Chapter Text
"There's someone I want you to meet," Isabelle tells him at one of their semi-regular coffee dates. They're at some twee little cafe in Northreach, Isabelle reclining in her chair and sipping her tea with an air of calm authority, like she owns the place—which, in Cid's experience, tends to be how she sits most places. "He's new to the local scene, and I've been helping him find his footing, so to speak."
"Sub?" Cid asks, and when she hums in assent he shakes his head. "I'm not looking for any new playmates, Belle, you know that."
"Yes, I know," she says sweetly. "Not since Benna."
"Leave it," Cid growls, and takes a long sip of coffee since he can't smoke in here.
Isabelle leans across the table and places a hand on his lightly. "All I mean to say, Cid, is you're in a rut, and I know you too well to think you're happy there," she says, a hint of apology in her tone. "If you meet my new friend and you're not interested, fine, but at least meet him."
Cid turns his hand over under hers, simultaneously comforted and annoyed by how well she knows him. "I make no promises," he grumbles. "Who is he, then?"
"His name's Clive, and he's a lovely young man from Rosaria," Isabelle says, and then, with a pointed look, "He's the one I had on the St. Andrew's cross at the last party I hosted at the Veil."
Cid instantly flashes back to the night in question and oh, yes, he remembers. Tall, strapping lad in his late twenties or early thirties. Belle had stripped him to the waist and used a single-tail whip on him. What Cid remembers most, aside from the gleam of bright blue eyes under shaggy dark hair and the way the muscles in his back pulled taut with every stroke of the whip, was how quiet he'd been—no cries or moans, just grunts and heavy breathing, the odd "yes, Mistress" or "thank you, Mistress" when Isabelle prompted him.
Back in the present, Isabelle is watching him with a look that's entirely too knowing, and Cid looks down, swirling the dregs of his coffee around before saying, "All right, bring him to the Hideaway."
***
A few nights later, Isabelle does just that. Cid's posted up at his usual spot in the main room, a big table near the wall with an upholstered bench on one side. He sees them come in—three of them, in fact, Belle, Clive, and a woman who looks a little younger than him. Cid hasn't seen her around before, but she's with Isabelle, so that's fine. The three of them exchange a few words as Belle points out Cid's table, and then the young woman peels off toward the bar, giving Clive's arm a little squeeze before she goes.
Clive looks as good as he did that night at the Veil, hair artfully messy and dark button down shirt stretched just tight enough at the chest and shoulders to be damnably distracting.
"Clive Rosfield, Cid Telamon," Isabelle says, taking a seat without waiting to be asked. Cid stays seated and holds out a hand; Clive remains standing and takes it, his grip firm.
"Clive, is it?" Cid nods to the empty chair right across from where he’s sitting. "Have a seat."
"Thank you. I appreciate you meeting me," Clive says as he sits.
"I've heard good things," Cid says with a jerk of his head toward Isabelle. "And seen them for myself at the Veil last month, as it happens."
Cid flags Gaute down for drinks—Clive just asks for water, while Isabelle has no qualms about putting a glass of top-shelf wine on Cid's tab—and they make the necessary introductory small talk. There's a stiffness to Clive that Cid guesses is probably born of nerves, and he wants to see what's underneath that, what Clive is like when he relaxes and opens up a bit.
Isabelle stays with them a few minutes more, then rises smoothly from her seat. "Well, I think my work here is done. You two play nice. I'll be around if you need me." She gives them each a peck on the cheek and departs.
As she leaves, Cid looks over at Clive with a little smile. "All right, lad, try to relax. I know I've got a reputation, but I don't bite unless I've been very specifically asked to."
The serious line of Clive's mouth barely twitches, but his shoulders loosen a bit. "I know. I'm just…new to all this, still."
"So I hear," Cid says. "I'll cut right to it; I imagine Belle would've told you I haven't taken on any new playmates in a while."
"She did," Clive said. "I suppose I was hoping I might be able to pique your interest."
Cid stubs out his half-smoked cigar and leans back in his seat, giving Clive an assessing look. "Well, go on, then. Pique my interest."
"You've seen me play with the Dame," Clive says. "I can give you other names, though not many."
Cid waves a hand. "I'm less interested in what anyone else could tell me about you than what you have to say for yourself. What you like, what your boundaries are, what you're hoping might happen between us, that sort of thing."
