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Cid doesn't think much of it the first time. Why would he; he'd only really met the lad a few days ago and most of their conversations outside the one in his Solar had been so short and clipped, he'd already pegged Clive as more of the broody, stoic type. No reason to put much more thought into it.
And so when they hit a little barrier in Greatwood, just a little gap between a wall of rock and some fallen log that Cid was sure they could just squeeze through, he could barely mask his surprise when Clive rushes ahead, lodges himself into the space, and pushes with his hands and back to force it to widen. It's a rather impressive— albeit unnecessary— feat of strength, and he's sure he can see his muscles in his arm bulge slightly even in that ratty thing he calls armour. But it's only when Clive turns to look at him, with an expression of expectation, does Cid understand what the purpose of this is.
Oh, he wants him to...
Not what he was expecting but if this is how Clive wants to show his usefulness, he won't question it.
Cid slips through the gap in between Clive's body and the rock with a thanks, plenty of space but not quite enough to prevent any brushing touches between them. For a split second, Cid can only feel the firmness of Clive's chest, every muscle engaged to keep his core steady and to prevent the log from collapsing on them both.
It is a strange thought for Cid to have, of course Clive would be deceptively more built than his armour lets on, he was a bearer assassin for Greagor's sake, and one he should not be having passing thoughts about his musculature, not on the road at least.
And so Cid forces that thought away and gets through the gap easily enough, watching as Clive does some deft move to get out himself. He would have expected there'd be no more comment on that frankly bizarre moment and they would continue on their way, but then Clive flashes him another look, a completely new one he's never seen since they'd met in Nysa Defile. It is almost coy, his eyes, normally dark and serious, are lit up with amusement, maybe even a little mischief.
Did he... do that on purpose? Why? What was the purpose of that?
Alas, the expression is gone by the time Clive looked away, already walking further into the forest. Cid follows eventually and they're soon met with some of the less friendly creatures his shortcut ends up being littered with, and so he does not have any more time to dissect it any further.
One thing's for sure, he'll be looking at the lad with further interest from now on.
****
The next time it happened, Cid was not so caught unaware. Which is great because Clive was no longer trying to be inconspicuous about it.
This time, they are in Caer Norvant, making their way up the tower in search of the missing Bearers and the supposed second Dominant of Fire, fighting when they had to but otherwise trying to be quick and efficient on their mission.
Clive slowly closes the door he was currently peaking through with a quick comment about it not being a suitable way forward. Cid gestures to the room.
"Take your pick of another way, then."
"How about a window?" Clive asks as he darts forward and hops up to the narrow opening, examining the drop below. He must deem it acceptable as he looks back to Cid and says, "You go first, I'll cover our rear."
It's a reasonable plan, so Cid saunters up behind him, expecting Clive to step out of the window. Only he doesn't. He simply moves his whole body over to one side to make some room, but there's barely enough space for both of them and even then Cid would have to shimmy past him sideways.
He opens his mouth, primed to ask what he was playing at, but closes it once he catches that same look on Clive's face, the one he had a brief glance at in Greatwood. He had almost sworn he must have made up since seeing it yesterday, as Clive seemed to have gone back to his vengeful, angry self ever since and Cid struggled to conflate that Clive and the one he saw back then. And now.
Once again, Clive's eyes dance with reflected moonlight, that half smile daring him to say something about it. Cid could get lost in eyes like that; he had once or twice in his younger years when some dashing lad or lass looked behind their shoulder on crescent-mooned nights such as this, beckoning him to follow like one of the mystical Fae his Ma would tell stories about, long ago.
Maybe that's why Cid says nothing as he steps onto the window's edge, face to face, their noses almost touching. He'd never been in as close proximity to Clive as he is now, so he's never noticed the scant inches the lad has on him, how long his eyelashes are as they fan across his cheeks when he blinks, how the beginnings of the stubble on his chin and jaw do nothing to hide how delicate and aristocratic the rest of his features are.
He watches Clive watch him, as Cid starts to inch past in careful, little steps to avoid them both tumbling out of the tower. It's slower going than what's strictly necessary, but it gives Cid enough time to see Clive's gaze flicker down and away once he gets through the narrowest part, and their chests are no longer close enough to feel each other's heartbeat. It's another new look from Clive, this time more regretful, embarrassed, perhaps. Cid can't make sense of it at first, (isn't this what Clive wanted, after all?) not until he sees the almost imperceivable beginnings of a blush smattering over his cheekbones.
