Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Joshua, where are you?” Clive asked tightly. Too tightly— his voice was too soft for the recipient to hear over the booming backtrack of music and loud voices, and the even louder laughter. 

“Oh, brother,” Joshua laughed, almost giggled, a breathy sound. Clive could almost feel it, brushing against the shell of his ear. He’d held his drunken or drugged brother up enough times, and led him to bed— and Joshua, unremorseful, almost tickled— and just an inch or two taller than him these days, would lean over, lips against his ear, and taunt him… 

The smell of his breath, all manner of fruity flavors mixed up, such an odd clash with his regular scent: soft and spicy, like church incense. 

“I’m serious,” Clive warned.

“I’m sure you are,” Joshua teased him. “And I’m sure… you already know where I am. Will you come and collect me, dear brother?”

“Joshua—”

“Only if you’re not going to ruin my fun this time,” Joshua warned, his voice suddenly crabby. “If that’s all you’re serious about, then leave me be. I am safe here, with Dion, and I’ll be home tomorrow. Or Sunday, at the latest.”

“Jos—”

“Good night, brother,” he finished cheerfully, and hung up.

Clive stood there quietly for a moment, in the dark kitchenette of the home he shared with Cid. Only a twenty minute drive from the sparkling world Joshua was currently lost in, as he often was lost. 

When Joshua ‘first’ started going off the rails, he’d been remorseful, apologetic. He’d gone to rehab, voluntarily… twice. Jote had nearly flung herself from the nearest building, finding herself lacking… 

Jote came from a long line of people who had historically ‘served’ the Rosfields. Regardless of how far gone that history was, and how the modern-day reality was much less gold-gilded, she’d still conducted herself accordingly since they were children. 

Innocent children, racing around their family home. The family estate, to be precise.

Clive hadn’t been home since Father died– Well, not until recently. Not since their mother had subsequently died. He continuously begged Joshua to leave the place behind after Mother killed herself within its walls, but to no avail. 

Joshua first started going off the rails when Mother passed away, just a couple short years ago. At least, that was the story he told. Clive had trusted him once, and continued to love him completely— but he was a teller of stories. 

Even thinking such a thing to himself filled him with a silent and overwhelming guilt, but it was the ‘bloody truth,’ as Cid put it.

Two years ago, Joshua had just finished at his prestigious boy’s school, and had decided to take a scholarship to an ‘inferior’ school for an ‘inferior’ path of study— those were Mother’s words, who killed herself shortly after a tantrum where she was to be found clutching Joshua’s acceptance letter to a more prestigious college, tears rolling down her cheeks as if this was a scheme, a personal betrayal. 

And maybe she saw it that way. Clive had been her first disappointment— she hadn’t hesitated a moment before shipping him off to an alternative school and pressing him to join the army after graduation. And Olivier had died suddenly in Joshua’s final year at secondary school, while Clive was deployed. 

She was crazy, Clive knew. And he would no longer apologize for thinking it. But it hit Joshua hard. He found fault with himself for failing her. 

So maybe that’s when he started using; started partying. With Dion, his step-brother, who probably felt vindicated about it all in secret, even though it tormented him to feel anything less-than-noble. With Dion, who had faced cruelty from his father, who had endured Annabella whispering in his father’s ear about Dion’s ‘bad breeding’ presenting in his same-sex preferences.

They both had reason to party. To enjoy lavish parties. But that didn’t mean Clive had to like it, nor that he had to sit by and watch… 

“Fine,” Clive said to himself– to the darkness creeping into every corner of the room with the late hour. It was quieter than usual, as Cid had taken Torgal with him on some errand. Clive stomped into their bedroom to collect his jacket and car keys. “I will come to collect you, Joshua.”

x

Dion’s home was even grander than the Rosfields’, and his father was often away on business. Even when he wasn’t on business, he tended to stay away from home– was it his distaste for Dion? Or was he still mourning Annabella and Olivier? It was difficult to say. 

Either way, Dion had claimed his rightful place. His ‘Dragoons’ filled the courtyard and the ballroom, and every room besides, along with their companions, and handfuls of his fellow students from the University of Oriflamme. Warm light spilled from windows across the marbled face of the house, paired with bubbling laughter, squeaks and squeals, the sound of glass shattering in the kitchen… 

The earth vibrated from the volume of music. 

