Work Text:
Martha's was an easily overlooked hole in the wall gay bar right on the edge of the historical district in Oriflamme. It was also a place that Dion Lesage had never felt the need to patronize. Until tonight, at least. It was more or less a whim, sounding better than wallowing in depression and self loathing for another night. Of course, that didn't stop it from prickling at the edge of his mind as he got dressed to go out.
What if someone sees? What would father think? What if Terence is there?
Dion tries to steer his thoughts in a more practical direction. He's been publicly out for three years. Going to a bar as a single young adult is not a crime, and certainly not something his father of all people could judge him for, and Terence–
If Terence was there he would simply turn around and leave. Problem solved. Though he was fairly certain Terence wouldn’t be. He much preferred a night in with a good book or an interesting movie than prowling bars. And, if Dion were being completely honest with himself, he wouldn’t be surprised if Terence had already found someone else. He was a catch. Handsome, caring, honest Dion didn’t deserve him. Which is precisely why he finds himself in this situation now. Lonely, horny, and reckless. Hoping to find someone to take his mind off of everything for a night, or even a few hours.
Dion sighs, looking himself over again in the mirror. Dark wash jeans that Terence had always said showed off his ass. A short sleeved, cream colored camp shirt, and black loafers. It didn’t exactly feel like a bar outfit, but he didn’t really have anything else. The flashiest thing he owns is his favorite pair of earrings which he’s currently wearing, little silver lances dangling from his earlobes. This is likely the most ‘casual’ he can look with his current wardrobe. It will have to do. Committing, he grabs his jacket and his keys and heads out.
--
This is already beginning to feel like a mistake.
The downside of being in a relationship since you were a teenager with someone you’ve known since childhood, is that it leaves you ill prepared for finding companion outside of that.
The bar is lively, as expected on a Saturday. Which does nothing to calm Dion’s nerves. A few people have come and spoken to him, recognizing him from college classes or athletics. Pleasant enough conversations, before they flited back to their own groups or out onto the floor. None of them make good candidates for what Dion is after, though. Even if they aren’t coupled up already, he refuses to sleep with someone he knows, that Terence knows. Too much potential for things to get messy. He’s already hurt Terence enough, he doesn’t need to hear about Dion getting drunk and hooking up with some mutual acquaintance. Dion sips his drink, something with pink lemonade and vodka and sugar on the rim. He feels so incredibly out of place, hovering around the bar, looking out at the dance floor. He would have no idea what to do with himself out there. Not that he’s doing much more at the bar either, drinking alone rather than even attempting to strike up a conversation. Perhaps he should just cut his losses. Head home, find some decent porn to jerk off to, and call it a night. That has to be less embarrassing than lingering here, alone and unnoticed.
He hears someone laughing, some commotion further down the bar. Dion turns to look, and very nearly drops his drink. An older man leans casually against the bar. He's talking to a man beside him, as well as the bartender, radiating an easy confidence even though Dion can't make out their conversation. He wears a dark purple flannel under a leather jacket, with no undershirt. His pecs peak out where the shirt is unbuttoned, givign Dion a tantilizing view. From what Dion can see he’s not particularly cut or bulky, but is certainly fit. The shirt is paired with black jeans and sneakers, and a few silver rings decorating his hands. His dark hair is styled up, but not in a way that’s off putting or obnoxious. No, he is, in fact, incredibly handsome. Handsome enough that Dion cant help but stare. At least, until he catches the man’s eye. And the man winks at him.
Face burning, Dion quickly looks away. He turns to face the bar, busying himself with his drink. What on earth is he doing? He’s mature enough to know openly gawking at someone is impolite at best. He should leave before he embarrasses himself further. He should put this whole mess behind him and focus on work, like his father wants-
“Y’know, I don’t really mind you staring. It’s flattering.”
Dion jumps. He looks up, and the man is now standing next to him. Leaning against the bar, smirking confidently. Dion’s heart flips.
“Pardon?” He manages to say.