Ah, so the lad is not quite so unaffected as he makes himself out to be, Cid thinks, picking up on it like a bloodhound caught onto a scent. He resists the urge to grin, not quite ready to reveal anything in this shared game he now finds himself playing.
As insightful as this whole thing has been, Cid almost regrets agreeing to it once he gets to the edge, as the position he's now in makes jumping out the window cleanly practically impossible. Still, he does his best not to make a total arse of himself and he jumps, heavier than his joints would have liked, but still in one piece.
Clive follows after, making the drop look like child's play with a perfect landing.
"Bloody show-off," Cid can't help but mutter as Clive springs back on his feet, already scanning the area but not before offering a vague smile at the comment, nothing like the one from moments ago. But like before, it disappears into the night as Clive visibly drops back into the perfect image of a soldier, already striding ahead.
Storing this interaction in the back of his mind, Cid does the same. It wouldn't do to be distracted in enemy territory.
****
Cid assumes their little game was suspended indefinitely when Clive finds out the truth about the second Dominant of Fire and they say their farewells back at Martha's rest. It's a bit of a tragedy in all honesty, but that's the way life goes sometimes, the potential for something great, something more just gets nipped in the bud and there's nothing anyone can do about it.
But when Clive returns back to his Solar, wearing that scandalous outfit, with a new zeal for life and complete willingness to join his cause, Cid could hardly contain his excitement for more reasons than one.
Cid sees a difference in Clive almost immediately; it would be almost harder not to notice it. There's a newfound confidence in each step he takes, his head held higher like the noble he was in his past life. He can be seen smiling more than ever, no longer as sullen and withdrawn as he was. And of course, there's how Clive looks at him when he thinks Cid isn't watching, or perhaps he doesn't care because sometimes, Cid can feel it creeping down the back of his neck, waiting. Anticipating.
And this leads nicely back to their game, unexpectedly resumed.
This time they're in Northreach on a small reconnaissance mission a few weeks out from the big one at Drake's Head. It never hurts to be prepared with securing their path, greasing some palms when needed (mostly Isabelle's but that's almost always the case when Cid drops by), something so simple, it should have all been routine.
That is, until they make one wrong move with a group of Imperials that recognise Clive as one of their deserter Bearers and give chase.
To fight them head on and increase their notoriety this close to the mission would certainly put a dampener on plans and so they run like common thieves through the town's high-rise buildings. Cid has no choice but to let Clive take the lead, his familiarity with Sanbreque proving invaluable as they get as many twists and turns between them and their pursuers to break line of sight as quickly as possible.
It's after one of these turns that Clive suddenly changes direction and disappears into a shadowy corner, and with no time to question it, Cid follows right behind him. The corner turns out to be a narrow and somewhat shallow nook between two buildings which they have to squeeze into just to not have any part of them visible from the opening.
Cid forces his breathing to settle after that spontaneous sprint around town, hardly aware of their new predicament until he catches Clive's gaze, barely winded but mouth curved into that familiar smile— for Greagor's sake.
"You little minx, did you plan this somehow?" Cid hisses at him. Clive stays silent but the smile never falters, in fact, it just grows wider in a way that should be unspeakably annoying. And yet the only thing that stops him from kissing it off is the rather precarious situation they're currently in, and the unspoken rules of their game.
Cid doesn't get to say anything else before Clive's face drops into something serious, raising his hand in a gesture for silence as he looks toward the opening, where the tale-tell racket of soldiers in sheet mail begins to rise.
The next couple of minutes are full of tense quiet as they stare at one another but both focusing their attention on outside their hiding place. Or at least Cid tries to. He thinks he hears the Imperials run past them, dangerously close to discovering them if it wasn't for the shadow of a nearby building casting them in almost pure darkness. But in that moment, all he can think about is the long line of contact between him and Clive, from hip to chest, how they have no choice but to share the air between them, and how it grows warmer with each of their combined breaths.
For a dizzying second, Cid can't remember why he forbade himself from kissing him, ready to lean down and close the distance... Until Clive does it for both of them, putting hands on his shoulders as he leans forward and captures Cid's lips with his own.
It's like a spell is broken, all their teasing and circling around each other cumulates into that one kiss and explodes. Cid hears himself growl as he returns the kiss with more fervour than he thought he was capable of, hands raising to cup over Clive's jaw, holding him still as he delves further into his mouth.