Chuckling, Joshua removed his mobile from his ear, and dropped it with half-numb fingers into his lap. “That was my brother,” he said cheerfully, giving their swing chair a little push with his long legs. It gave a tiny squeak as they swung forward, surrounded by the scent of roses in the twilight. “I expect he’ll arrive shortly…”

Dion snorted. “Then I’d best make myself scarce,” he answered, taking a generous drink from his glass. Joshua’s hand darted over, looping around his arm to hold him there. 

“Don’t be silly,” he breathed. A heavy, anticipatory pause weighted the air between them, and then Joshua shifted. They’d previously been hip-to-hip, two lost little rich boys, but now Joshua straddled his lap. The swing chair trembled precariously for a moment, and then settled beneath the new distribution of weight. 

Joshua hovered above Dion, looping thin arms around Dion’s broad shoulders. His eyes, half-lidded, blue as the ocean, held Dion’s, the color of beach sand. 

“We shouldn’t,” Dion protested, even though his hands were already wrapped around Joshua’s small waist. Joshua had considered before that he might have a ‘brother’s complex,’ for he’d never had feelings similar to those he had for Dion, let alone Clive. But if he did, he didn’t care. 

For Dion, who was a deep romantic, his mantra had always been ‘love is blind.’ Plus, they weren’t ‘real brothers.’ Dion only ever kissed him when he was pining over Terence. Which suited Joshua just fine, for he only ever kissed Dion when he wanted Clive’s attention. 

The distance between their faces shrank, and then disappeared. Joshua’s lips, tangy with flavored vodka, touched Dion’s. His eyelids fluttered shut as he settled into their cocoon of warmth amidst the night’s chill.

One kiss melted into another, and then another. His fingertips tangled in Dion’s flaxen hair, and before long their tongues slid together in time with their bodies, swaying to and fro like the tide. 

Joshua felt his skin abuzz with sensations, a feeling he craved– he craved this sense of aliveness . His leggings chafed his skin, even though the fabric had been buttery-soft when he’d first slid them on, and they didn’t hide his swiftly plumping flesh by any stretch. 

He and Dion had been in this situation many times before– they’d gone through adolescence together, after all. They’d grown up under the same roof, where they both discovered that in more ways than one, they weren’t like most boys… 

“Dion,” he choked, moaning when Dion cradled the front of his pants, feeling him. He shivered, burrowing closer, rolling his hips into that grip. It felt like an eternity passed before a new voice interrupted them:

“That’s enough.” Sternly. 

Joshua would know that stern voice anywhere. It almost made him finish on the spot, right into the circle of Dion’s hand, which had snuck into the front of his trousers at some point. 

He barely had time to react before he was being bodily removed from Dion’s embrace. He saw a territorial look flit across Dion’s face– as if he’d challenge Clive Rosfield for his brother! The thought gave him a shiver– how coveted he was!

But the tension drained from Dion’s body as abruptly as it started, and he dropped his hand away. 

“My apologies,” Dion said lightly, and tossed Joshua a wink. Joshua couldn’t even dream of reciprocating in the instant that he was spirited away, the scenery swirling so quickly that he almost vomited from the upswell of alcohol and substances lancing through his body. 

“No– Clive– Put me down!” Joshua protested, squirming and thrashing suddenly. 

“No, we’re–”

“Don’t tell me what to do!” Joshua snapped, so loudly that a few hazy-eyed party-goers loitering on the back porch sent them concerned looks. 

“Joshua–” 

“ Now , brother,” Joshua snarled. Clive dropped him so abruptly that he almost crumpled when his feet hit the ground. He swayed unsteadily, the world swimming around him. He was still uncomfortably hard in his trousers, and for one sloshing moment, could only hope that Dion had thought to tuck him back in. 

“Fuck…” he muttered, reaching out to steady himself on the wall. They’d stumbled into the sprawling sunroom now. At one end, a pair undulated in a posh, pod-shaped chair, but other than that, they were alone. One more, very thin door separated them from the din of noise within. With pupils bloated with cocaine, Joshua managed a pout. “You don’t need to be so rough…”

“I’m tired of this game, Joshua,” Clive said tersely, herding Joshua into a dark corner. Even though he was technically a mite shorter, he cut a much more intimidating figure. Joshua was hopelessly attracted to him. Except– he would not tolerate his wishes being disregarded.