“Well, old men like me don't tend to get attention from pretty young things like you,” the man says. Close up, his age is even more apparent. His handsome face is etched with crows feet and laugh lines. If Dion had to guess, he'd put him somewhere in his forties. Greagor, Terence would laugh at him being so predictable.
"Don't think I've seen you around before," the man continues, his voice a deep, pleasant rumble. Like thunder right before a storm.
Somehow, Dion remembers how to talk. "I'll admit I'm a bit... new to this sort os establishment."
"Bars or just gay ones?"
Dion chuckles quietly. "The former."
“Not surprising,” the man says. “I’d have a hard time believing someone with your looks didn’t get snatched up the second you came out.”
Well, he’s not entirely wrong. Realizing he was gay and realizing he was in love with Terence were more or less the same event for Dion.
"I was in a relationship for a good while, it," his eyes dart to the surface of the bar. "It didn't work out."
He says it like he had nothing to do with it. Like he didn't break Terence's heart and leave him to cry alone in his apartment. Like he didn't burn the best thing to ever happen to him to try to spare Terence from the mess that the rest of his life was rapidly becoming.
"Aye, we've all been there," Cid says, ignorant of Dion's internal crisis. "The most you can do it put yourself out there again."
Dion hums in the affirmative, sipping his drink. It must be really getting into his blood now, making him more relaxed. Loosening his tongue. Making him want to lean into Cid’s personal space until he does something about it.
“I have to return your earlier sentiment,” Dion says. “I find it hard to believe that you don’t get more attention, even from men my age.”
The man laughs. Dion finds he wouldn’t mind listening to his laugh for hours.
“I think you might just have a particular taste, lad,” the man responds. Dion can’t help but smile.
“Fair enough… that’s ah, actually something that’s been pointed out to me before.”
Terence would tease him about it. How all his favorite actors or celebrity crushes were men old enough to be his father. It would probably be something to work out in therapy, if his family believed in such things. Though right now therapy is the last thing on his mind.
“Like I said, though, I’m flattered.” The man’s hand slides over Dion’s. His thumb rubbing over the back of it. “After all, I imagine you didn’t come out tonight looking for just conversation. Lovely as it is.”
Dion can feel his heart pounding. He quickly downs the rest of his drink. If he’s going to pursue this, he needs all the liquid courage he can get. His cheeks warm at how Cid watches his throat work, at his tongue licking the sugar from his lips.
“You’ve seen right through me, I’m afraid.”
The man smirks. "I'm a reasonable man," he says. "You tell me to fuck off, and I'll be on my marry way."
He steps closer, crowding Dion against the bar. The scent of tobacco and leather surrounds him, making him dizzy. He tries to remember how to breathe.
"But I don't think that's what you want tonight, is it?"
"No, sir," Dion says, without thinking. He only has the briefest moment to feel embarrassed before the man chuckles.
"Greagor's cunt, you're somethin else."
Something possesses Dion in that instant. Something that makes him slot himself against the man, pressing their lips together. Cid responds in kind, humming as he pushes Dion against the bar. The wooden bar-top digs into Dion’s back but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when the kiss is deep and filthy, the man licking deep into his mouth. The man’s thigh slots between his legs, not quite pressing against Dion’s crotch but teasing it so sweetly. Dion’s hand slides against his jaw to the back of his head, the scratch of his stubble tingling Dion’s senses.
"Oy, Cid!"
They break apart, and Dion is mortified to find the bartender glaring at them.
"Quit dry humping your newest boytoy against the bar. You're keeping paying customers away."
Dion's cheeks burn. He somehow had entirely forgotten they were at a bar. Cid — goddess, he hadn't even asked his name — had been so captivating it felt like they were the only two people in the world. Not that he seems at all bothered.
“Sorry about that, Otto,” Cid says, waving him off. He slides an arm around Dion’s waist, casual as anything. “We’ll find somewhere more private.”
