Chapter Text
While fires burned and castles crumbled, as sparks screamed vibrantly into silence underneath the unfeeling light of the moon, Clive knew something had changed. Three deadly levers had been thrown and broken from their sockets. As he watched the fiery beast tear Phoenix to shreds, his system lurched and tumbled, folding into a thousand scalding knots and springing into each other, hurtling toward oblivion. That was the worst night of his life—the first of many.
For the past thirteen years, he thought he would never have that feeling again. That was until he came to call Cid’s Hideaway something resembling “home.”
Clive stood silently at the Fat Chocobo’s bar, ignoring the nearby stool, leaning the entire weight of his formidable, broken figure on the driftwood countertop. His cloak was folded yet abandoned on the table nearby, along with his equipment and supplies. Kenneth, the usually snide head chef of the establishment and constant busybody, for once kept his distance, content to continue slicing vegetables, knife held a bit too firmly. The humble earthenware mug felt small in Clive's grip; he could nearly touch his thumb to his fingertips. Clive considered his murky reflection in the flat, make-do ale. He could not bring himself to drink it, even if Kenneth said it was on the house.
“Water,” Clive grunted.
“Sir Clive?” one of the kitchen sous chefs inquired.
“Water. Quickly. Please,” he managed.
“Right away,” the sous chef whimpered as he ran to the aquifer.
Placing both hands on the countertop for precious support, he felt the back of his neck burning up. Getting his hands on the hastily offered water, he soaked a nearby dishrag and slathered it on the back of his neck. It offered relief of pouring a decanter of spring water on Blight-infested, desert canyons.
Perhaps it was the strain of battle, finally catching up with him after these long thirteen years. The battle with Garuda, gale whipping him hither and thither like a rag doll, must have dislodged something from his system, the final straw in a years-long struggle of desperation. The vengeful flame once contained on a patient wick had set fire to the bowels of the oil lamp. He could not find relief, even after downing the ale, which ran down his throat like saliva.
“Shall I fetch the good doctor?” a familiar voice called out behind him. “You aren’t looking too good, lad.”
Clive turned, eyeing Cid’s silhouette as he leaned against the door frame, the ember of his cigarette creeping over his rugged features. Clive’s head began to spin and he again steadied himself against the countertop. It was as if he were anchored to the spot, heavy, yet seething under Cid’s scrutiny. The older man narrowed his eyes, inspecting Clive. He hated that look; despite the trust that was slowly catching flame, it would take much more kindling to set it alight.
The man approached him, cramming his cigarette into a nearby tray and removing his glove in one fluid movement. As he drew closer, the few inches that Cid had on him seemed like miles. He stood…rather close.
“May I? I need to see how hot you’re getting.”
Clive could only nod. Cid pressed the back of his hand onto his forehead and it seemed glacial in comparison. Seeing the sheen of sweat carried on the back of Cid’s hand sent him reeling. It must be serious. Suddenly one his legs gave out. He had not noticed it twitching and jiggling. With lightning-fast reflexes, Cid caught him before the back of his skull cracked against the countertop. Grip tight and assured, Clive felt heat rise up in his neck and face. The older man was so palpably close.
“I must insist you meet with me in my quarters at once. There is something you must know,” Cid said. Clive felt the man’s brassy, hoarse voice reverberate, sending shivers through his bones and crackles throughout his system. Was this a poison? What other explanation could there be? Within moments he was delirious, unable to keep balance.
The rest of the Hideaway’s denizens took furtive glances. The hiss in Clive’s ears blocked their murmurs and quickly whispered nothings, save for one. “Not a shy one, is he?” What could they have meant?
“Kenneth,” Cid grunted as he dipped under Clive’s shoulder for leverage.
“Yes, commander?” Kenneth answered.
Cid shook his head. “Now I’ve told you a time and a half not to call me that.”
“Apologies, commander.”
He groaned. Despite the merging of senses, he could sense the good cheer in the older man’s voice.
“A pot of water to my quarters, if you please. And keep ‘em coming. Clive here has it pretty bad.”
“Yes…Cid,” Kenneth answered carefully.