“Then why did you come?” Joshua fired back, crossing his arms with some difficulty. How did arms even manage to cross? It didn’t seem possible! “I told you I didn’t want you spoiling my fun.”

“Then why did I come back from the Iron Kingdom?” Clive snapped. His eyes burnt with anger, fury like hot coals. Joshua tipped his chin up. In his heart of hearts, he wondered, if he pushed Clive hard enough, would Clive give in…? Finally?

“Because you belong here.” It caught up with Joshua just how uncharitable Clive’s remark had been, and he managed a shaky glare. “You ought to have come home sooner . But that doesn’t mean I want you babysitting me.”

“You clearly need a babysitter,” Clive answered. His unkempt, dark hair fell into his eyes, his face brutally scarred– they’d had enough money at the time to have it as good as erased by the best plastic surgeons available, but of course Annabella had wanted him to carry it forever. He was sometimes self-conscious about it, even to this day, but Joshua thought he was the most handsome man alive, and his rugged scar didn’t detract from that. 

“Wrong,” Joshua breathed, making to dodge around his brother– but he was no match for Clive even when he was sober, so it was no surprise when his back bumped right back up against the wall, and he found himself bracketed in-between Clive’s arms. 

“I’m not ready to go home,” Joshua protested plaintively, seeking understanding in the depths of Clive’s eyes. But there was none to be found. 

“You can spend the night with me and Cid,” Clive offered, as if he was offering to buy a child a candy if only they’d leave the store quietly. It made Joshua furious . 

“No!” He barked, the flames of combativeness alighting within. “Founder, that’s even worse. To have two mother hens clucking over me!” 

He once again tried to push past, and was once again shoved backwards with an ‘ooph.’ With skin as soft as his, a bruise would definitely bloom between his shoulder blades by morning. He summoned a glare. 

His stupid brother with his stupidly battle-ready physique. It affected him even moreso than usual, as he still burned from Dion’s earlier touches. 

How many times had he seen Clive nude, or nude but for a towel around his hips, droplets of water clinging to freshly washed hair, making a sheen across his burgeoning bust and six-pack? Joshua had always pretended to be innocent and uninterested, but those moments had fueled many a fantasy– especially in the two years since he and Clive had been reunited. 

He liked to imagine latching onto the peach-colored needle-pricks of Clive’s pinched nipples, dotted with dewdrops from the shower, like tiny morning buds. Clive– if only he would let his misguided, precious sensitivities go – would allow Joshua to do anything to him, Joshua just knew it. 

Joshua would knead his tits and rub against his stomach until Clive, his dignified older brother , was squirming with need, and then he’d roll over, drawing Clive on top of him, between his splayed legs. He ached for Clive’s cock to breach him… 

“Perhaps if you didn’t act like a lost little duckling,” Clive interrupted his fantasy. Ah– that’s right. They were arguing.

“Perhaps if you didn’t act like a coward! ”

He didn’t know where it came from, but it seemed to do the trick. Clive’s expression went from dark to darker, and before Joshua could consider what that might mean, he was being dragged forward, stumbling, again. He tripped and would have fallen up the steps into the main house were it not for Clive’s steadying– and bruising – grip, where they were assaulted immediately by the deafening tones of the ongoing party. 

Nobody paid them any mind as they twisted and turned their way through the house. Joshua was impressed that Clive remembered the way, since he’d only been here once or twice before. Before long, they’d left the rowdy gatherings of people behind, and were skirting around quieter pairs, those hidden in dark corners, soft sounds dripping from their mouths. 

As if Clive could read his mind, he guided him up the stairs to his old bedroom. At the end of the hallway, it was blessedly uninhabited. Clive shoved the door open and closed behind them, plunging them into the dark. 

The room was exactly as he’d left it two years ago, almost as if the young boy of this room had been the one to die, and not his mother. Joshua simply preferred to sleep in a guest bedroom. Was that so strange?

“Is this what you want?! Is this what will make you care for yourself?” Clive demanded, peeling his jacket and T-shirt off in one jerky movement, and casting them aside on the lush carpet. Joshua watched him hungrily, stumbling back towards his bed, towards the rust-red comforter. He fell upon it, leaned back unsteadily– in his mind, sexily, and gave a soft moan, opening his legs. 

