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Amidst gasping breaths, laid onto his back, Cid hears a lowly muttered fuck, and that's enough to crack his eyes open, eyelashes sticky with sweat. He's met with Clive's ravenous expression, all wide-eyed and desperate, as if he were the one being tormented and not the one still clinging and wanton.
“Fuck, Cid,” he groans, head hanging low enough his hair creates a dark curtain. “You don't know how much you've ruined me for anyone else.” He starts grinding down, cock still hard despite already coming twice. His panting is heavy—insatiable beast, all sweaty and hot and still gearing up for more.
Cid claws at the sheets, sensitive and sore. His head tips back to expose the long column of his neck, flushed so red and mauled with so many bite marks and bruises it makes Clive groan again at the sight. He takes it as an invitation to lean down, presses them closer, planting soft kisses along the skin in reverent apology.
“Sorry, sorry,” Clive says between breaths, between kisses, “a little longer, please, let me keep you like this a little longer. I'll take care of you, I promise.”
“Clive…” Cid's voice has turned guttural. His own cock hangs useless and limp, trapped between their stomachs, the strain of multiple orgasms making him weak. An unfair advantage that Clive had meticulously sought, fucking Cid with his fingers and coaxing pleasure with just his mouth until Cid writhes helplessly—until finally he's loose and open enough for Clive to slide in and fuck him through more.
He's lost count of the hour, of himself, can only feel Clive's thick heat still inside of him, the almost suffocating air of the room.
Like a cliff corroded by tumultuous waters, from mountain to stone, it was Clive's stubbornness that had eventually brought Cid to his knees. He'd have been a fool not to have noticed the careful words, the lingering gaze, the sheer want in those eyes, but he would've been an even bigger fool to have entertained them any further.
Freshly freed Bearers have always had that clinging dependency towards their perceived saviors. Never mind the fact that Cid wasn't even there in Nysa Defile for him in the first place. But all else, it was Cid's Hideaway that had granted Clive freedom from his shackled role, that had opened the doors to a community who would treat him as just another member of their little society and not worse than dirt under someone else's ratty boots.
Still, Cid had not been lying at the time: Clive wasn't his type.
It was simply that Clive's stubbornness had bested his.
Somehow he’d been bullied onto his front. Cid is too exhausted to keep his hips aloft, but it deters Clive not. Unfairly steady hands, strong and unyielding, encourage him back on his knees. Cid grabs at a pillow like a lifeline.
Yes, it was Clive's stubbornness. His stubborn hands, gentle despite all that he had suffered, helping where he can; his stubborn eyes, earnest and open, so blue and so honest; his stubborn mouth, latching onto sensitive nape. His ridiculous, stubborn—Greagor, where was he even hiding this thing—insistent cock burying home and true inside of Cid, over and over, dragging noise after noise out of him.
His own spent cock gives a valiant twitch. Cid is nearing the end of his tether. But the knife's edge of pain amidst pleasure has always brought about the gluttonous side of his: the side that wants to keen at every brush of his tenderized core, the side that wants to hang limp and wet and continue to let Clive do whatever he wants.
It eases off the burden of thinking. Cid knows not beyond these four walls and skin upon skin. Knows not his role in this realm except to be clutched by Clive's equally greedy, scarred hands.
That same hand suddenly wraps around his length, hot and calloused, and a weak shout escapes him. “Ah, ah,” Cid's nails dig at Clive's forearm. “Ngh– wait!”
The body flushed against his back goes utterly stock-still. Cid tries to swallow back a relieved groan. He knows he's not as spry as he used to be, especially not against another Dominant who’s much younger and at the prime of his own vitality. Though it chafes at his pride, they haven't discussed the lengths of Cid’s limits, of either of theirs. A mistake he should've known better at his big age. Hubris has pushed them this far, too much and too soon.
Clive's lips are gentle upon Cid's sweaty shoulder, barely there and fleeting, but it's enough to soften the edges. Hot breath tickles his ear. “Breathe,” Clive murmurs, giving a comforting nuzzle. “I’ve got you.”
His hand starts moving again agonizingly slow. The drag is like lightning through his veins. Cid quakes through it—being milked for all he's worth.
A small, pitiful sound escapes his ruined throat.
This time, when Cid comes for the umpteenth, last time, it's barely a trickle, but somehow it lasts an eternity. He feels the hot splash of Clive filling him up again. Stuffed so full it drips down the back of his trembling thighs. And Cid feels marked, no inch of him left untouched, and if he had any strength left to speak he'd have asked Clive to plug him up to have something to remember him by.
Clive had said he's been ruined for anyone else. Cid silently mirrors the sentiment.
It gets hazy after that.
Warm, wet cloth glides across his skin, Cid thinks, and sometimes they feel like plush lips. Except such tenderness should be impossible after they've both gotten the release that they've wanted, so Cid endeavors to believe otherwise. Clive is a considerate lad, if nothing else, and Cid prepares himself to wake to an empty cot after he's been tidied away. Nothing but a means to an end, really.
But there's sudden pressure on his chest, and Cid blinks awake just to have his vision immediately obscured by messy raven hair.
Clive continues to tuck himself into Cid, looking for all the world like his own precious hound as he noses closer still. The hand slung over Cid's waist is heavy. Yet the weight settles a restlessness Cid hadn’t realized was even brewing, contentment heavy on his lashes that it droops his eyes back closed.
They both sink into the bed, clearly too small for two grown men, and yet they make do anyway. The way outlaws are wont to do.