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Cid watches their newest addition closely. Clive is much like many of the Branded he's freed over the years. But Cid's not been able to help many soldiers in his quest — no shortage of them like that dead sergeant of Clive's, only loyalty or death. None here have seen the battlefield in the way Clive has. While all Bearers are treated like tools by the majority of the realm, Clive's been reduced to nothing more than a weapon.
Somehow Cid finds that a worse sentence than being a tool.
Cigar between his lips, he scans the Hideaway from atop the stairs, watching the lad flit from one task to the next. He knows it takes time for the mind to catch up and realize its safe. Safe to eat and sleep and eventually live without fear of some corrupt master raising a hand or heartless stranger spitting on them simply for existing. He's seen it before and he's never gotten use to it. He's just not sure he's ever seen someone resist it as much as Clive is.
It's evident in the way Clive pushes himself to the brink and beyond, how he acts as though he's expendable. He barely eats despite reassurance from Kenneth that there's enough to go around. He's rarely idle, and while that may seem like a blessing, everyone needs rest eventually. And the lad's version of rest — sitting upright with his eyes closed — doesn't bloody count.
Just watching him go non-stop makes Cid tired. He'd also be a liar if he didn't admit the ache in his chest every time he looked at Clive. A liar indeed, saying Clive isn't his type, a piss poor attempt at convincing himself, no one else. But Cid's no fool, he knows he's sweet on the lad, which makes this all the more complicated.
Cid goes for another drag on his cigar only to find there's nothing left of it to smoke. With a grumbling sigh, he stubs out the butt on the underside of his boot before heading down the stairs to where Otto stands in the middle overseeing operations as usual.
"Otto," he greets him sternly.
"Cid," the man returns in kind.
Cid jerks his head in Clive's direction where he helps yet another poor soul with some odd errand. "Has he stopped at all?"
"You're the one who told him to make himself useful," Otto grumbles.
Cid scoffs and clicks his tongue against the back of his teeth. "Bugger me."
"I don't think he'll listen to me if I tell him to take a break."
"Here's what I'm thinking," Cid pauses when a few residents walk near them, waiting until they pass. "Once things have settled down for lunch, send him up to the solar. I doubt he'll stop to eat, but everyone else will and that'll at least force him to stop for a damn minute. I'll take it from there."
Otto raise a brow. "And if he asks why?"
"Do I ever give you a reason for shit?" Cid says with a smirk.
Otto rolls his eyes. "Point taken. I'll see that it's done."
"Good man." He claps him on the back and saunters back up to his solar.
He makes good use of the remainder of the morning, catching up on reports, missives and even toiling away at his pet project, troublesome as it is. He only hopes that Clive follows through. And no small part of that hope is selfish.
Leaning back from his desk, he lights up new cigar and basks in the earthy smoke. Thoughts twist and weave in his mind, multiple threads he tries to untangle and pluck a single one to follow to its end, but never manages to grasp an individual string. He takes another drag from his cigar, wondering if it helps to clear his thoughts or further obscure them. Strange how a single person is able to change one's entire understanding of the world and their place in it.
A knock at the door of the solar jars him from his reverie, though he's hopeful for who brings this interruption.
He puts his cigar out in a tin. "Come in."
The door creaks open and he's pleased to see Clive step inside. "Otto said you needed to speak with me, though he didn't say about what." The lad looks around, instincts assessing even though he's been in here a handful of times.
"Aye, that's cause I didn't tell him." He stands and rounds his desk. "Settling in well?"
Clive looks at him like he's grown a second head. "I've told you that I'm not staying."
Cid nods and continues in a casual tone, "That you have, several times in fact. Doesn't mean you can't adapt to a bit of freedom. Warm meals, a place to rest."
The permanent scowl on his face grows more severe. "What are you getting at Cid?"
Hells, the lad is so damn touchy and stubborn. He reaches over to a basket of apples atop his desk, grabs one and weighs it back in forth between his hands. Clive watches him like a scared animal, ready to lunge or bolt, so he keeps his movements slow and easy to track. He pushes away from the desk and strolls about the room, apple still in hand, gradually making his way closer to Clive.