By the fucking flame– his scheming had finally worked…! 

“Yes… Take care of me, Clive– Care for me–” Joshua mumbled, reaching out for his brother. Clive smacked into him like a heat wave, bowling him over onto his back. 

“Mmf!” Joshua cried out, reaching out to grab at Clive’s shoulders. Clive leaned down and devoured him, nipping viciously at his lips and tongue until he simply opened, head tilted back, and allowed Clive to plunder him. 

His shirt was removed at some point, revealing his much less ‘built’ physique. But that didn’t seem to bother Clive, who petted roughly down his sides, and then fondled his flat chest, teasing his nipples until they puffed up.

“Oh, Fuh– Founder!” Joshua spat out, writhing and arching helplessly. Clive reached down and hauled Joshua’s leg up onto his hip, grinding down against him. An embarrassingly high pitched whine parted Joshua’s lips, and he clenched hard on Clive’s hair, fighting not to finish prematurely.

“Promise that you’ll go back to rehab if we…” Clive’s voice said, suddenly soft– and his movements suddenly subdued. Joshua caught his breath with difficulty– it thundered with his heartbeat, his lungs stuttering to keep up. Finally, he managed a playful smirk.

“Show me how good it is, first…”

Clive couldn’t deny him– well– up until now, had managed to deny him this . But no longer.

Joshua’s leggings were peeled from his scrawny legs. He whimpered and cried as Clive spread him wide, punching him open with thick, calloused fingers, slicked only with spit. 

“Ah– ah!” Joshua wailed, eyes rolling, fingers twisting in his plush pillows. Before long, his hips were angled up and Clive surged up above him, his feverish-hot prick butting against his hole. “Please!” He reached down to flutter a hand across his neglected chest, his neglected cock, but Clive batted it away. 

He began a slow pace that turned brutal quickly, Joshua’s legs bent up and his ass pinkening quickly from the slap of Clive’s hips. “Mmm— Kuh— Cli–” a bit of spit dribbled down his chin, uncontrolled, as he was plowed roughly, back and forth across the sheets. His voice cracked and keened, his toes curling, calves balanced on Clive’s sweat-slick shoulders. 

Time tumbled past in a blur– the minutes counted by their choked little sounds and abortive little movements, their writhing together like serpents in the pit…  

Clive’s fingers dimpled his soft thighs, the other turned into claws in the bedsheets, clenching hard. He bit off his sounds easily, as if he had plenty of practice– until finally, he couldn’t contain himself anymore, and muttered, “Fuck… Joshua–” His rhythm stuttered and regained tempo in turn, like a ship caught in the storm, cleaving Joshua open, his hole stretched wide around Clive’s girth… 

Joshua’s fingernails carved red lines up his spine to his neck, and Clive dove down to kiss– and then bite– at the stretched column of his neck. He cried out– again– like a girl– arching closer– further away–

Clive’s hand darted down, wrapping around his flushed length. He pumped him quickly– in time with his thrusts, or maybe faster– until both of them burst in tandem, Joshua spurting, sticky, like a fountain, and coating Clive’s fingers, while Clive painted his insides with generous pulses of warmth. 

“Fuck, oh, fuck,” Joshua mewled, chest heaving. Clive remained suspended over him for a moment, lending more of his weight to his younger brother, who whimpered from the strain, his knees dipping closer to his chest under the press. His knees felt like they could touch the bedspread, his ass raised like a prize for Clive to plunder… 

Finally, Clive pulled out– which felt somehow worse than being collapsed upon…! 

“Ah…” he complained, feeling the yawning emptiness where Clive should be. His hole clenched, searching for that thing to fill him up again. 

“There,” Clive panted softly. Curiously, he smoothed his thumb across Joshua’s sensitive, well-used hole, pushing back in some of the sticky white seed that had slipped out. Joshua shivered, biting his lip. “ Now will you come home… with me?”

Joshua blinked blearily. “How… how will we explain… to Cid…?”

He could practically hear Clive’s eyeroll. Clive took a deep, steadying breath, and then rolled off the bed onto his feet, tugging his pants back up over his rump. He’d barely pulled them down, Joshua realized with a blush. Their first time, and Clive had fucked him like a whore… A pleased little smile spread across his lips. Had he ever been this content…?

