Fanfiction: Talking Strategy (Final Fantasy XVI, Clive/Jill/Cid)
Riona: I can sort of envision Clive, Jill and Cid having a threesome.
Cid: I'm going to book a private room in this brothel for our strategy meeting.
Riona: ...
Riona: I'm going to have to write this, aren't I?
For context, I've only played up to the second major timeskip, so I apologise if this fic is inconsistent with any later developments! Look, I couldn't exactly hit the brothel strategy meeting and not write this immediately. I'm not sure you book your strategy meetings in a brothel if you're just planning to talk strategy.
Title: Talking Strategy
Fandom: Final Fantasy XVI
Rating: somewhere between PG-13 and 15. So... 14? I'm rating this 14.
Relationship: Clive/Jill/Cid
Wordcount: 2,200
Summary: “Right,” Cid says. “Plan’s all in order, and we’ve got the room for a while yet. How will we pass the time, I wonder?”
Warnings: Brief allusions to past sexual assault.
“Right,” Cid says. “Plan’s all in order, and we’ve got the room for a while yet. How will we pass the time, I wonder?”
“If you’re planning to order a courtesan,” Jill says, “I’d like to leave, if I may.”
Cid snorts. “That’s what you think I do when I have a spare hour, is it?”
“In a brothel?” Jill asks. “I don’t think it’s an unreasonable assumption.”
“Let’s take the opportunity to get to know each other a little better,” Cid says, lounging back on the couch. “You two. You’ve always been sweet on each other, haven’t you?”
It’s a sentiment they’ve heard often enough before, and Clive’s instinct is always the same: he looks over at Jill to check her reaction. As ever, she’s hard to read.
Cid nods, with apparent satisfaction. “That’s what I thought.”
“We didn’t say anything,” Jill says.
“You didn’t need to.” Cid shrugs. “I’ve never been one for dancing around an attraction, but it seems to me you two have been dancing so long you’ve forgotten how to walk.”
“Are you hoping for a confirmation?” Jill asks. “I don’t see how it’s any business of yours.”
“Doesn’t make a difference to me, whether I get a confirmation or not,” Cid says. “Looks to me like Clive wouldn’t mind one, though.”
Jill looks sharply over at Clive. He breaks his gaze from her, just as sharply.
“Not my business, maybe,” Cid says. “But it’s his.”
Clive clears his throat. “Perhaps it would be best if we let this ‘opportunity to get to know each other’ pass.”
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Cid says. “Look, I’ve got a point here. I’m not just trying to make you uncomfortable.”
“And what is that point?” Jill asks, coolly.
“The one in my trousers, I suppose, if you want me to be vulgar about it.”
There is a brief pause.
“I don’t recall asking you to be vulgar,” Jill says at last, “but thank you all the same.”
Clive shifts on his feet, a little uncomfortable. “If you’re planning to avail yourself of the brothel, we can leave.”
“I’m not,” Cid says. “Well, not in the way you mean it. I’ve been thinking: it’s clear you two have a long history. Can be hard to take the next step in those circumstances, can be intimidating. Maybe what you need is a mediator. Three’s a crowd, they say, and I’ve always liked a crowd.”
Clive can’t make sense of it. But it looks like it might mean something to Jill; her eyes widen a little. She shifts her stance, folds and unfolds her arms, brushes her hair behind her ear. Clears her throat. “You’re saying...?”
“A third party,” Cid says. “Someone else in the bed, so you can forget all your concerns about whether you’re lovers and think of it as a simple evening of debauchery.”
“What?” Clive asks, the question in both mouth and mind all at once.
“That’s a very forward offer,” Jill says, after a moment.
“Hard offer to make backward,” Cid says. “It’s not the first time I’ve made it, and the ones who aren’t going to accept are usually quicker to say no.”
Another pause. It’s hard to gauge how long it is; the inside of Clive’s mind is a frozen tangle of questions and images, hanging suspended and incomprehensible in the air.
“Clive?” Jill asks, looking over at him. “What do you think?”
The question brings Clive crashing back into a reality he no longer understands. The offer itself was bewildering enough; the fact that it seems Jill might be considering it-
He claws the first coherent sentence he can find out of the mess in his head. “Why are you asking me?”
“Well,” Jill says, “your opinion does seem relevant.”
“Poor lad,” Cid says, dry and unsympathetic. “Struggling with it, isn’t he?”
“Can you blame him?” Jill asks.