There's a muffled curse from Clive when they break for some needed air, but he smashes their lips back together seconds after, using all the leverage the strength of his body affords him to press Cid harder into the wall his back is on. He lets out a startled gasp, eyes fluttering closed as the motion has their clothed cocks rolling against each other.
Cid doesn't bother holding back, not anymore. He lifts a foot onto the wall and uses that as his own leverage to overpower and push them both back onto Clive's side. Somewhere in the furthest recesses of his mind, Cid knows this is a bad idea but he doesn't give a shit, he's just so fucking hungry for it, for Clive, for that fleeting sensation of pleasure.
And so he takes, crowding against Clive and grinding their hips together, biting on his bottom lip just to hear the sharp cry it gets out of him.
"I bet you think you're so bloody clever, don't you? Jeopardising everything just to try and rile me up, huh?" Cid snarls the words out. Fuck, he sounds angry, he should be angry but instead, he takes it all out on Clive's lip and is rewarded with a garbled whine of a protest. Even now, he's trying to be a smartarse about it and Cid leaves another bruising bite, just below his ear.
"Don't you dare answer that. Just sit your pretty arse right there, quietly, and fucking take responsibility for your actions."
Despite the order, Cid's certain they're still being too noisy, their combined whimpers and low rumbles of desperation must be leaking out of their hidden nook for anyone passing by to overhear. The possible danger of it only serves to set Cid's blood on fire as he humps against Clive harder, each thrust pushing out a harsh pant of air out of the both of them in between their long string of kisses.
Cid doesn't know how long they're there for, only that the teasing friction of their long since hard cocks is starting to get the best of him, until he's sure he's whining just as high as Clive is, eager to get off. It only takes a few more pumps before Cid bites down the closest patch of skin available to him, Clive's collar bone, muffling the satisfied groan as he comes in his trousers, surprisingly intense for how little stimulation there was to have. Clive trembles hard underneath him, his hand flying into his mouth to stifle his own moan as he comes as well, riding the last waves of it as they slowly grind to a halt.
"Fuck me," Cid sighs as he catches his breath, finally leaning back on his side of the wall just to get a little more space for more air. The ringing in his ears stops eventually, and the hubbub of the civilian activity of Northreach comes back into focus. And then he remembers.
Northreach. They're in Northreach. Currently hiding from Imperials.
They seem to reach the same realisation at the same time, snapping their heads back to the opening. There's no more hurried footsteps, no shouting nothing out of the ordinary.
"You think they're gone?" Clive asks.
"Only one way to find out."
They stumble their way out of the gap, the sunlight initially blinding them after being in darkness for so long. Although, from how fucked out Clive's blown pupils are, Cid's certain that their little romp also didn't help.
When they finally acclimatise to the light level, relief diffuses between them when they confirm that there's no sign of their pursuers, likely to have gone further into town in their chase.
"We'd best get a move on," Cid says.
"Yes, let's," Clive agrees, awkwardly adjusting himself in his trousers, sweeping back the hair plastered on his brow from sweat.
It's a beautiful sight to look at, Cid thinks, smug that he was able to get him so dishevelled.
Then he's quickly reminded about his own unpleasant wetness against his dick, his own strands of hair falling on his face, the heat radiating from his own cheeks.
Hmm. Perhaps they can call this round of the game a draw, for now.
****
Their journey to the Veil is almost a blur to Cid, a maelstrom of emotions, somewhere between an anxious lookout for the Imperials and a sated, post-orgasm haze threatening to make his legs wobble as he walks. Every sense is on high alert, but he can't tell for sure if it's out of worry that they'll get spotted again, or roiling heat that is looking for another dark corner to push Clive back in and continue what they started.
They make it with no further trouble at least, slipping in through the back which is only used for emergencies such as sneaking in Bearers or in this case, when you purposely get the entire town's military presence out searching for you.
Speaking of their resident criminal, Clive has been mostly silent the whole way, taking the role of scout seriously and checking the coast is clear before indicating Cid to follow. You could almost forget he is the reason they are in this predicament in the first place (and Cid almost did, every time he got to watch his swaying hips when he dashes ahead, knowing the secret mess in his trousers he'd helped make. It gives him so much more satisfaction than it strictly should).
They run into the Dame at the back entrance, as if she knew they'd be coming. From the crossing of her arms and the downturn of her lips, it's evident that news travels fast.
"Would you like to explain the current rumour mill among my clients about how Cid the Outlaw has accosted with one of the Empire's own Branded?"
"I can assure you, we have it all under control," Cid attempts to placate but it only deepens her frown.