“Cid has been waiting for this almost as long as you have,” he said testily, searching around for his shirt in the dark. “He’ll only be wondering what took so long.”

That sated smile grew a little, tiny bit more. “... Very well, then… I’m ready.” 

He reached out his leaden arms, vision doubled from drink, ready to be carried home like a child from a birthday party where they’d overexerted themselves. He didn’t even care that he was fully nude, and wouldn’t even care if Clive paraded him out to the car this way, he thought with a faint, pleasant buzz. 

He’d never been happier. And he’d make sure the same could be said for Clive, and Cid. 

Chapter Text

By the time Clive arrived home, they were just entering that strange interlude in the middle of the night where most party-goers had gone to bed, and not even the earliest-rising workers had yet arisen.

The sky was velvety-dark, like an opaque shroud, without a single ray from the sun or the moon to soften its secrets. The only sounds left were a few wayward echoes of empty cans being displaced by the truly unfortunate souls still stumbling around in back alleyways, perhaps looking for a bed of rubbish to collapse on for the night. 

Clive carried his warm, lumpy armful with a pinched frown… It had been quite the chore wrestling Joshua back into his clothes after their roll-around… and after Clive’s subsequent crisis, wherein Joshua nested against his side and murmured sweet-nothings in his ear, all while Clive stared in silent horror up at the ceiling. 

What had he done…? He’d committed a sin he couldn’t undo…  

Once Clive was able to stand upright, Joshua, hitherto on the verge of passing out, had been helplessly activated by every brush of Clive’s fingertips, and had squirmed, moaned, and giggled through the entire process. 

All the way back through the house filled with waning partiers… catching a glimpse of Dion, who gave a strained smile… All the way down the front steps, down the footpath, to Clive’s parked car. He’d fumbled to reach the key fob without losing his grip on Joshua, and then had bundled him up in the front seat, accidentally pinning one of his arms down with the seatbelt. 

The blond had tried– and failed– to wiggle his arm free, and eventually had gone limp during the drive, quiet but for the soft, soothing beats from the stereo. They’d finally reached their destination and parked under the carport, which brought them to this point:

Joshua, a boneless lug in Clive’s arms, as the older brother waited for the elevator to deliver them up to Cid’s– their condo. Joshua’s breath was warm and damp against his neck, right in the juncture of his shoulder. He’d managed a sleepy kiss or two before falling back under, leaving mere traces of his saliva on Clive’s skin.

Even though Clive knew Cid would be understanding– even enthusiastic – about this development… He was still nervous. This was never supposed to happen…

Ding . The elevator arrived, spitting them out into a clean, narrow little seating area. Clive adjusted his grip on Joshua and crossed the distance to their front door, where he once again grappled for the right key. Luckily, the door swung open before Clive could grind his teeth to dust. 

“Clive,” Cid said carefully, eyes dropping to the boy cradled in his arms. Cid always seemed to perceive the truth of the matter before any other words had been exchanged. Silently, he stepped back, allowing Clive to enter, and only said for appearances, “Where have you been? I tried calling.” 

Clive bit down on a petulant remark like, ‘I needed to pick up Joshua, clearly . What does it look like?’ 

Some days, that sort of remark flew past Cid with only a deep, rumbly chuckle at his expense. But not on a night like this, when Cid was still dressed to the nines and clearly fresh off some job for Barnabas Tharmr. He cut quite an intimidating figure in his fitted suit and hair slicked back, and a flinty sharpness hidden in the depths of his gentle eyes.

Still, Clive couldn’t suppress the slightest warble of emotional instability in his voice when he answered succinctly, “I went to pick up Joshua from one of Dion’s parties.”

“Mm,” Cid answered, pocketing his mobile. Torgal lifted his head to sniff and sneeze at the strong scents of alcohol rolling off Joshua’s slight figure, and then he turned to trot in Clive’s wake to the guest bedroom, where Clive deposited Joshua none-too-gently on the plush bed. 