Dion barely catches Otto rolling his eyes. He doesn’t pay it a thought, however, as Cid pulls him away from the bar. Nor does he argue when, instead of pulling them to the front doors, Cid pulls them towards the restroom. He can just blame it on the alcohol, after all. He hurries inside, a bit relieved it’s single stall. Cid follows quickly behind him.
As soon as the door is locked, Cid is on him again. He wastes no time claiming Dion’s mouth, hands pushing through his blonde hair. Dion moans in response. Wraps his arms around Cid to pull him impossibly closer. He has the vague thought that he shouldn’t be doing this here, this isn’t like him. But it’s quickly discarded when Cid’s hands start to travel over his body. His large hands coming to grope at his ass. His jeans doing their job. Every other remaining thought falls right out of his head when Cid moves to his neck, nipping just behind his ear.
“Not sure what you’re thinking,” Cid purrs against his skin. “But I’d love to have your mouth on me.”
Dion whines. Truly, he hadn’t had anything particular in mind when he let himself be dragged in here. He was simply following this sudden streak of hedonism wherever it lead him. Now, however, the thought of Cid’s cock in his mouth is intoxicating.
Dion goes easily to his knees, hardly a thought spared for how filthy the floor must be and how he's ruining his jeans. How could he worry about such trivial things when Cid is smirking down at him like that. Pushing Dion's bangs back from his face. Not that Dion can keep his eyes on Cid's face for long, not with the very obvious tent in Cid's pants inches from his face.
"Well aren't you a sight," Cid purrs. "You're aching for this, aren't you?"
He the emphasizes the question by squeezing himself through his pants, and Dion's desperate to replace his hand with his mouth. He nods. Somehow managing to swallow the pathetic whine trying to break out.
"Please," he begs instead.
“Not gonna leave you waiting, lad,” Cid says, his hands undoing his fly. “Ordinarily I like a bit of teasing, but I’ve been feeling pretty pent up recently.”
His button and zipper come open, and Cid pulls out his cock. Hard and flushed red, precum beading at the tip. Dion’s mouth waters at the thickness. Nothing crazy, certainly, but enough that Dion knows he’s going to feel the stretch of it. He stares openly and hungrily, practically in a trance as Cid strokes himself.
“Go on then,” Cid commands, his voice deep and sultry. “Show daddy how much you want his cock.”
Dion openly moans. He decides that Cid must be a blessing from the goddess herself. A gift to fulfill all of his kinks and fantasies. Or perhaps a punishment, a siren meant to lead him to his ruin. He finds he doesn’t much care either way. Whatever Cid’s true nature, Dion needs his cock in his mouth now. He leans forward, taking the head into his mouth. He twirls his tongue, lapping up the precum Cid is leaking. A thrill goes down his spin at the moan it pulls from Cid. He sinks down further, shivering at the weight of Cid on his tongue. And again when Cid groans.
“Got some talent for this,” Cid pants. “Sucked a lot of cock in your day?”
Dion hums. Admittedly, he does have a fondness for this. He can’t count how many mornings he’s woken Terence with his mouth. It always scratched an inch in him, to serve his lover in such a way. The praise Terence always laid on him for it certainly helped. It feels easy and familiar to bob his head on Cid’s cock. To let the head pop into the back of his throat before retreating. His hands sit idly between his legs, focused entirely on Cid’s pleasure over his own. Even though his cock is painfully hard in his jeans.
Seeing this, Cid's hand tangles in his hair, making his brain pleasantly fuzzy. He blinks up at Cid, eyelashes fluttering his eyes water. Cid groans again, the sound of it deep enough to rattle Dion's bones.
"Fuckin' hells, lad," Cid pants. "Could have every guy here eating out of your hands if you looked at ‘em like that."
A thrill runs up Dion's spine at Cid's words. He has no interest in testing it, but the idea of being desired by so many, even just carnally, is a heady feeling. Were other men looking at him as Cid hurried him into the restroom? Did they wish they were in Cid's place? Terence would say how lucky he was, how gorgeous Dion was. Would sometimes even comment on another man making eyes at him. Dion always brushed it off, assuming his boyfriend was just flattering him. That people were more interested in his name than him personally.