“I’m gonna take you up to a decent bed, alright Clive?” Cid said. The floating, tingling sensation was sliced to the bone when he saw the look in Cid’s eyes.
“Y-yes. If you say so,” Clive said.
As they traipsed through the cave’s main artery, Clive suddenly became aware of Cid’s scent. It must have been a secret stash from his days in the Waloed's military. It was brusque, heady mixture: rosemary, basil, tobacco and sweet campfire smoke. Pine. Cid nearly lifted him off the stone floor as they ascended the staircase to his quarters.
“You are getting a little close there,” Cid said. Clive winced. Was he? He was; the appeal of Cid’s scent had caused him to draw nearer to the source, the tip of his nose nearly brushing against his temple. He murmured and apology, certain that some Blighted desert creature had stung him in his bedroll.
Before he knew it, Cid had him seated on his bed. The mattress pleasantly gave way, which was fortunate. Unbeknownst to him, there was a palpable reason he avoided the rigid stools at the Fat Chocobo. His rear was sore and tender, no doubt in response to the toxins that ravaged his systems. Being near Cid made them worse; had he misplaced his trust? Was this his final encounter?
The older man must have seen the panic in his eyes. He quickly handed Clive a goblet of cool water and stroked his forehead with his free hand.
“Cid—be honest with me—am I dying?” Clive sputtered. The scent from before was overwhelming, further muddling his senses; now it smelled of cinnamon, star anise, pepper, no, rosewater, mint, green apples—
“No you are not dying,” Cid grasped his shoulders firmly, as if to underline his next, grave point. “But for the next few days, it will feel like you are.”
“C-Cid,” Clive stammered. The goblet slipped from his hand, rolling across the floor. “What is happening to me?”
“Has the girl, Jill, or…or has your brother Joshua ever explained anything about this to you?”
“Explained what?” Clive meant it to sound commanding, but instead his voice was quiet and hoarse. The hands about his shoulders were the only thing anchoring him to this world. Out of the corner of his vision, a blur crept, narrowing his field of view until only Cid remained.
“The nature of the Dominants. The further burdens they must bear in honor of their patron Eikons,” Cid’s eyes glanced back and forth, like a peasant surveying a flooding riverbed near the homestead.
“Being a Dominant changes…you,” Cid said, stifling a smirk. Clive’s hand shot to his shoulder, grasping Cid’s wrist. He didn’t know whether to yank the man closer or throw him off. Across his skin, he could perceive every stitch, the loops of threads running across his flesh in countless directions; every molecule of oxygen was a spike in his lungs, yet he couldn’t stop inhaling not with this…with this solid man looming over him. Helping him, hopefully, to understand his predicament.
Over the past week, he had had his suspicions, but he knew that Cid was good at heart. Creating this haven, inviting everyone from around to just be a goddamn human again. Salty tears burned. Cid offered an embroidered handkerchief.
“Now, now. You’ll live. You’ll live, Clive.”
“THEN SPIT IT OUT!” Clive barked.
“When Dominants receive an Eikon, their bodies physically change,” Cid said. “They become Alphas and omegas.”
Another lever pulled; some twist of the knife in Clive's memory banks let another core memory loose from their vaults. Through the haze of his sensory overload, he saw Joshua in his red doublet at the edge of Rosaria’s fecund gardens. Whenever Joshua was upset, Clive would find him there, considering the lush plants in silence all by his lonesome. On this particular morning, Joshua turned to Clive, tears freshly wiped away.
“Clive…do you know what ‘Alphas’ and ‘omegas’ are?” Joshua asked, sounding out the unfamiliar words. "I was walking through the courtyard and I overheard Mother mention the words to Father, but..."
“Sorry, Joshua, I’ve not heard of them before. Perhaps they are some kind of knightly order?” Clive had said back then, shrugging his shoulder. Yet another small way he had let his little brother down. But Joshua had only shrugged it off, shaking his head, and told Clive it wasn’t important.
Cid’s breaths became more and more ragged, as if what Clive had caught infectiously suffused the room.
“You’re an omega, Clive and I an Alpha. The Eikons—in desperate, beastly bids for continuity—have instilled in us a sick kind of obligation. We Dominants are all…drawn to each other. Irrevocably. irreversibly. Impossibly. It cannot be helped—only tolerated and survived.”