"All right," Clive says. "Well, I…" He trails off, looking downward, opens his mouth like he's about to say something more and then closes it again.
Cid leans forward, elbows on his knees, and seeks out Clive's eyes with his own. "Lad," he says, quiet but firm, and Clive's eyes snap to his. "It's fine that you're nervous, but if this conversation is going to go anywhere, I need you to talk to me."
"I like being humiliated," Clive says, in a stronger voice than Cid's heard from him so far. There's color rising in his cheeks, but he meets Cid's gaze steadily. "Being called a slut, told I'm only fit to be used, that sort of thing. Praise is good, too, but only after I've earned it. I like being told what to do. I like having my hair pulled and my face slapped, although at the moment I'd like to avoid any lasting marks on my face. I like being whipped or caned better than being spanked or paddled, but I've no strong objections to the latter two. I, uh—" he falters suddenly, as if his nerves have caught up to him.
Cid settles back in his seat and folds his arms, raising one eyebrow. "Don't let me stop you now," he says, and then, encouragingly, "This is all good information, Clive. What else?"
Clive nods and goes on with a serious, earnest expression. "I've mostly used red, yellow, and green for safety in my past experience, and I'm happy to stick with that if it suits you. If my mouth is occupied, I'd like my hands free so I can tap out." He thinks for a moment, then adds a little more shyly, "I'm fine with things getting pretty explicitly sexual—I mean, I'd like that, if you're not opposed—but I don't want anything penetrative tonight. Um. Is that good? Anything else I should…?"
Cid reaches across, under the table, and puts a hand on Clive's knee, which is doing a restless little jig. It's the first time he's touched him aside from the handshake, and Clive goes stock-still, eyes widening a little.
"This is fine for a start," Cid tells him. "My turn, now. I'm comfortable with everything you mentioned. Colors and tapping out are fine. If you feel the urge to call me something besides my name—which you can—'sir' will do nicely. I reserve the right to stop the scene at any time, for any reason, and I expect you to do the same if you need to. Understood?"
Clive stares at him with eyes so big and blue Cid could drown in them if he's not careful. "Understood. Does this mean—?"
Cid can't pinpoint the exact moment it became a sure thing he'd say yes to this kid in spite of his reservations. Maybe it was when Clive started telling him what he wanted. Maybe it was when Cid agreed to the meeting. Maybe it was all the way back at the Veil, watching Clive put his arms up for Belle's cuffs, watching him tip his head back, eyes closed, as she brought the whip down on him.
"It means that if you're amenable, we're going to head somewhere a little more private and see how it goes from there," Cid tells him. "That sound all right?"
Clive licks his lips eagerly, or nervously, or both, and nods. "Yeah. Yes, definitely."
Cid pats his knee and then sits back, taking his hand away. "Seeing as we've not played together before, I'll likely go easy on you—that's not a reflection on you, on what I think you can take, just how I prefer to handle first encounters. I may not come, but you should if you want to. I'd like that."
Clive swallows hard, his throat bobbing. "All right," he says, low.
"I'm a bit of a stickler about aftercare. If you don't want it from me, we can see if Isabelle can provide, or your friend over there, but regardless, I'd like you to stick around and take it easy for a bit after we're done."
Clive blinks at the mention of the girl he came in with, then shakes his head. "Jill's not—that is to say, she likes to watch sometimes, but she doesn't really participate."
Cid nods. "Understood. Think she might like to watch us? I'm fine with it if you are."
Clive hesitates, then shakes his head again. "I think I'd like to keep it just the two of us, at least for now. But I'll go check in with her, make sure she's fine, let her know where I'll be?" He makes that last part a question, eyebrows quirked, already deferring to Cid.
"Of course," Cid tells him. "Tell her she can ask for Otto at the bar if she needs anything. I'll be here when you're done."
Clive nods. "Back soon, then," he says, and heads for the bar.
The young woman--Jill--seems to be faring well on her own, having struck up a conversation with Gav at the bar. She and Clive talk for a few moments, and then she touches his arm again and he leans in and presses a quick kiss to her forehead. To Cid that kiss looks more brotherly than anything, but he's not going to assume the nature of their relationship. Clive and Jill came in together, and Jill is seemingly okay with Clive going off with Cid. Any more than that isn't Cid's business at the moment.