"How sloppy. I suppose you'd want somewhere to lie low before your journey home, is that right?"
Cid knew there was a reason why he had put her among his closest confidants; he's never had to say too much, she's always been able to intuit what favour he might ask of her— a perk of her profession, no doubt.
"If you have a bed available, I'd be happy to pay for the loss of revenue."
She makes a sharp tssk sound with her teeth. "No need for that, but I will be expecting my hospitality to be paid for in return in the undisclosed future. Here." She passes him a set of keys, gilded but not gaudy. "You'll find an empty room on the second floor, third door to the right. And please do not get caught by any of my clients from the garrison, or you will be paying for any damages to the Veil that inevitable altercation creates."
Cid could kiss her if he could take his mind off how badly he wants to kiss Clive again for one damn second.
The room turns out to be far more decadent than they really deserve; a lavish, four-poster bed complete with a sheer black canopy, a clawfoot bathtub set behind a violet and black fabric divider off to the side and a long chaise lounge sat underneath a veiled window, casting a perpetual sunset glow across the whole room.
It must be one of the most expensive suites in the Veil and the Dame offered it freely? It would explain that tiny break in her exterior before they departed, her face more a smile than a grimace for a fraction of a second.
Intuitive woman indeed. He has a feeling the favour she'll ask for will not be small.
Cid lets Clive walk past through the door before leaning back out himself, waving down one of the girls to get some hot water brought up for the bath.
"We might as well get the most of the Dame's kindness before we're kicked out in the morning. I'll let you go first, I've a few things I need to deal with now that our recon had been cut short by a certain someone," Cid says, perching on the side of the bed, pulling out a cigarillo.
Clive doesn't rise to the bait, instead, he nods silently, opting to sit on the chaise with an unreadable look on his face. It's enough to give Cid some pause; he's seen Clive sullen, cold, annoyed, nervously tripping over words— usually when he's trying to lie, poor sod— and now he's had the pleasure of watching his eyes clamp shut as he came, but never has he tried to intentionally obscure what he was thinking.
For the first time (which is probably bad in itself), Cid questions his own actions in town. Perhaps this game was not meant to ever go further than a little flirting for Clive, and Cid had blown right past that. He contemplates this while the pails of steaming water are brought in by a couple of manservants and poured into the tub, as well as their belongings they'd left here before they'd gone out. Contemplates some more when Clive wordlessly goes behind the divider, throwing his cape and jerkin over the top a few seconds later.
He should apologise, Cid decides as he hears the quiet splash and tries not to think too hard about the image of Clive's naked body hitting the water. He should clear the air, make sure everything is fine between them. They have a long journey back to the Hideaway after all and it sure wouldn't do if any animosity festers this close to their actual journey to Drake's head.
He must have been contemplating this for longer than he realised; by the time he actually gets round to taking stock of what else needs to be done before they return, his smoke is long since finished and a sudden call of his name has Cid whipping round.
Clive is there, standing in front of the window. Even with Clive's chest down covered in a thick, purple, downy-looking towel, he's still the image of temptation with how his still-wet shoulders glint in the light and his damp hair starting to curl at the ends.
Before Cid can fathom what Clive called him for, he drops the towel, like a courtesan might do to entice a patron, letting the fabric spool on the ground at his feet. Any and all thoughts about apologising are forgotten by Cid, at least for now. He can apologise later, once he's had another taste of this particular flavour of sin willingly being offered.
Cid tries and fails to keep his eyes from roaming lower before remembering himself and flicking his gaze back up to Clive's. It's obvious he's been caught looking by the way Clive's lip curls.
Trying a different course of action, Cid instead says, "Isn't this a little... gauche? Predictable? What, run out of more tight spaces to force me into?"
"I've tried being coy to limited success. You seem to respond better to my less sophisticated means, anyways," Clive says flatly. Cid barks out a laugh at his audacity, standing up from the bed and stalking closer.
He's unbelievably beautiful naked like this, Cid's mind wanders as he walks. It's nothing he hasn't seen before but the dull, flickering candlelight of the grimy gaol can never compare to this, every curve of muscle and sharp line of bone painted in orange light like a glowing, firey outline that he cannot look away from. To Clive's credit, he does not falter like in Caer Norvant when Cid closes the distance, until they're nose-to-nose again, reminiscent of most of their trysts but with no wall in sight to keep them confined, not this time.
Willful blue eyes meet with his.