“Should I take that as a comment on my desirability?”
“You can take it however you like.”
“Wait,” Clive says, and both Jill and Cid turn their focus to him instantly; their gazes feel dangerously intent. “I’m trying to... make sense of this, I suppose.”
“It’s simple enough,” Cid says, getting to his feet. “The way you’re reacting, though, I’m wondering if you’ve ever broken in a bed. Been celibate all your life, then? Handsome lad like you?”
Clive’s throat tightens. He looks away.
“Ah,” Cid says. “Sorry for asking. It’s not an uncommon tale among our kind. I’ll spare Jill the same question.”
It’s something Clive has wondered about, exactly what Jill went through in servitude. He’s never been able to bring himself to ask. Afraid of the answer, or perhaps afraid of being asked the same question in return.
He finds he can’t meet either of their eyes.
“It was only a suggestion,” Cid says. “You’re your own masters. No obligations here.”
“I thought I wasn’t your type,” Clive says, in an effort to lighten the mood.
“I’m not a man particularly beholden to his own tastes,” Cid says. “I have my preferences, like anyone else, but I won’t be called a picky eater.”
“Is that why it seems you’ve slept with half the realm?” Jill asks, quietly.
Cid laughs. “About time someone took me to task for it. It’ll be the whole place if you two take me up on my offer.”
“Clive?” Jill asks, catching Clive’s gaze before he can avoid it. “It would be your decision.”
“Because you’ve already made yours,” Clive says. He thought it would be a question; it comes out a statement. “Because you want me, or because you want Cid?”
Jill raises her eyebrows, just a little. “I thought the purpose of the offer was to ensure we wouldn’t have to think about questions like that.”
“If she’s a person of any taste, she’ll be wanting both of us,” Cid says. “And I’ve always thought Jill had a good head on her shoulders.” He looks at Clive. “How about you?”
Clive finds himself tempted, which perhaps means he has no head on his shoulders at all. He can’t deny that he’s thought of Jill in that way. Perhaps not Cid, before Cid put the thought in his head, but the man’s words ring true; the prospect of being with both Jill and Cid feels less intimidating than the idea of being with Jill alone, somehow.
At the very least, Cid’s presence has them talking about the possibility, which is more than they’ve ever managed on their own.
Clive closes his eyes for a moment. The building is kept warm, and his clothing feels heavy and constrictive against his skin; it’s hard to know how much of that is the temperature of the air and how much is his own thoughts.
“I may... change my mind,” he says, opening his eyes. “I’m willing to try. But I can’t promise...”
It feels insolent to say it; it feels like he should anticipate punishment. His throat closes up around those dangerous words, too late. He can’t expect to have a choice here.
But Cid just nods, understanding. Of course he does; he’s Cid. “Your body’s your own. I’ll touch it if you let me, and gladly. If you’ve had enough, though, just say the word.” He turns and holds a hand out to Jill. “With your permission, my lady.”
Jill approaches, with a small smile, and puts her hand into Cid’s. He tugs her gently closer, slipping his other hand to her back, and he kisses her.
Clive isn’t sure where to look; his first thought is that he’s made a mistake. He hadn’t fully thought it through, what it would feel like to see Jill with another. But-
There’s something compelling in it. Were he the one kissing her, he wouldn’t be able to see this from outside: the line of her body against Cid, the way her eyes close.
He wants to see more, suddenly. He wants to see Cid touch her; he wants this.
Cid strokes her hair as they pull apart, then turns to Clive, and Clive goes willingly to him.
Cid’s kiss is ungentle, but there’s no cruelty there, and Clive is able to relax a little into it; he hadn’t realised he was holding himself so tense. He’s with people he trusts. He may come through this with regrets, but he won’t come through with scars.
“Go on, then,” Cid says, breaking away and jerking his head towards Jill. “Kiss the girl.”
Clive has never been taken to bed without being given orders, and, left to his own devices, he’s not sure what to do. He seizes on the instruction with something like relief, and he’s kissing Jill before he remembers he has a choice in the matter.
The moment Clive registers what he’s doing, he’s a flustered mess, with no understanding of where to put his hands or what to do with his mouth. He starts to pull back, embarrassed, but Jill strokes his face and kisses him again, and it helps to calm him a little.
“At last,” Cid says, slowly applauding. Clive and Jill turn to give him a sharp look as one, and he laughs, unabashed. “We could leave it there, if you want. Looks like we’ve broken down some barriers, at least.”