He stands, moving around the table, as Clive comes back. "All good?"
"Yeah." Clive glances back at the bar with a faint smile. "She's going to go watch Gav get hot wax poured on him by someone, apparently."
"That'll be Tarja," Cid says fondly. "You should catch her in action sometime if you can." He steps into Clive's space, rests a hand on the small of his back, and drops his voice to a gravelly rumble as he adds, "But right now I have other plans for you."
Clive shivers, noticeably, and looks at Cid with wide, eager eyes. "Lead the way."
***
He leads Clive to one of the private rooms down the hall—one without any heavy play equipment, just simple, sturdy furniture, a big, comfortable couch, and a mini-fridge for bottled water.
Cid makes himself comfortable in a leather armchair, fishing out his half-smoked cigar from earlier but not lighting it. He glances up at Clive, waiting silently near the doorway, and gives him a brusque nod.
"Right, then, let's have a look at you," he says. "Shoes, shirt, and trousers off, and mind you don't leave them in a heap on the floor."
Clive moves to obey at once, unbuttoning his shirt and sliding it off his shoulders. Gods above, he should come with a fucking warning label. There are small silver barbells through each of his nipples, a detail Cid didn't remember from that night at the Veil, or maybe they're new since then.
He folds his shirt in half and drapes it over the back of another chair, then moves on to his trousers. Once he's stripped down to a pair of black boxer briefs, he gives Cid a questioning look.
"Those can stay," Cid tells him. He waits until the rest of Clive's clothing is neatly piled on the chair, then beckons with one hand. "C'mere. Kneel down."
Clive does as he's told, movements graceful as he kneels in front of Cid's chair. His pupils are blown wide, the blue of his eyes nearly swallowed up by black.
Cid reaches to cup his chin with one hand, feeling the rasp of stubble against his fingers. "How are you feeling so far?"
"Good," Clive says, his voice low but clear. "Keep going, please."
"All right." Clive keeps hold of his chin, using that grip to turn Clive's face this way and that. "You're a pretty thing, I'll say that much for you. Bet you've got a pretty cock, too."
"I've had no complaints," Clive replies, color rising in his cheeks.
"Well, here's what we're going to do," Cid tells him. "You're going to get that pretty cock out, let me see what I'm working with. You're going to touch yourself, but I don't want you coming before I say. You let me know if you need to stop for a moment, understand?"
"Yes, sir," Clive says.
Cid lets go of him and relaxes back in the armchair, raising his unlit cigar and clamping it between his teeth. "Go on, then."
Clive tugs the waistband of his briefs down enough to get his cock out. He lets out a shaky exhale as he takes himself in hand, bringing himself to attention with just a few strokes.
"There's a good lad," Cid tells him as Clive moves his hand. "Show me how you like it. How you'd want me to touch you."
"Fuck," Clive breathes out, and does just as Cid says, stroking himself fast and a little rough.
"Look at you," Cid says, watching him. "So quick to do as you're told. So ready to be on your knees for me."
The flush on Clive's face is deepening, spreading down to his chest, and his breath is coming hard now. He keeps his hand moving on his cock for a few more moments before the rhythm of his strokes falters and he gasps out, "Fuck, Cid, I can't--I need to--"
"Stop," Cid tells him firmly, and Clive lets go at once, bracing both hands on his knees and bowing his head as his chest heaves. He looks almost painfully hard, cock curving up against his stomach, the tip of it shiny with precome. Watching him, Cid realizes he's half-hard himself, having been so focused on Clive that he paid no mind to the arousal building low in his own belly.
"Good boy," Cid says. "Take a minute, catch your breath. You still good? Need some water, or to get off your knees for a bit?"
"I'm all right," Clive replies. "Just…need to get myself under control." Still breathing heavily, he looks up at Cid and flashes that barely-there smile. "Don't have a lot of experience with edging yet."
"Aye, we're going to have to work on that." Cid says it with the tone of a promise, and Clive shudders, closing his eyes.
"Oh, you like that idea?" Cid asks. He touches Clive's face again, giving his cheek a brisk little pat, like he would a dog. "You've been so good at following directions so far, I bet I could get you all trained up in no time. Make a proper pet out of you."