"I can't believe I took you for just a brooding brat," Cid muses, almost to himself. Clive scoffs.
"I can't believe you thought that either. Even from the beginning, I knew what I wanted and I have always been good at getting what I want."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, of course." He crosses his arms in what Cid thinks is meant to be a stubborn stance, but he's otherwise preoccupied with how his biceps press into his chest and accentuate his already delectable pecs.
"Fine, you win. Get on the couch, Clive."
If Cid's reversal is a surprise to him, he shows very little evidence of it as he walks backwards until the back of his legs hits the chaise with Cid mirroring each step. With a graceful motion, Clive sits and Cid joins him, getting a knee between each of his hips to straddle him as he goes in for a kiss.
It's not quite as frantic as their first but it's almost a close thing. Clive's lips are warm and rough and obviously experienced; it has them both desperate for air before long but Cid isn't finished, he dips his head down to lick across the expanse of the body laid on offer for him, licking up droplets of water that's started pooling in the hollow of his collarbone, before venturing lower.
Clive tastes like lavender and smoke and Cid quickly finds he can't get enough of it, tonguing a teasing ring around a nipple and earning him a shallow groan. Fingers reach from behind his neck and bury themselves there, through Cid's shorter strands and tighten to keep him in one place. Cid offers no protest, sucking and scraping his teeth across until the nub is hard and pebbled. When Clive's hand loosens a little, he takes the opportunity to switch to the other nipple to give it the same treatment, only pulling off when Clive starts to squirm and buck, his now more than interested cock pressing against Cid's stomach at every motion.
"Is that what you wanted, Lord Rosfield?" Cid says with a grin and Clive matches it, pushing on his chest with a heavy hand.
"Hmmm, not quite. Swap with me."
With a couple of almost fumbling movements, Cid is sitting on the couch with Clive over him, quick and nimble hands lacing and unbuckling and undressing, pushing his jacket off his shoulders and wresting his shirt over his head. Cid goes with it all, chuckling at his enthusiasm.
"Don't act like you didn't want this, too. I may have started it but as I recall, it wasn't me who thought rutting against each other while being chased was a good idea." Clive's voice is sharp but he's betrayed by how his fingers roam over the newly exposed skin, tracing scars and freckles as if charting a map, as if he cannot help himself.
"Aye, but I don't remember hearing you complaining when I had you moaning underneath me."
"A valid point," Clive says good-naturedly, finally finished with taking off all on Cid's top half and sliding onto his knees onto the floor to start on the lower half. Cid helps to shuck his trousers and smalls off once his boots are removed, and they're finally as naked as each other. The position isn't lost on Cid, having Clive kneeling in between his legs, mouth so close to his cock and the splashes of come from earlier. It must not be lost on Clive either (or, more likely, another one of his schemes) as he gets the tip of his clever tongue onto the head with one quick, cheeky lick and nothing more.
"Cute," Cid laughs. One hand reaches down to brush a few limp strands of hair out of Clive's eyes, still wet but quickly drying. "How about you clean the rest up while you're down there?"
He expects a challenge, a protest, maybe even more snark but Clive just shudders as if he hadn't expected to be so affected by the simple command, before diving back in. There's no more teasing as he drags his tongue from root to tip, collecting any come he finds in its wake and swallowing it with a soft moan. It doesn't have any right to be as arousing as it is, and Cid's gentle hand eventually becomes a solid grip on his bangs but it only seems to spur Clive on. Cid can hardly hold himself still, heaving out strangled gasps as Clive sucks it all down easily and with no complaints.
By the time he's done, Clive practically scrambles back up on Cid's lap, eyes unusually bright and almost feverish. It looks like he's back to his mischievous self though, grinding over Cid's long-since hardened cock.
"Fuck, Cid, I want you in me," Clive pants into his ear, just like the siren he's proving to be.
Trying not to sound quite as worked up as he is, Cid pets along his thighs right up to his arse. "Well, aren't you eager? But aren't you forgetting that I still need to open you..." He trails off, eyebrows reflexively furrowing when he goes to press around his entrance as part of his own tease, only to find his hole plenty slick and open.
"When did you—"
It was a stupid question really, and one Clive so smugly answers.
"Why, in the bath of course."
Cid suddenly seems full of stupid thoughts, as the image of Clive silently fingering himself with only a feeble divider between them is causing his brain to sputter.
"I didn't even hear you."
