiled down at him. “You’re coming home with me, lad.”

“What do you mean?!” He cried, flailing his arms to get free of the weight against him. Cid backed away, releasing him and giving him a chance to sit up and find his bearings. He was in a ship’s cabin, a relatively spacious one as far as bunks went. There was a porthole on one wall, darkened with the night sky outside. The only light in the room was a small lantern glowing in the corner. Suddenly he felt claustrophobic, the sensation of being trapped in this room too much.

But then Cid was back, kneeling down by the side of the bed, placing a hand lightly on his leg. “Breathe, Clive. Breathe, it’s ok. You’re ok.”

“I have to go back,” Clive murmured, looking toward the window. “I have to see Jos-”

Dead at Phoenix Gate, like your father.

Memories came flooding back to him and he shook, crying as the knowledge sank back in. It had all been a lie. Joshua was gone, dead by his own hand. He was a monster, and a fool. He’d given so much of himself following a lie, one even Cid had seen through almost immediately. But no, gullible, trusting Clive; he was played and used like he’d always been. He’d whored himself out for what? For a brother he’d killed, forgetting even the memory of the event in his shame of what he did. The one person who’d even attempted to be kind to him since he’d tried to sell out, had almost lied about to get what he wanted. He was worthless, it was no wonder his mother hated him. Had used him.

Warm arms wrapped around him, holding him tight. He curled up in their embrace, weeping ugly tears.

“Shh, shh, yes, I know. It’s a lot to take in,” that deep voice said, the rumble of his words through his chest a soothing presence against Clive’s ear. “You’ll have plenty of time to come to terms with it in Waloed. You’ll be free there.” Those arms held him just a little bit tighter. “I’ll not make you fight, or lie to you, or do what she did. You’ll get to live your own life for once.”

“I killed him,” Clive whimpered, clutching onto Cid’s shirt. “I tried to kill her.” He remembered the fleeting glimpse of his mother running down the hall, turning the corner just before his view was engulfed in red fire. “I don’t deserve kindness. I’m dangerous. I’m a monster.”

“You may have done those things,” the older man said, voice pained, “but that doesn’t make you a monster.” He pet Clive’s hair, soothing him. “A monster wouldn’t cry about what it did.”

They sat like that for a while, Cid comforting Clive in silence while the tears flowed. It hurt, to know he’d been the one to hurt Joshua. It ached, to realize how he’d been used by his mother, dangled a carrot that she didn’t even possess to get him to do what he’d never have done.

“She lied to me,” he said, voice small. “Even you realized it, but I didn’t… I couldn’t. She never had Joshua.”

“You believed what you needed to believe,” Cid said firmly, holding him close. “If you’d gone into that slavery knowing what had really happened… well, you’re sacrificial enough even when you thought he hadn’t died. There’s no telling if you’d still be here today.”

“Here…” Clive repeated, glancing up to look around at the dim cabin. “Why am I here?”

Cid sighed. “It was the prince’s idea, though he had the right of it. There was no way I’d leave you to the mercy of Sanbreque, not after what happened.”

“They’ll kill you,” Clive said miserably. “You took an Eikon from them.”

Cid laughed. “They can try.” He pulled back enough to raise Clive’s chin up, making Clive look at him. His smile was soft, warm. Determined. “I didn’t take an Eikon, Clive. I rescued a captive. The war may resume, but you won’t be a pawn in it anymore.” He leaned forward and pressed his forehead into Clive’s. “You can go wherever you want, once we land,” he said quietly, “whether it be the keep at Stonhyrr or disappearing to a small village in the middle of nowhere. I’ll not use you; not for your Eikon, your knowledge, nothing. You can live whatever life you desire.”

Clive’s hands clenched at the fabric of Cid’s shirt. “You can’t promise that. Your King-”

“You leave Barnabas to me,” Cid said, and the steel in his voice was surprising. He sighed, softening his tone as he pulled back. “I’ve promised you freedom, and I will see it through. No one, not even King Tharmr, will have you unless you wish it. If that means you flee the moment we land, I accept that. If you don’t trust yourself with the power you have, we can figure something out. But you won’t be used, never again. I just want you to have the chance to find your own life, your own reason to keep going.” He let out a soft chuckle, though one that sounded forced. “Maybe you can find that right person for you after all, eh?”

“I’d rather stay with you,” Clive whispered, eyes shut tight. “I… I gave you everything. I can’t lose you too, after all this.”

“Oh, love,” Cid held him tight. “If you really want to stay around, I won’t refuse you. But what we were?” He shook his head. “That wasn’t real, and you know it. You did what you had to do, and we made the best of it. But I told you: I want my partners willing. And you weren’t, not really. Just because I wasn’t the one coercing you doesn’t mean you weren’t forced into that situation.” He kissed the top of Clive’s head again. “I’ll not let you trap yourself at my side just because I was your first.”

Trapped. Held where he didn’t want to be, forced to do what he didn’t want to do, by those who didn’t care about him. “I wouldn’t be trapped,” he replied. “I’d be where I want to be. We don’t have to…” he took a deep breath. “We don’t have to do anything, but let me stay. You want me to learn my own wants, find my own way?” He pulled back, looking deep into Cid’s eyes. “I want to get to know you. Who you are, what you like, what you don’t. I want to learn from you, learn how to control this.” He looked down at his own hands, clenching them as he remembered his claws wreathed in fire. “But most of all I want to learn if we have something, if I made the right choice in trusting you.”

Cid looked back at him, not blinking, not shying away. Treating him like something, someone worth taking seriously. “And if you don’t like the answers you see?” he asked quietly.

Clive nodded, gaze dropping. “Then I’ll know. But I’ll have learned that, and learned from it.” He looked back up. “The only thing I don’t want is for us to be strangers. Be my teacher, my friend… be my lover if that’s what comes, but please don’t push me away.”

Cid smiled then, hand coming up to grasp him firmly by his shoulder. A touch of camaraderie, of acceptance. Whatever they would be, they’d find that out together over time. “Aye, lad, I think that’ll suit just fine.”