"Fuck," Clive says, low and emphatic. "Cid, can I—"
Cid cups the side of his face gently. "What do you want, pet? Tell me."
Clive turns his head to nuzzle into Cid's palm, open mouth dragging over his skin. "Can I suck your cock?"
Cid raises an eyebrow. "Thought you didn't want anything penetrative tonight."
"Changed my mind," Clive murmurs, mouthing at Cid's hand like he wants any part of him he can get at. "Please."
Cid's tempted—fuck, he can't remember the last time he was this tempted by anything—but they'd agreed not to go there tonight, and as a rule he doesn't stick his dick anywhere on impulse. "Next time." Clive's eyes widen a bit at those words, and Cid shifts his hand to cup his face more firmly, pressing his thumb to Clive's bottom lip. "Be good for me, and next time you can have my cock anywhere you want it."
Clive makes a wanton, desperate noise, parting his lips to let Cid press his thumb in further.
"You like the sound of that?" Cid asks. "Thought you would. Could tell you were a little slut the first moment I laid eyes on you. Go on, then, sweetheart, touch yourself for me again."
Clive's hand flies back to his cock, and Cid nods approvingly. "That's it, just like that. You want me in your mouth?" Clive hums a 'yes' around his thumb. "You want me to fuck you?" Cid continues, getting a frantic nod in reply. "You want to fuck me?"
Clive moans and pulls off, leaving Cid's thumb to press spit-slick against the divot of his chin. "Yes, fuck, all of that. Anything. Cid—"
Cid's going to have to check to make sure anything said in the heat of the moment here still goes once the scene's done, but he hopes Clive means it, the last part especially. Cid's usually happy enough to top, especially with people he's dommed, but damn it, he deserves to get good and railed by a strapping young lad now and then.
"You're doing so well for me," Cid tells him. He takes the unlit cigar out of his mouth, sticks it carelessly back in his pocket, and then brings his hand around to grab a handful of Clive's dark hair, eyes on his wet, open mouth. "Can I kiss you?"
"Yes," Clive pants, tilting his face up eagerly, and Cid tightens the hand in his hair and leans in. He kisses him hard, open-mouthed, and Clive opens up for him like a dream.
When the kiss breaks, Cid stays bent over him, pressing his forehead to Clive's and feeling Clive's breath against his face. "Such a good boy," Cid near-whispers to him. "I was going to draw this out more, see how long I could keep you on the edge, but you're being so good I might just let you come now. Would you like that?"
"Yes," Clive pants, hand working tirelessly between his legs. "Please, Cid."
Cid sits back, but keeps hold of Clive's hair, giving it a sudden, sharp tug. Clive lets out a ragged cry and arches his head back, exposing the line of his throat, all of him on display for Cid.
"Come on then, pet," Cid growls. "Let's have it."
Clive breaks with another cry, hips spasming as he spills over his fingers and onto the floor. Cid keeps the grip on his hair throughout, only loosening his hold when Clive gives one last shudder and goes still.
Shifting to cup the back of his head, Cid gently tugs him close, encouraging him to lean against Cid's leg. Clive goes easily, pressing his forehead against Cid's knee while he catches his breath.
"There you go, pet, there you are," Cid murmurs, stroking his hair. "Well done."
Clive tucks himself back into his boxer briefs and wipes his hand on his thigh, then hooks an arm loosely around Cid's calf, nuzzling against his leg. "Fucking hell, Cid," he breathes out. He stays like that another moment, then lifts his head, glancing at the bulge in Cid's trousers and then up at his face. "Can I get you off?"
Cid pets his cheek gently. "Lad—"
"I know I can't have you in me yet," Clive says, looking up at him with huge eyes. "But can I touch you? Please?"
Cid wants to kiss him again, wants to pull Clive up into his arms and promise him whatever he wants if he just keeps looking at Cid like that. Instead he gives Clive's cheek a little pat and sits back in his chair, spreading his legs. "Well, if you want it that badly, who am I to say no?"
Clive's eager hands go to his belt immediately, tugging at leather and fabric and fastenings until Cid's cock springs free for him to wrap a hand around.
"Bugger me," Cid breathes out as Clive strokes him. "Where the fuck have you been up 'til now, lad?"
One corner of Clive's mouth twitches up. "Rosaria," he says dryly.