"Couldn't spoil the surprise. It was worth the effort just to see this look on your face," Clive murmurs, all sultry now when he leans forward for another kiss and Cid obliges readily. He distantly wonders what he's ever done to deserve such a man who has made it his life mission to kill him by pure temptation alone, but he'd love to meet whichever deity is responsible and give them a firm handshake in thanks.
There's a lot less urgency in this kiss as they get comfortable in each other's space, but that doesn't make it any less heated. Now that he's gotten over that little surprise, Cid slides two playful yet persistent fingers into his entrance, mostly to test the stretch but hearing the way it has Clive gasping against his lips is a nice bonus as well.
Impatience gets the better of them before long, and Clive gets into position to take him in while Cid slips his fingers out and cups his thighs for support as he sinks in.
He only gets about halfway down before Clive lets out a frustrated huff, pulling back up and trying again.
"Oh," he breathes again, dropping a little lower on his dick but not by much more.
Cid tries to chuckle but it comes out more like a wheeze; how Clive can already feel so tight this early is beyond him.
"Bigger than you expected? Didn't plan for this when you were fingering yourself open?"
"Shut up. Just... let me concentrate," Clive grouses. With one hand digging into Cid's shoulder and the other holding onto his cock to keep it still, he works his way down with smaller, more insistent bounces until he's finally fully sheathed with a small swear.
It's Cid's turn to curse now when the tight heat envelopes the whole of his dick, and for a split second, he imagines that Clive is someone who works for the Veil and himself, just a client. Imagines that he had paid hard-earned Gil for the privilege of spending one night of pretend with one so practised in a facsimile of reciprocated desire. But sometimes the truth is better than fiction, Cid muses. He does not have to pay for the honour of having this beautiful man on top of him as he starts to build up speed in his thrusts. He gets to see how the orange half-light glow catches in his half-closed eyes and across kiss-slickened lips as Clive moans at the feeling, and knows that all of this is genuine.
Some unrecognisable feeling sweeps through Cid, has him peppering a few kisses on the slope of his jaw and feeling the reverberation of Clive's breathless sigh in response. They rock in a lazy counterpoint with one another, like it's something they've done countless times before. Cid feels some coiled up tension between them ease as they continue, neither concerned about one-upping or their little game; it no longer seems to matter when they're joined like this, like the inevitable conclusion to a longrunning tug-of-war.
"Cid," Clive begs, desperation lacing his voice even though he has most of the leverage, using it to get Cid in impossibly deep before repeating the process again.
"Just like that," Cid responds lowly. There's a little shift in the angle and Clive whimpers and stops, momentarily overwhelmed, before he continues with a faster but shakier rhythm than before, his neglected cock rubbing against their stomachs and smearing precome wet on their skin. Cid snakes a hand between them, grasping the rigid length firmly and Clive's next cry is loud and wordless, but he cuts himself off by biting into Cid's thick shoulder. He slows into deeper, grinding thrusts that leave Cid balls deep inside him, must be pressing deliciously onto his prostate with the way each roll of his hips pushes out pleading, high-pitched noises around Cid's name coming from out of his throat.
Cid continues to stroke him, his own cock pulsing in time with everything else and close to the edge as well, building up like static electricity, higher, faster. Until there's a wet gasp, a brief tense moment, then a burst of motion as Clive comes, jerking against him with a guttural moan. It barely has time to register as Clive's walls flutter around Cid hard and with a shout, he's dragged into an unexpectedly violent orgasm that takes him completely by surprise. He shoots deep inside, Clive milking him for all he's worth until the oversensitivity sets in and he's left spent and exhausted. Fuck, he barely even did anything other than sit there and he still feels like he's just finished running a dead sprint.
His head had lolled a little without him realising during the comedown, but when he looks back to Clive who seems a little flushed, breathing a tad heavy but has the most brazen, self-satisfied smirk he's ever seen. It really should be more irritating but when it makes him look so alive and present, Cid quickly determines it might be his favourite expression of his so far.
"Is that what you wanted, Lord Rosfield?" He tries for sarcasm but knows that it sounds far more fond than anything else.
"Yes, although I didn't expect you to just sit there and then finish so soon. A disappointment, really,” Clive replies without skipping a beat.
Just like that, Cid's musings about being beyond their several weeks of pettiness shrivel up and die, even if his affection for the man and his antics only continue to grow.
"I'll show you a fucking disappointment."
With a growl, he thrusts up, somewhat ineffective with his softening cock but enough to make Clive yelp in surprise. A good start but then again, they do have all night.
Let the games begin again.