Chapter Text
"Greedy little whore," Cid growls at him. "Can't get enough, can you?"
Clive whines behind the gag in his mouth as the toy slips out of him, leaving him empty and fucked open. His thighs twitch reflexively, trying to close, but his legs are tied to his arms, lashed together at knee and elbow, and his wrists are pulled above his head, tied to the bedposts.
Cid swipes a hand through the mess on Clive's stomach from his first orgasm, then reaches between his spread legs, using Clive's own spend to ease the slide as Cid shoves two fingers into his hole. Clive squirms and moans, still sensitive from the toy, and from Cid's cock before that. Cid is merciless, bracing his other hand on Clive's splayed-open thigh to hold him still while his fingers seek out Clive's prostate.
"My cock isn't enough for you, hm? Gotta break out the toys just to keep you satisfied?" he asks, crooking his fingers in a way that makes Clive keen. "Let me tell you, sweetheart, it's a damn good thing you're so pretty, because it's exhausting keeping up with how badly you need to get fucked."
The gag is a length of rope with a thick knot tied in it, shoved between his teeth. Clive can feel himself drooling around it, and that, combined with the tears leaking from his eyes and the come on his stomach and the mess of come and lube between his legs, makes him feel filthy, makes him feel like the messy little slut Cid called him a minute ago when he came all over himself.
"You know what I should do?" Cid muses as he shoves a third finger into him. "I should bring you to the Hideaway, tie you up and gag you just like this in one of the public areas. Leave you there with your legs spread for anyone who wants to come take a turn."
Clive lets out a high, sharp whine, his body clenching tight around Cid's fingers. He thinks about it—being spread out and helpless, at the mercy of anyone who wants to use him. Getting fucked over and over by men, women, friends, strangers, anyone.
"Don’t worry, pet, I wouldn't leave you there for too long," Cid assures him in a half-mocking croon. "Just long enough to be sure you'll be all fucked out when I come collect you. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
Clive shakes his head frantically, fresh tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. He's hard again, cock curving up against his stomach as he writhes against the ropes holding him.
"No? Not sure I believe that." Cid spreads his fingers inside Clive, stretching him to the point of discomfort. "As long as this greedy hole gets stuffed full, I don't see why it matters who does it."
If Clive snaps his fingers, this will be over in a heartbeat. The shears are on the nightstand, and if he snaps his fingers Cid will cut him free without question or hesitation, and Cid will hold him and kiss him and stroke his hair, and Cid’s clever fingers will massage the rope marks on his arms and legs so that he'll only be pleasantly sore tomorrow.
And that also means that if Clive doesn't snap his fingers, he can moan and thrash and cry all he wants, and Cid will keep going.
Cid does keep going, until Clive's wrists are rubbed raw from twisting in the ropes and the pillow under his head feels soaked with the drool and tears running down his face, until he comes again on Cid's fingers, so hard he sees stars behind his closed eyelids.
After that, Clive drifts pleasantly while Cid unties him and rubs his wrists and sits beside him on the bed to let Clive curl into his side for a while. He drifts until he stops drifting, and realizes there's something off about the way Cid is holding himself, about the way his hand rests on the back of Clive's neck.
Clive sits up, and Cid eases away from him and stands. "I'll draw us a bath," he says, and it's there, too, a tension in his voice that Clive's confused by until it clicks.
Ah, shit.
He grabs a clean corner of bedsheet to wipe his face and torso with, then gets to his feet and pads into the bathroom after Cid.
Cid is staying in motion; fetching towels from the linen closet to stack on the bench near the tub, picking out soaps and scented oils to stack on the little shelf next to it, checking the temperature of the water. He doesn't let the taps run too long. The tub is big, porcelain and claw-footed, but fitting two men their size in it means they've had to learn how to avoid flooding the bathroom—or inadvertently elbowing each other in the face.
Clive comes up behind Cid before he can step into the tub, wrapping his arms around Cid's waist and kissing his shoulder. Cid folds his hands over Clive's wrists, but doesn't relax into the embrace.
"Let me get in first," Clive suggests gently. "I'll wash your hair."
Cid turns his head just enough for Clive to be able to see the slight clench of his jaw. "I'm meant to be taking care of you," he says, voice rough.
"You take care of me all the time," Clive says, kissing his shoulder again and giving him a little squeeze. "Come on, love. My turn."
Cid lets himself be coaxed, lets Clive get in the tub and then climbs in after him, settling between his legs with his back to Clive's chest.
Clive finds the shampoo Cid likes on the shelf, the sharp, clean herbal smell filling his nose as he lathers Cid's hair and then pours cupped handfuls of water over his head. Bit by bit, the tense line of Cid's shoulders eases, and Clive hears him breath out a sigh.
As he rinses the last of the shampoo off, Clive smooths his hands over Cid's neck and shoulders, trying to rub away the remaining tension there. Then he tugs Cid back until he's lying against Clive's chest, wrapping both arms around him and resting his chin on Cid's shoulder.
Finally, Cid brings a hand up to cover Clive's on his chest. When he speaks, his voice is a low, gentle rumble, like distant thunder. "You know I love you, right?"
"Of course I do," Clive assures him.
"You know I'd never want to hurt you?"
Cid hurts him all the time, but Clive knows he means a different kind of hurt, means pain Clive hasn't asked him for. "I do."
Cid weaves their fingers together, brings their joined hands to rest right over his heart, and says nothing else for a long moment. Clive kisses the back of his neck, butts his head gently against Cid's shoulder.
"You didn't do anything wrong, love. You gave me exactly what I asked for, what I needed, and it was lovely."
"I talked about laying you out for public use in the Hideaway and suggested you were lying when you said you wouldn't like it," Cid points out dryly.
"And it made me come so hard I nearly passed out," Clive counters, his face heating a little at the memory. "Like I said, lovely." Cid gives a low chuckle at that, and Clive kisses his shoulder again. "You take such good care of me, Cid. You make it feel safe to go places I'd never want to go with anyone else. But that also means you're going to those places, and I never want you to stay there longer than you're willing to."
Cid squeezes his fingers. "Don't worry about that, sweetness. I would've called a halt if I needed to." He sighs again, tipping his head back against Clive. "I felt fine during. Better than fine. Just…sometimes things I say or do in the moment echo pretty loud in my head after. Thank you for spotting it."
Clive holds him tight, resting his cheek against Cid's wet hair. "I want to take care of you, too," he reminds him. "Feeling better now?"
"Much," Cid says. "Better still if you let me wash your hair, provided we can figure out how to switch places without sending the whole tub over on its side."
"We'll manage," Clive says, and they do.