Cid taps the side of his face and growls, "Cheeky," and Clive, for the first time that Cid's seen, actually grins, showing his teeth.
It doesn't take long for Clive to get him there. Cid keeps hold of him with one hand and digs the fingers of the other into the arm of his chair, grunting as he shakes with the force of his release.
"Good boy," he mutters as he comes down, bending forward over Clive until their foreheads are nearly touching again. "So good for me."
Clive tilts his face up for a kiss and Cid gives it to him, panting into his mouth.
***
Clive feels like he's been hit by a freight train.
All he's done is kneel and jerk them both off while Cid touched him a little, while he looked at Clive with those deep green eyes and talked to him in that whiskey-and-tobacco voice, and he feels wrecked by it. From the moment Cid settled into that armchair and told him to undress, there was an electricity between them like Clive's never felt before—not with the Dame or anyone else he's played with.
Cid finishes wiping the chair, the floor, and both of them down and takes Clive by the arm. Heavy-limbed and blissed out, Clive goes along passively as Cid steers him toward the couch against the wall, as Cid drapes a blanket around him, as Cid presses an ice-cold bottle of water into his hand and then says, "That's to drink, lad, not stare at."
Founder, that voice. Clive feels like maybe he could come just from having that voice rumbling in his ear. Maybe sometime he'll see if Cid will let him try it.
While Clive gulps water, Cid makes himself comfortable at one end of the couch. He lifts an arm in clear invitation and Clive nestles against him eagerly, bringing the blanket with him.
"This good?" Cid asks, words a deep rumble in his chest, as he settles an arm around Clive's shoulders.
"Perfect," Clive sighs. "Thank you."
They sit like that for a while. Cid plays with Clive's hair a little, and also strokes his hand along the back of Clive's shoulders, giving him some skin contact.
Eventually Clive sits up, putting enough space between them that he can see Cid's face. "So, uh," he starts. "We both said some things back there, and I'm not going to assume any of it holds true, but…can I see you again?"
Cid gives him an easy smile, reaching up to brush Clive's hair out of his eyes. "Aye, lad, I'd like that. There is some more conversation that needs to happen for that—boundaries, expectations, that sort of thing."
"All right," Clive says, looking at him attentively, and Cid chuckles and strokes his cheek.
"Not right this minute, pet. Give me your number before you leave."
Pet. Cid says it so easily, and Clive wonders if he has any idea what it does to him. He almost wants to ask Cid not to call him that, because it's too much. It makes him want to crawl into Cid's lap and never leave, be his pet for real. It makes him want to offer Cid his heart on a plate.
Slow down, he tells himself sternly. Cid's done this a lot, with a lot of people, and Clive needs to keep his head if he's going to do this without making an utter fool of himself.
When Clive's ready, he gets dressed and they head back out to the main room, Cid's hand resting gently on the small of his back. The people in the club have thinned out a little by now, and they find Jill and Isabelle at a table together.
"Hi, you," Jill says as they approach, getting to her feet. "All right, Clive?"
Clive takes her hand and squeezes it, smiling at her. "Wonderful."
She returns the squeeze, then turns to Cid. "We didn't get a chance to meet earlier. Jill Warrick."
She holds out her free hand, and Cid shakes it with a wry little smile. "Welcome to the Hideaway, Jill. Hope you enjoyed yourself tonight."
"I did," she tells him. "The wax play was…honestly, a lot more fun than I was expecting. I wouldn't have guessed someone could stay that cheerful while having candles dripped on them."
"That's our Gav," Cid says in the same fond tone he spoke of Tarja with earlier. "Right, then—now that we all know each other, you're both welcome back any time, with or without the Dame here."
"Glad to have been of service," Isabelle purrs. "Will you two be all right getting home?"
Cid walks them to the door, where he puts his hand on Clive's back one more time and leans in to speak close to his ear. "'Til next time, pet. Get home safe."
***
He feels ready to fall asleep on his feet by the time he and Jill get back to their flat. Torgal bounds up as they walk through the door, all restless energy after being home alone all evening, and Clive smiles tiredly as he kneels and pets him with both hands.
"I should take him out," he says, and Jill puts a hand on his shoulder.
"I'll do it."
"You sure?" Clive asks. Jill adores Torgal, and the feeling is mutual, but Clive never wants to take her willingness to deal with the big lug for granted.