"Guess I'll come right out and say it. You've not been sleeping. Or eating for that matter. You say you've waited thirteen years for revenge, but you're about to throw it all away if you don't eat or sleep. What a bloody waste," Cid says as he shakes his head and offers him the apple.
Clive stiffens where he awkwardly stands in the middle of the room. "I… don't deserve any of that. Not with the things I've done." His head ducks away, ignoring the offered fruit. Cid tosses it back into the basket with a sigh.
"Hells, deserved or not, your body requires it," he grumbles as he steps close to Clive, placing a hand on his shoulder.
The lad's body tenses, vigilant even under such a benign touch. But with his level of exhaustion, there's little fight left in him. Blue eyes flutter closed and a soft exhale escapes him. He sways and his head droops before it jerks up and his eyes fly back open.
"C'mon." He guides Clive over to his bed, hiding his relief when the lad willing comes along. "Take that disgusting armor off and get in."
"What?" The word is a bite, sharp and fierce, a warning for Cid to watch himself. He doesn't scare so easily though and he's got enough of a read on the lad to know that he's got no true intentions of hurting Cid.
"You need to sleep, Clive. If only to be alive long enough to get your bloody revenge," he reiterates, baiting him with his own twisted goal.
Though Clive followed him, he stands stock still, staring at the bed like it's a terrible monster. He sees the internal struggle play out on Clive's face, how his body fights to remain alert and at the ready for whatever unseen threat awaits him.
Cid steps a bit closer and softens his voice, "You're safe in here Clive. I won't let a soul in."
The lad relents with sigh and starts undoing belts and clasps, removing all the armor until he's down to his linen pants. Cid gestures at the bed and while Clive rolls his eyes, he complies. Stiff as a board he lays on Cid's bed.
"Now get some damn sleep." He doesn't wait for a response and returns to his desk to chip away at more busywork. With the way Clive dozed off standing up, he figures it'll take no time at all before he passes out. Instead, there's nothing but the sounds of restless tossing and turning. He lets it go on for a while until even he grows frustrated with it.
He blows all but one candle out and goes to sit on the edge of the bed. "Can't sleep?"
"Clearly not," Clive huffs. His face is less of a scowl and more of a pout. Cid's heart clenches, finding it oddly adorable, the way his lips purse together and how his brow furrows. If only he could take all the lad's troubles away, ease the burden and bear some of that weight…
Cid has a hunch. He places his hand on Clive's bare shoulder and once again, tension bleeds from his frame with a heavy exhale. Bloody hell, his skin is nearly hot to the touch under Cid's hand. His skills of deception get put to the test as he masks his reaction, yet on the inside the warmth suffuses itself with his heart.
The lad's breathing eases and his eyes fall closed again. He's playin' a dangerous game here, offering comfort when all he intended was to convince the lad to rest. Crossin' lines that he told himself he wouldn't cross, even went so far as to use harsh words to keep Clive at arm's length.
When he thinks Clive is almost asleep, he takes his hand back and turns to leave.
"Cid?"
He winces, grateful that he's turned away and Clive can't see it. "What is it lad?"
"I… Could you… it helps when you-" he falters, unable to find the words in the foreign exchange.
Cid can't refuse him, not like this, and he won't make him say it. The timing isn't right for that.
Greagor forgive me, he thinks as he looks up with a resigned sigh.
"Aye. Make some room."
Clive shifts and rolls onto his side with his back towards Cid. Damn it, even that tiny display of trust, his exposed back to not just Cid, but an open room that anyone could walk into. Cid selfishly thinks the lad has some faith in him after all. And that does funny things to an old man's heart.
On second thought, he best proceed with some degree of caution and communication. Clive's clearly still in quite a fragile state and the last thing he needs to be doing is abusing this rarely given trust and taking the lad's flustered silence as assent.
"Am I to use my discretion or would you been keen on using words?"