“No,” Clive says, surprising himself with how sure he sounds. Jill, beside him, laughs quietly, but she nods.
“I’ve no objection,” Cid says, a grin spreading across his face. “You’ll know men already, I suppose, Clive. Not women?”
Clive flushes, avoiding his eyes. “I... know the theory.”
“The theory will do nicely,” Cid says. “This isn’t army training; nobody’s going to be judging your performance. Not harshly, anyway, and not if I know Jill.”
“He’s right, you know,” Jill says. “Let’s not worry too much about expectations. We’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves.”
Cid waves a hand at her. “Wise words. You’re among friends, Clive. If you acquit yourself poorly, we’ll forgive you.”
Clive mumbles a word of thanks. The reassurance that he’s among friends means more than he can truly express, and probably more than he should.
“Now,” Cid says, “we’re all wearing atrociously complicated outfits, so I suggest we all take charge of undressing ourselves.” He’s undoing the numerous buckles on his boots as he speaks. “I wouldn’t know where to start with Clive’s getup.”
Jill nods and moves to unbuckle one of the belts around her arms. Even knowing their intent, it feels too intimate to watch her disrobe, somehow.
Clive looks away, tries to focus on his own clothes. It’s true; they seem far too complicated, suddenly. He wonders if Jill is watching him undress; he wonders if Cid is watching him, or watching Jill.
“You can’t mean to keep your gloves on,” Jill says, half-laughing.
It startles Clive into looking up. She’s down to her underclothes; Cid is nude, save the gloves.
Perhaps Cid was right. In any other situation, seeing Jill in this state of undress would feel like too much. With Cid here - with the knowledge that this isn’t for Clive’s eyes alone - it’s easier to bear, somehow.
For an instant, Cid looks almost selfconscious. It’s a strange expression on him, rare enough to be disconcerting. “More stone in my touch than the women prefer, I’d say.”
It’s a strange, sad reminder of the curse, and Clive can see from Jill’s expression that it’s the same for her. But she clears it from her face and tosses her hair back. “Surely the women should be the judge of that.”
“Isabelle said you couldn’t please her as well as Otto,” Clive says, the situation making him bold. He’s already thrown caution to the wind, after all. “If you insisted on keeping your gloves on, I suppose we know why.”
“Oi.” Cid points at him. “If you’re not going to use it to please your lady, you can rein in that tongue.” He raises his pointing hand to his mouth and tugs off the glove with his teeth.
-
“You’re cold, girl,” Cid mutters. “If you’re not feeling this, we don’t have to do it.”
Jill shakes her head. “I’m always cold.”
Cid laughs, quietly. “Forgot Shiva was in the bed with us.”
It’s something Clive hadn’t thought about, how their Eikons would play into this. But they’re inescapable, of course, shaping this aspect of their lives in the same way they’ve shaped every other.
Jill is ice against his fingertips, or water, perhaps: cold, but liquid, yielding. It seems he can almost feel the lightning beneath Cid’s skin, something humming and flickering, the charge in the air before a thunderstorm. Clive wonders if they can feel Ifrit in him as well, if they’re touching an inferno made flesh.
He finds his fingers returning to the patches of stone on Cid’s arm, again and again. It’s not conscious, but, if he lets his mind wander, his fingers will stray to trace those dead parts of a man who has always seemed so alive to him.
It’s his own future, Clive knows. He’s not exactly sparing with his use of magic.
He meets Cid’s knowing eyes, and he has to look away.
-
“Won’t be here forever, y’know,” Cid says afterwards, pulling his gloves on over his slowly petrifying hands. “You two are going to have to learn to do this on your own.”
“We’d miss you,” Jill says. She looks suddenly at Clive. “I mean-”
Perhaps she’s afraid that those words might hurt Clive. But they ring true, simple and clear.
“She’s right,” Clive says. “After that, I think it would feel like you’re missing.”
Cid laughs, quietly. “Not exactly the legacy I’ve been striving for. But, aye, I’ll take that.”
Cid: I'm going to book a private room in this brothel for our strategy meeting.
Riona: ...
Riona: I'm going to have to write this, aren't I?
For context, I've only played up to the second major timeskip, so I apologise if this fic is inconsistent with any later developments! Look, I couldn't exactly hit the brothel strategy meeting and not write this immediately. I'm not sure you book your strategy meetings in a brothel if you're just planning to talk strategy.
