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The slick feel of Cid’s thick fingers in his ass has Clive struggling to stifle a moan, lest it echo in the solar. He takes deep, ragged breaths, barely perched on the other man’s fully clothed lap while Cid stretches and wets him with their oil.
Clive balances his weight with his forearms on the desk, trembling from the stimulation. A thin sheen of sweat coats him, making every rumbling breath from Cid’s mouth a cooling relief against his back. The older man remains lax in his chair, the only sign of his desire that Clive can feel coming from the eager stretch inside.
“That’s it, love.” Cid’s voice is both an aphrodisiac and a balm, making Clive’s cock twitch and drool as his heart swells. “Doing so well for me. Such a hot little hole opening so easily.”
“Cid, please,” breathes Clive. He chokes on a moan when those clever fingers stroke over his prostate. “Hnngh!”
A soft chuckle sounds, followed by a gentle kiss to his damp shoulder. “Patience, love.”
Patience? Clive will show him patience all right. The second Cid’s dick is out, Clive has every intention of pushing back and sitting on that delicious thickness—
A sudden, loud knock jars them, rattling the moment. “Cid! Got news about the supply run, and Charon ain’t happy.”
Gav. Fuck. Clive resigns himself to pulling away, but Cid grips his hip, holding him still. He leans over and whispers a suggestion that has Clive’s cock throbbing with want. Glancing over his shoulder, flustered yet eager, Clive nods.
Go on, then, murmurs Cid, before he raises his voice. “A moment, then, let me make myself decent.”
Clive rolls his eyes—it’s such an obvious lie—but when Gav calls an assent, he can't complain. He eagerly takes the opportunity to shift into position while Cid tucks the oil away and adjusts the chair behind the desk before taking a seat. It means Clive is left empty.
Thankfully, not for long. Hidden under the desk, he lowers his head toward the floor, stuffs his discarded shirt between his teeth, and raises his ass high until Cid obligingly slips three fingers inside.
“All right, come on in,” calls Cid.
The door opens; closes. Gav’s footsteps are familiar and strangely comforting. Always light, but he walks deliberately heavier when he wants to be known.
The footsteps pause, seemingly close to the desk. Clive can imagine how it looks to their sleath operator: Cid a bit flushed, leaned slightly forward with one arm in what can only be a compromising position.
Delicately, Gav says, “Thought I heard Clive.”
“He’s around.” Cid, as always, doesn’t miss a beat.
Clive clenches his teeth over his shirt, a faint tremor overtaking him. Cid’s fingers aren’t moving, resting just so against his prostate. It’s making his cock pulse and drip obscenely. No doubt the smell lingers.
This is the moment that will decide their game. Depending on how Gav replies, Cid will either pull his fingers free or keep going.
Gav hums almost under his breath. From his tone, Clive can picture his shrug. “Anyway, Charon says there’s a discrepancy between the order and gil exchanged.”
“Doesn’t Goetz always look after her orders?” Even as Cid asks, insanely calm, he starts a slow thrusting rhythm with his fingers. It’s only enough to tease. Clive swallows a moan along with a flood of saliva.
“Aye, but it seems we got a tenderfoot who went this time. Charon says we’re short three bolts of linen.”
A low whistle escapes between Cid’s teeth. His fingers spread, stretching him. Clive chokes on a whimper, eyes screwed shut, fists tense on the floor.
As the conversation continues, Cid toys with him. Sometimes thrusting, nice and slow, other times stretching his hole, and still others just pausing to pet over his prostate. Clive’s ability to keep quiet is rapidly unraveling.
He just wants to come, but he can’t, not just yet—
“... let her know the plan.” A faint rustle flitters through the air as it sounds like Gav shifts his weight.
“Much obliged,” says Cid, drilling into Clive’s prostate so hard that his eyes cross.
Footsteps start walking away, heavier than when they entered. Then they pause just as the door creaks open. “Ah, I almost forgot.”
Cid utters a rumble so low that Clive knows it’s meant for his ears only. “Eh?”
The cheeky smirk curves Gav’s final words. “Tell Clive that if he wants to be quiet, a shirt ain’t gonna do fuck-all.”
Quickly, the scout makes his leave. Clive whines, flushed with embarrassment and arousal, clenching when Cid’s startled, deep laugh floods the room.
The chair scrapes and soon Cid is kneeling on the floor behind him, petting down his back with a chuckle. “We’re lucky to have friends who don’t mind some of our shenanigans.”
“Cid, please!”
Cid hums thoughtfully. Drops a kiss to Clive’s shoulder, and grasps his hip with his free hand. “Aye, dear.”
Then he starts fucking him with all three fingers. From soft and slow to rushed and brutal, it’s enough to make Clive shriek and squirm. His orgasm rushes up to meet him all over again, striking him like a stone as he sprays cum all over the floor. Cid doesn’t let up until Clive is yelping more than moaning, at last slipping his fingers free and pulling Clive up and back into a hug as he catches his breath.
“I love you, Clive.”
Sighing, sagging back against him, Clive mumbles, “Love you too.” And he does, he really does.
But, damn it, now he’s got to figure out a muffling material better than his own shirt.