There's a huff of air and Clive's shoulders bunch up. He waits a beat and when Clive doesn't speak, he concludes his answer. Discretion it is. Here's to hopin' his judgement is as sound as he thinks it is. He slowly lays his hand over Clive's shoulder and there's a jerk of movement under his touch. He holds, just resting his hand for a moment, patiently waiting and selfishly enjoying this simple, intimate touch. After a moment or two, a shuddering breath leaves Clive and his shoulder eases back down with it.
Cid doesn't say anything. This isn't the sort of thing words can heal.
His thumb brushes back and forth, finds inconsistencies in scarred skin. With time, Clive's breathing levels out and finds a natural rhythm, something that doesn't take all that conscious effort the lad puts into it. Initially curled up like babe, his body opens up as he allows the shoddy bedding to support his weight.
"There you go, Clive, easy does it," he thrums more tender assurances.
"Cid?" His voice is tight, restricted, as if he's holding something back.
Fuck, that sound goes straight through his heart. Yet he only hums an acknowledgement and gives the lad's shoulder another gentle squeeze.
"I… Would you mind if- … Could you ho-" The words still aren't within his reach, a steep wall barring his access.
Though Cid prefers words, he's willing to make an exception. So many exceptions he's made for Clive and this is just one more. It all goes against his better judgement. And yet, he continues, knowing how wrong this could end up and doing so anyways.
"It's alright, ask away," he encourages softly.
Elusive bastards, these words are. Instead, Clive shakily grabs Cid's hand and tugs towards his chest. Cid masks the way his heart aches at being invited in to such vulnerability and by a man so wounded as Clive.
"Swee—” he coughs to cover up his near fault. "Is that a request to be held?"
His hand gets a firm squeeze. "Please." Oh what a small fragile sound the lad makes.
"Alright, I can do that. Would be more comfortable without my leathers on, but that's your call."
There's something mildly petulant in Clive's voice when he says, "I… don't mind if you're more comfortable."
He stifles a chuckle at this born noble turned enslaved assassin turned Dominant to the second Eikon of Fire who now sulks in his bed like a child. "Not about me right now," he reminds.
Another sulky huff of air is the initial response, then, "Just… keep your pants on."
Was that… a bloody joke? Cid amusedly thinks to himself and this time, there's no hiding a fond chuckle.
Jokes aside, it's more of an answer than Cid expected. He takes to removing his jacket and undershirt and tugs off his boots. When he returns to the bed, he sits on the edge once more, watches the lad's spine straighten and then relax. He makes his first move and simply lays next to Clive without touching him.
He watches muscles twitch in Clive's neck and shoulders, involuntary responses from years worth of trauma. When the tremors subside and Clive's got a steady rhythm on his breathing again, Cid rolls onto his side and places his hand on the lad's shoulder once more.
Another relieved exhale falls out of Clive. Like Cid's touch alone is akin to the Phoenix's Blessing. Though he supposes that's not too far off. While the Phoenix heals physical wounds, it seems Cid is able to affect wounds of a different nature. He only wants to help ease Clive's pains, to lift his burdens, and if all it means is a loving touch, then he will gladly do so. Even if it's all that ever becomes of them, Cid's willing to sacrifice his deeper affection for the lad.
In the safety of Cid's room and with Cid at his back, Clive lets out a significant yawn. Hells, Cid hasn't smiled this wide at a yawn since Mid fought her naps as a tot. With such success, he presses his luck and squeezes Clive's shoulder. He gets a pleased hum back so he continues.
Rough fingers splay over scarred skin, creating mindless paths that overlap and intertwining. Up his corded neck and that gets a shiver he smooths out with the warm palm of his hand. His hand slinks further, dipping back and forth across his spine, outlining shoulder blades.
The faintest of freckles speckle his skin and he finds that so endearing. He's careful as his finger skate further south, not wanting to accidentally tickle the lad. Inevitably, his hand comes to a rest on Clive's hip, but not for long.