He went about jerking Joshua’s boots and belt off, ignoring the older man who leaned in the doorway, obfuscating the light from the hallway. He finally pulled the blankets up over his younger brother, who reached out plaintively– blindly, eyelids glued shut and probably dreaming– and cried out, “Stay…”

Clive hesitated for only a moment before grasping Joshua’s wrist and tucking it securely beneath the weight of the comforter with the rest of him. Joshua mumbled and muttered, but didn’t make any further complaints.

When Clive was finished, and turned to exit the room, Cid spoke up, “Torgal, stay here and mind the boy.” Torgal looked mildly perplexed, but readily obeyed, making himself comfortable at the foot of the bed. 

Clive passed by Cid like a ghost, mouth fixed in a frown. Cid followed on his heels as he entered their kitchenette, first filling a glass with tap water and guzzling it down, and then smacking it down on the counter afterward. 

A bead of water trembled on the rim of the glass before tipping over and sluicing into the well of the cup. 

Clive breathed heavily for a moment, arms braced, trembling, on the edge of the sink, and then he turned the tap on again– hot this time. So hot that steam began to curl up after a moment, and he took the opportunity to plunge his hands under it, reaching for a few dirty dishes to wash. 

“Tell me what this is really about,” Cid commanded after a few moments. He stood a few paces away, hip leaning against the counter and arms crossed over his chest. There was an unreadable look in his eyes, drifting across Clive’s figure, tense as a bowstring.

“Does there have to be a deeper meaning?” Clive snapped between clenched teeth. He washed the suds out of a bowl and set it on the drying rack. 

Under normal circumstances, Cid would offer to help– but not this time. He maintained his strict posture, his hands encased in dark gloves. 

“How many times has he been to rehab?” Clive demanded helplessly. His voice echoed hollowly around the dim corners of the room. “How many times have I peeled him off the floor? And when will it end!?”

“Hm,” Cid began, tapping his chin for effect. “Twice, he’s been to rehab. Too many times to count, that you’ve peeled him up off the floor…” 

He continued: “... As to your third question, only time will tell. The best I can do is leave you alone about it… Once you’ve been fully honest with me.” Clive glanced over at him sharply, to be met with a matching stare, mossy green and unrelenting. 

Clive’s lips twitched, teeth set to grinding again. Abruptly, he slapped the water off, and spun around to face his opponent. After an unbearably long pause, Cid prompted him again: “Tell me. There’s something more.”

His tone brooked no argument. Tears abruptly sprang to Clive’s eyes. He stood on the precipice of wishing to obey, and seeing no other choice– but his tongue was perfectly frozen in his mouth. 

For a long, drawn out moment, it refused to cooperate, until finally, through sheer force of will, Clive managed to spit out, “I— he— begged me to fuck him… and I did! Founder, I did! I did… What have I done…” 

Broken sobs began to fall from his mouth, and he slapped a hand over his lips, hoping to stifle the sounds lest their sleeping guest be disturbed. His other hand, he slapped over his eyes, covering streaming tears. He looked about ready to crumble, his knees trembling, but managed to prop himself up against the sink behind him, hunched forward and crying.

“That’s enough,” Cid said sternly, his voice loud and even amidst the din of sobs bouncing between Clive’s ears. He spoke so sternly that Clive instinctively retracted the fingers blocking his vision, peeking out, wide-eyed, expecting him to be angry. 

But Cid only took a step closer, petting his cheek gently. ”… I’m proud of you.”

This didn’t seem to have the intended effect, as Clive shook his head violently, unsettling Cid’s hand, and exclaimed brokenly, “I’m not proud! How could I?! He’s my brother… my baby brother…”

“We’ve been over this a thousand times before—” Cid’s eyes narrowed.

“You don’t understand!”

“Oh, I think I do,” abruptly, he slapped his hand over Clive’s lips. Clive stared back, his eyes wide and glassy, and filled with pain and desperation. “And you know better than to interrupt, don’t you, boy?”

That did the trick. Instantly, Clive stilled, and swallowed thickly. His racing thoughts and desperate sobs quieted abruptly, leaving only a sense of anticipation, and his thudding heartbeat.

“Kneel down,” Cid murmured, his voice very soft. Clive’s body resisted once again, as if there was a disconnect between it and his mind. 

He hesitated for so long that Cid’s hand twitched, betraying his impatience. Clive knew from experience that it was only a matter of time before Cid would tighten his grip and jerk him forward by his clamped cheeks, and then would circle around to the back of him and strike the back of his knees, sending him tumbling down either way. 