“...That would mean—” The possibilities failed to land through Clive’s increasing delirium, but still he clung to reality, waiting patiently for the Alpha’s every word.
“But you and I...we don’t have to listen to them—to these urges. We can tolerate them until they pass.”
“Urges?”
Cid chuckled darkly, his face flushed and his own sweat now beading palpably on his glistening skin. His breaths were coming with a bit of struggle, as if he were avoiding a toxic cloud that wafted palpably his way on stormy winds.
“I will be extremely frank, lad.” The older Alpha took a deep breath. “I’ve a mind to fuck the living daylights out of you right now. Til kingdom come.”
The pause seemed an eternity.
Clive bit his lip. The words seemed unreal—even coming from Cid, the old flirt. The word “fuck” reverberated tangibly against his eardrums. In fact, every shift of Cid in his boots, every glance from beneath his eyelashes, every bobbing of the man’s Adam’s apple seemed attuned to the rhythm of his pulsing blood and churning flesh. Glancing down at Cid’s breeches, he could tell he was serious. The turgid outline of his cock against the vegetable-tanned leather nearly seemed too good to be true.
“Now, I am not like those other Dominants out there. I will not be branded like this just because of some will of the Eikons—my body and sexual fate is mine, and mine alone,” Cid gasped, now on the back foot in terms of control. “Just as much as your body is yours.”
Clive shuddered. Cid’s pupils were blown wide, as if to drink deeply of the quivering omega man beneath him, nearly reclining on the bed.
“I will give you my bunk to wait it out.” He smiled grimly. “It will be a fucking trial, but you’ve been through worse. I know the way to a remote store house. I can go there and give you peace. It’s our only chance of resisting. Dominants can’t be near each other during their ‘heat.’”
What a miserable joke: ‘heat.’ As if flames had not been sated enough already. However, when he looked up at the older man, he could only see concern suffusing his gaze.
The older man waited for a directive. When none came, he defaulted to departure. Cid released his grip and began to step away when Clive’s hand shot out and nearly harpooned his wrist. “Wait, damn you,” he muttered between ragged breaths.
Caught off guard, Cid eyed him cautiously, betraying a little amusement through a twitch at the corner of his mouth.
“You have done your best to find the bastard that stole my brother. You have built this place for us branded—wanting nothing in return. We have only just met…but you have had every opportunity to slit my throat or turn me in for a fat bounty. Yet you took not one.”
“My boy—”
“Let me finish, Cid!” Clive barked releasing his vice-grip and punching the ornately carved headboard. He stood, the room swaying beneath his boots, Cid the one object staying in place. He began to pace as a flurry of words, quick on wings like murders of crows, flooded his thoughts. “For the past thirteen years I have committed innumerable crimes in the names of my so-called masters; I’ve murdered hundreds of men, cutting them down as they begged for mercy and cried out for their families; set farmsteads aflame; commandeered a year's harvest from starving villages…and…and…this is my life. This is my life. I'm tired, Cid. Now I get to choose! This is my body: I decide what I do with it.”
The older man grew still and quiet, appearing to summon the last ounce of willpower to hear Clive out.
“I. Will. Not…” Tears streamed down his face. Their trails nearly evaporated from his skin before they met the mess of stubble at his jawline. He gripped his temples, waiting for his beleaguered mind to form the words. “I won’t be the beast of burden for hollow praises from my tormentors and not be allowed to fuck when I want to!” Clive spat out in fierce determination.
That was the last of the old man's reserves. Cid, in a daze, glanced over his shoulder, seeing that the door was still open. He dashed over. True to Kenneth’s word, there were indeed several jugs of water already delivered.
Cid only grinned in that insufferably cocky fashion. “Which means…”
“To hell with the Eikons. I want you to fuck me,” Clive spattered.
Cid only smiled. he traversed the chamber in two gallant steps. The heat emanating from the...Alpha felt like a flaming boulder from a trebuchet and with awe Clive watched it enter his orbit. There were no slick words or wise remarks, no double entendres or thinly veiled jokes, just five simple words: "I thought you'd never ask."