"I don't mind," she says. "And neither does Torgal, do you, boy?" she asks Torgal, who gives a happy bark and rushes over to her.
"All right, I can tell when I'm not wanted," Clive teases, but he's happy enough to leave them to it and go shower instead.
He runs the shower as hot as he can stand, bracing his hands on the tile wall as scalding water pounds down on his head and the back of his neck. Closing his eyes, he lets his mind wander back to the night Isabelle whipped him in front of a crowd at the Veil—not his first time subbing or even his first time on the receiving end of a whip, but certainly his first time with an audience. And afterward—
—He's lying in a dark, quiet back room, face smushed into a pillow that smells of lavender, while Isabelle sits next to him dabbing ointment on the welts she put on his back earlier.
"You did very well," she tells him, abandoning the harsh, domineering tone she'd used to address him during the scene. "A successful coming-out party, I'd say."
Clive mumbles his thanks, still floating on a cloud of endorphins, then asks, "Who was that man watching?"
Isabelle gives a low chuckle. "You're going to have to be more specific, my dear. You attracted quite the crowd."
"He was at the front. Short brown hair, leather jacket, in his fifties, maybe?" Clive had first noticed the man's eyes fixed on him as Isabelle presented him to the crowd and had him take his shirt off. Once he'd turned and stepped up to the cross, putting his hands up for Isabelle to cuff him, he hadn't been able to see the man anymore, but fancied he could still feel the weight of his gaze, and when the whipping was over and Clive turned back around, sure enough, he was still there, still watching.
"Ah," Isabelle says. "That'd be Cid."
"Cid…" Clive echoes, and then bolts up onto his elbows, turning his head to look at her. "Cid Telamon? That was him?"
Isabelle's eyes sparkle with amusement. "His reputation precedes him, I see."
"Well, yeah," Clive says, settling back down to lie on his stomach again. It seems like half the people he's talked to since he started checking out the kink scene in the Twins have stories about Cid. "I heard he used to be a pretty big name in the local scene, but he doesn't get out much anymore."
"Both true." Isabelle smooths a bit more ointment onto his back, then pats his shoulder. "There. Lie still for a few minutes, let that settle." She caps the ointment and puts it away, then makes herself comfortable next to Clive, leaning on an overstuffed cushion. "He went through a bad breakup a few years ago with someone he used to play with a lot. Threw him off his game."
"I heard that, too," Clive muses. "Benedikta Harman, right?" That's a name he knows even better than Cid's, given the online presence she's built up over the last few years.
"Mm-hm," Isabelle says, and then, in response to Clive's questioning look, "I'm not the one to tell you the details of that. Cid's my friend and Benedikta's not, and I'm not particularly capable of or interested in being fair to her. Suffice to say, ever since then Cid's kept to a few of his established partners, and he rarely does scenes in public anymore. He's still around at the Hideaway more nights than not, and I can coax him over to the Veil now and then, but he mostly sticks to the sidelines."
"I see," Clive says. "So…he's probably not interested in any new playmates, then?"
Even if that weren't the case, it's probably an absurd act of hubris to think Cid Telamon would want anything to do with a rookie like him, but he can't get the way Cid watched him tonight out of his head.
Isabelle gives him an apologetic smile. "I don't think so. I can make an introduction, if you like, but I wouldn't get your hopes up."
The offer sets off a little flutter of nerves in Clive's stomach. Does he want to have her go to that trouble, and meet Cid just to get turned down? "I appreciate the offer, Isabelle, but…"
"I'll tell you what," she says brightly. "Rare as Cid's public scenes are these days, I usually know when they're going to happen. Next time I get word of one, I'll bring you along. You can watch him in action, then decide if you want the introduction."
A few weeks later, Clive finds himself at the Hideaway as Isabelle's guest, watching Cid and a sub named Gav. The club is crowded, and from the murmurs Clive hears, he's not the only one who came here tonight specifically to see Cid in action.
Cid and Gav are clearly familiar and comfortable around each other, bantering back and forth and playing to the crowd as they get set up. Gav is chatty and cheeky; Cid has an easy authority and confident, roguish charm he keeps up the entire time he canes Gav until the backs of his thighs are bright red and makes him beg to be allowed to come.
The next day, Clive texts Isabelle and asks her to arrange the introduction.