The memory seemed to loosen his joints, and with another swallow, he lowered himself, keeping his face turned upward and his ears pricked for further instructions. 

“Good,” Cid said. The praise hurt as much as a scolding in Clive’s current state, and his eyes welled again with tears. He dropped his clammy palms on top of his thighs, waiting for Cid to make it all feel better. 

“Now,” Cid continued, “Repeat what I’ve told you before…”

Clive’s lips trembled fiercely. Helplessly, his tongue snuck out to lick Cid’s hand, which was still positioned over his mouth. It dropped away in response, allowing him to speak. Clive drew in a shaky breath.

“That… Between two consenting adults, there are no taboos. Bodily autonomy is our gods-given right…”

“That’s right. And that applies to Joshua, too,” Cid said firmly. He once again reached out to trace his fingertips across Clive’s scarred cheek, and this time, Clive didn’t shake him off.  

“He wants you. And if you want him, what’s the problem?” Clive’s mouth popped open to argue, but Cid continued over the top of him: 

“I’ve told you before that I bear no reservations nor ill-will about it…” Clive’s face tipped forward in shame, but Cid hooked a finger under his chin, drawing his gaze back up. “Whether you and Joshua should explore separately, or should I be invited in… I’ve told you before that my only disappointment about having you both in my bed… Would stem from the fact you’re not twins,” he winked. 

Clive was almost shaken from his spiral by the quip. A blush bloomed generously across the tops of his cheeks, try as he might to tamp it down. 

“But…” 

“No buts,” Cid said sternly, tapping a fingertip against Clive’s bottom lip. Clive’s hand shot out, catching Cid’s wrist with the desperation of a man seeking a savior. 

“But he wasn’t sober! ” Clive cried out wretchedly.

Cid paused to consider that, leaving his hand in Clive’s grip for the moment. “Well… not to incriminate myself unduly, but… were you sober the first time we fucked?”

Clive’s blush only deepened. “That…” he stuttered, “... was… different…”

Cid chuckled. “Was it?” He tugged his hand from Clive’s grip, and then admonished him, “Put that and the other one behind your back. I’ll tell you when next you’re permitted to touch me.”

Biting his lip, Clive complied, clasping his hands behind him, and then he settled in to listen. A small smirk decorated Cid’s features, and he glanced upward, as if plucking the memory from the pattern in the ceiling. 

“I remember it like it was yesterday,” he started. “It was the first time I’d ever seen you at Waloed, slumped at the bar. I was finished with my work for the evening. I saw you from across the room. You were gutted about something. Probably about your brother, in retrospect… You’d just moved back to town, as I recall, after the actions of your piss-poor excuse for a mother.”

He tucked his fingertips in his pockets, and looked like he wanted to wander to the balcony to continue reminiscing over one of his cigarillos, but he remained in place, rocking idly back on his heels with Clive kneeling before him, like a sinner at the altar.

“I approached you for the first time. You’d been drinking. I know now how seldomly you do so, and that it was all a cry for help or attention…” He stepped forward with a smile, sliding his hand through Clive’s dark hair… and clenching his fist at the back of Clive’s head, just firmly enough to earn a soft gasp and a subtle arch. “But I had no noble intentions at the time. I simply wanted you. And I could tell…”

“... that you wanted to be taken home by somebody and fucked hard, and then be turned out to the curb to stumble away, to feel badly about yourself,” his voice had become soft again, introspective. His gaze trailed appreciatively across Clive’s handsome features. 

“And I was willing and able to take the job. I took you home with me and bedded you promptly. You fell asleep afterwards and didn’t even know where you were in the morning.”

The memory was enough to stir Clive’s tired loins. He remembered the night well. He’d been enamored with Cid immediately . 

Cid’s voice drifted back to his ears. “... Should I prostrate myself for my crimes?”

Clive cleared his throat with some difficulty. “... No… but…”

“Was anybody harmed?” Cid interrupted him for the millionth time. “Everyone got what they wanted, eh? So where’s the crime in that?”

Clive remained silent. Even if he was right , he could never hope to outsmart Cid, or win at a debate. Cid dropped his hand from Clive’s hair, seeming to sense his uncertainty.