Cid's hand tightens in his hair, bringing him back to the present.
"Can I fuck your face, pretty boy?" He asks, his voice breathy. "Something tells me you'd like that."
Goddess, Dion's whole body lights up at Cid's question. Part of him, the part he'd had such a tight leash on until tonight, had always yearned for rougher treatment. To be put in his place by his partner. Terence, bless him, had been too cautious, too gentle to indulge in such kinks with Dion. They had tried before, but Dion could always tell Terence wasn’t getting the same enjoyment out of it as he was. Cid, at least in the moment, seems more than eager. Dion pulls off his cock, panting as he catches his breathe.
“Please, daddy?”
Cid swears in a language Dion’s sex-addled brain can’t quite place in the moment. Waloedr, maybe?
“Daddy will treat you right, pretty boy,” Cid pants. He adds his second hand to the other side of Dion’s head, holding him in place. “Open up, then. Slap my legs if you need to stop.”
Dion nods, opening his mouth wife for Cid. His eyes slide close as Cid’s cock slides in. He can feel his brain turn off as Cid starts with some gentle, testing thrusts. His hands find Cid’s thighs, squeezing them to urge him on. He knows he can take it. Cid gets the message, increasing the pace and force until he’s truly fucking Dion’s mouth. Using him as just a tight wet hole for his cock. Dion moans around the intrusion. This is what he’d been after tonight, even if he hadn’t known the full extent of it at first. Someone to fuck him stupid, fuck all the anxiety and fears and whatever else out of his head. Make it so all he has to worry about is managing to breath when Cid’s cock retreats from his throat. Dion’s thighs clench, his own cock throbbing at the rough treatment. He feels just as drunk on Cid’s pants and groans as he does on the actual alcohol.
“Fucking perfect like this, baby,” Cid huffs between thrusts. “So good at taking daddy’s cock, such a good little slut.”
Dion moans at the degradation. Cid chuckles breathlessly.
“Knew you’d like that… Pretty little slut, sucking cock at the bar like you were made for it—” Dion knows he’s anything but pretty, drool and tears dripping own his face. He must look like a mess. Looking the part of the easy slut Cid picked up at the bar. Cid’s grip tightens in Dion’s hair, his breath catching. “Gonna come down your throat, gonna give you what you want.”
Sure enough, a few more deep thrusts and Cid is pulling Dion flush with his hips, nose brushing dark hair. Dion eyes roll back as Cid’s cock twitches in his mouth, shooting cum down the back of his throat. He swallows around it, drawing out as much as he can.
Just as he starts to feel faint, Cid pulls him off. He coughs,breathing in lungfuls of air. His lung burns in the best of ways. Cid is similarly winded, panting as he fixes up his pants.
“Gods… that’s the best head I’ve had in a good long while, lad.” He chuckles.
“Th-thank you,” Dion breathes. A bit silly to say, perhaps, but he does mean it. He is glad to have been of use. Undeterred, Cid steps forward, nudging Dion’s legs apart. Dion whimpers, his obvious bulge on full display now.
“You must be aching for relief by now, aye?” He says, smirking again. Dion nods. Even so, he makes no effort to release himself, feeling pinned under Cid’s gaze. Cid strokes his chin, seeming to consider something.
“How about this, then,” he says. “Hang on just a bit longer, and daddy will fuck you good and proper in his bed. I live just a couple blocks over.”
Dion nods before he can think. “Yes, that- I want that.”
“We have a deal, then.” Cid grins. He gently grabs Dion’s arm, helping him to his feet. With how floaty and fuzzy he feels, Dion is sure he needs it.
“Let’s get you cleaned up a bit first. Don’t need everyone seeing what a mess I made of you.”