The lad is quick to grab his hand and much like the first time, pull it towards his chest. Only now, Cid has no way to brace himself against the tug and finds his chest pressed against the expanse of skin he was just admiring.
He's afraid to say anything. More afraid than some battles he's faced. For what if speaking ruins this precious sanctuary? What if Clive's trust in him is shattered should he say the wrong thing? What if Clive does leave and never returns?
In his worry, he misses the way he tucks Clive closer to him, yet the lad seems unfazed.
"Clive?" he says quietly.
Nothing. Only the slow, deep breaths of sleep.
He smiles to himself and whispers into dark hair, "Sleep well sweetheart. May you dream of the things you long for the most." He leans into this solace, lets his eyes fall shut and sleep takes him too.
Cid wakes up sometime later. Not too late, maybe an hour or so, as he still hears the regular bustle of the Hideaway outside of the solar. He's pleasantly warm and there's a comforting weight on top of his chest. He peels an eye open and looks down.
What he finds brings a smile to his face and a flurry of fondness in his heart. Clive's head rests on his chest, the rest of him tucked up against Cid's side. He's wrapped around Cid in every way possible, arms around his stomach and legs tangled with his. Who knew the lad was such a cuddler?
Cid can't resist indulging in some soft affection. He slowly raises a hand and cards through Clive's hair, playing with the dark strands and watching them slip from his fingers like ink. His heart does a funny lurch in his chest. Greagor, he's a goner. A sodding idiot for thinkin' he could be alright with this. Damn traitorous heart and its bloody feelings.
Clive's breathing shifts and his face pinches together. Cid goes entirely still and thinks of pretending to be asleep, but what a pointless sham that would be with the way his heart thuds just beneath where Clive rests his head. And so he waits, ready to face the consequences of his greed.
Clive picks his head up, blinking the sleep from his eyes. "Cid?"
"Aye, sleep well lad?" he asks, forcing neutrality into his voice.
Clive looks around then stares up at him, clearly still waking up. Hells, he's bloody adorable like this, what with those dreamy blue eyes, messy bedhead and not a smidge of tension or angst on his pretty face. It's all Cid wanted to do for the lad and now that it's done, the dream is over. But Cid isn't ready to let go.
Realization surfaces in the form of pink cheeks. "I… did," he admits sheepishly.
He should say something or excuse himself or ask Clive if he needs more rest or something. Anything. But he can't. He's stupidly afraid of saying or doing the wrong thing and so he does nothing.
"Cid?" Clive calls to him again.
He only hums back, pointedly avoiding those beautiful blue eyes.
Clive visibly shrinks and turns away. "I… should probably go. Apologies for taking advantage of you and your bed. It won't happen again."
"Clive, wait," he says and stills him with a hand on his back.
Oh, Cidolfus, you bloody fool.
This is it. Clive was always bound to leave. He's just moving the process along. Rippin' the bandage off, so to speak. Better to get it over with quick so his foolish heart can bury these feelings and move on.
Clive looks at him cautiously, but he doesn't look ready to bolt out the door. Yet. "What is it Cid?"
"Wouldn't mind if this happened again… if you're keen on it, that is. And if not, well… that's fine too, I suppose," Cid offers and tries not to sound too disappointed by the possibility of the latter. He's expecting Clive to scowl, to brood and then take off, never to be seen again.
Instead, a corner of the lad's mouth curls up slightly and those dark lashes flutter over his gorgeous eyes. Fuck, that's a bloody smile. Somebody pinch him, he must be dreaming.
Clive shifts up and rests his head on Cid's shoulder, face nestled against his neck. Warm breath falls over his skin and he fails to hide the shudder it brings on.
"Think I'll try to get a bit more rest," he whispers.
Cid smiles and dares to pet through Clive's hair again. There is no startle, no jump in his shoulders, no tensing in his spine. No, Clive actually leans into his hand before nuzzling back into the crevice against his neck.
"Aye, sweetheart, a bit more rest sounds good," Cid hums back and holds Clive tenderly as they both allow themselves to fall back asleep. Perhaps a bit of comfort is exactly what he needed.