“How can I ease your mind, love?” Cid asked him. “... Joshua won’t give you the hurt and anger you feel you deserve. Would a punishment make you feel better?”

Clive’s eyes shot up to his face, breath caught in his throat. Cid gave a small, amused sigh. 

“Very well, then…” He started, raising his hands up to adjust his gloves. 

“My dog used his cock when I didn’t command it… So now you will kneel there on the floor while I use your mouth.”

x

Time passed in a shroud of protective darkness. 

“Use your teeth,” Cid prompted him, his eyes dark with lust as he gestured to his belt and zipper. His formal trousers tented around his half-hard member, and Clive dove in immediately, mouthing wetly at the metallic buckle and leather, his cheek rubbing the fibers covering his bulge.

When Cid’s cock finally sprang free of its confines, jutting out the front of his pants, Clive went to work immediately. His fingernails dug sickle moons into his arms, held obediently behind him, as he bobbed enthusiastically, licking and slobbering on the stiff appendage until it was fully erect, and butting the back of his throat.

He whined needily, scooting forward on his knees on the linoleum. It wasn’t long before Cid’s hands were buried in his hair again, controlling the movement of his head… Holding him still while he thrust his hips forward at an increasing pace…

The scratch and snick of fibers brushing each other and brushing skin filled the narrow, cloying space. Clive only leaned harder into the treatment, craving it when Cid whispered, “Needy little whore, aren’t you? Is that why you went after your brother…? Allow me to sate you…” 

“Mmf…!” Clive choked and gagged, spit dribbling down his chin and spattering his t-shirt. 

Tears gathered on his eyelids and fell down his cheeks, and sweat prickled the roots of his hair. His body was abuzz with answering sensations, his nipples pricked against the fibers of his own shirt, and his cock straining against denim. 

He spread his legs desperately, craving any sort of friction, craving to be filled… the way he’d filled Joshua…

Cid’s thick, heavy flesh in his mouth choked him on every other pass, as Cid angled his head up as if he was nothing more than a fucktoy for his own use, pounding the fluttering passage of his throat, all while Clive moaned and cried, vision turning spotty whenever he choked…

After some time, Cid jerked back, vacating Clive’s mouth. The change was so unexpected that spit gushed over, and he licked desperately to contain it, teetering on his knees. “Oh, please…” Clive wheezed.

“I’ll give you what you deserve,” Cid answered. He took himself in hand, stroking himself firmly. 

Clive whined and opened wide, sticking his tongue out, and Cid rewarded him by rubbing the head across his greedy tongue… and then pulling back, and painting his cheeks. Each droplet felt scalding hot on his face. 

Cid pumped himself leisurely until he was empty, his spend trickling along with tears down Clive’s pretty face. 

They stayed that way for a moment, Clive’s chest heaving, arched upward like an earnest little doll. Would he be allowed…? He looked up desperately, catching Cid’s eyes with his cheeks painted like a whore. 

With a smirk, Cid stepped impossibly closer, his softening flesh brushing softly at Clive’s cheeks. He stamped his dress shoe up against the front of Clive’s trousers, crushing his cock very lightly. Clive gasped, groaned, and whimpered, vibrating suddenly with nervous anticipation. 

After a few beats of obvious enjoyment, Cid adjusted so the toe of his shoe snuck underneath to lift up Clive’s balls, and then Cid whispered deviously, “What a greedy little whore. If you want to finish again tonight, you know what to do.”

Clive let out a tiny whine, human speech lost to him completely, and followed the unspoken command… and began rutting like a dog against Cid’s leg, a humiliated flush on his cheeks. 

He leaned forward, craving contact, and rubbed vigorously, his pace jerky and uneven, for several excruciating minutes, until he finally spilled inside his trousers like a young boy, creating a sticky little web in his underwear, his heartbeat thundering against Cid’s leg… 

He finally crumpled forward against Cid’s leg, shaking from exertion, and received a fond stroke of his hair in reply. He sighed softly, leaning sweetly into Cid’s hand.

“Good dog,” Cid said. “Now, follow me. It’s long past time we retired for the evening…”

Clive nodded, lost in a pleasant fog as he shifted onto all fours, and followed Cid to their bedroom. Cid who, as always, looked very amused, and very in love with his beloved, tormented, elder Rosfield.