Some paper towels and water from the sink later, they’re strolling out of the restroom as casual as anything. No one seems any the wiser, either. Dion can’t help but blush, reality sinking in that all these people were just on the other side of the door as he sucked off a total stranger. Cid doesn’t give him time to linger on it, though, steering them to the front doors and into the night.
—
There’s someone moving around his room.
Dion frowns in confusion, eyes still closed. There shouldn’t be anyone in his apartment. Unless His father or — god forbid — Annabella and Olivier have dropped by unannounced. He blinks awake, bracing himself to deal with his family first thing in the morning— but, wait, this isn’t his room…
“You awake, then?”
Cid rolls over, towards the voice speaking to him. The man from the bar, Cid, is standing by the other side of the bed, tying a tie. He’s dressed more formally than the night before, a buttoned shirt tucked into belted slacks, a suit jacket thrown over his arm. It doesn’t make him any less attractive. Dion sits up before realizing he is, in fact, still naked from their activities the night before. His cheeks warm, though Cid eyes him appreciatively.
“Believe me, I’d love to have a lie in with you,” he says. “But they’re having some emergency at work I’ve got to go in for.”
“Nothing serious, I hope,” Dion commiserates, voice rough. Goddess, he really hope he doesn’t have to speak to his father today.
“Won’t know until I get there, I suppose.” Finished with the tie, Cid pulls on the suit jacket, leaving it open. “My roommate makes breakfast for the both of us, told him to give you my share. Gotta grab something on the way.”
“Ah, thank you…” Honestly, Dion feels a little awkward. What were the normal manners after hooking up with someone like this? Would it be gauche to ask to see him again?
But Cid smiles at him, and Dion’s worries are soothed again. “Well, then, I’m off.” He starts to strut out of the room.
“Ah, before I forget,” Cid pauses, peeking back into the room. “I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name last night, love.”
Well, at least they’d been in the same boat. “Oh, ah, it’s Dion.”
Cid smiles again. “Well, I hope to see you around, Dion. Number’s on the nightstand, if you’d like.”
He steps out again, and Dion can hear the sound of his footsteps through the apartment. He hears some muffled voices — Cid talking to his roommate, he imagines — and then a door opening and closing. Dion falls back onto the bed. He feels… satisfied. While sucking Cid off in a public restroom was likely a bit much, he doesn’t regret anything that happened the night before. Even if he’s fairly certain he’ll be a bit sore the rest of the day. He looks over to the nightstand on his side of the bed. Sure enough, there’s a folded piece of paper sitting on the dark wood surface. He picks it up, unfolding it to find ten digits neatly written out, along with Cid’s full name.
Cidolfus Telamon.
It’s a fancier name than he might have expected. But somehow fitting. And not at all one he recognizes. That’s a relief. He reaches for his pants at the side of the bed, fishing out his phone to add Cid’s number. He’ll wait a bit to text him. Whatever work issue he got called away for sounds serious, and Dion doesnt want to distract him. He surprises himself how much he wants to text Cid in the first place, to continue… Whatever this is. He raises from the bed, gathering his clothes and redressing. It strikes him suddenly how hungry he is. It will definitely be a bit awkward, but he supposes he can take up Cid’s roommate on an offer of breakfast. It would feel a bit rude to just disappear without saying anything.
He finds his way out to the kitchen, the scent of bacon and eggs cooking leading the way. He finds Cid’s roommate facing the stove. Taller and broader than Cid, with a mop of unruly black hair at the top of his head. He must have gone for a run or something, dressed in a tank top and gym shorts. Dion clears his throat, unsure how to make his presence known.
“Excuse me,” he tries, weakly.
“Ah, good morning!” The roommate says, not turning. He seems to be stirring something, his arm moving. “Sorry about Cid. He’s really not the kind to run off first thing in the morning, but they really needed him at work.”
He turns, and Dion’s heart falls to his stomach.
“Do you like scrambeled— Dion?”
Clive Rosfield. Technically Dion’s older step brother. Full brother to Joshua Rosfield, who’s been Dion and Terence’s good friend since middle school.
The goddess must be laughing at him.