Title: Talking Strategy
Fandom: Final Fantasy XVI
Rating: somewhere between PG-13 and 15. So... 14? I'm rating this 14.
Relationship: Clive/Jill/Cid
Wordcount: 2,200
Summary: “Right,” Cid says. “Plan’s all in order, and we’ve got the room for a while yet. How will we pass the time, I wonder?”
Warnings: Brief allusions to past sexual assault.
“Right,” Cid says. “Plan’s all in order, and we’ve got the room for a while yet. How will we pass the time, I wonder?”
“If you’re planning to order a courtesan,” Jill says, “I’d like to leave, if I may.”
Cid snorts. “That’s what you think I do when I have a spare hour, is it?”
“In a brothel?” Jill asks. “I don’t think it’s an unreasonable assumption.”
“Let’s take the opportunity to get to know each other a little better,” Cid says, lounging back on the couch. “You two. You’ve always been sweet on each other, haven’t you?”
It’s a sentiment they’ve heard often enough before, and Clive’s instinct is always the same: he looks over at Jill to check her reaction. As ever, she’s hard to read.
Cid nods, with apparent satisfaction. “That’s what I thought.”
“We didn’t say anything,” Jill says.
“You didn’t need to.” Cid shrugs. “I’ve never been one for dancing around an attraction, but it seems to me you two have been dancing so long you’ve forgotten how to walk.”
“Are you hoping for a confirmation?” Jill asks. “I don’t see how it’s any business of yours.”
“Doesn’t make a difference to me, whether I get a confirmation or not,” Cid says. “Looks to me like Clive wouldn’t mind one, though.”
Jill looks sharply over at Clive. He breaks his gaze from her, just as sharply.
“Not my business, maybe,” Cid says. “But it’s his.”
Clive clears his throat. “Perhaps it would be best if we let this ‘opportunity to get to know each other’ pass.”
“Oh, don’t be like that,” Cid says. “Look, I’ve got a point here. I’m not just trying to make you uncomfortable.”
“And what is that point?” Jill asks, coolly.
“The one in my trousers, I suppose, if you want me to be vulgar about it.”
There is a brief pause.
“I don’t recall asking you to be vulgar,” Jill says at last, “but thank you all the same.”
Clive shifts on his feet, a little uncomfortable. “If you’re planning to avail yourself of the brothel, we can leave.”
“I’m not,” Cid says. “Well, not in the way you mean it. I’ve been thinking: it’s clear you two have a long history. Can be hard to take the next step in those circumstances, can be intimidating. Maybe what you need is a mediator. Three’s a crowd, they say, and I’ve always liked a crowd.”
Clive can’t make sense of it. But it looks like it might mean something to Jill; her eyes widen a little. She shifts her stance, folds and unfolds her arms, brushes her hair behind her ear. Clears her throat. “You’re saying...?”
“A third party,” Cid says. “Someone else in the bed, so you can forget all your concerns about whether you’re lovers and think of it as a simple evening of debauchery.”
“What?” Clive asks, the question in both mouth and mind all at once.
“That’s a very forward offer,” Jill says, after a moment.
“Hard offer to make backward,” Cid says. “It’s not the first time I’ve made it, and the ones who aren’t going to accept are usually quicker to say no.”
Another pause. It’s hard to gauge how long it is; the inside of Clive’s mind is a frozen tangle of questions and images, hanging suspended and incomprehensible in the air.
“Clive?” Jill asks, looking over at him. “What do you think?”
The question brings Clive crashing back into a reality he no longer understands. The offer itself was bewildering enough; the fact that it seems Jill might be considering it-
He claws the first coherent sentence he can find out of the mess in his head. “Why are you asking me?”
“Well,” Jill says, “your opinion does seem relevant.”
“Poor lad,” Cid says, dry and unsympathetic. “Struggling with it, isn’t he?”
“Can you blame him?” Jill asks.
“Should I take that as a comment on my desirability?”
“You can take it however you like.”
“Wait,” Clive says, and both Jill and Cid turn their focus to him instantly; their gazes feel dangerously intent. “I’m trying to... make sense of this, I suppose.”
“It’s simple enough,” Cid says, getting to his feet. “The way you’re reacting, though, I’m wondering if you’ve ever broken in a bed. Been celibate all your life, then? Handsome lad like you?”
Clive’s throat tightens. He looks away.
“Ah,” Cid says. “Sorry for asking. It’s not an uncommon tale among our kind. I’ll spare Jill the same question.”
It’s something Clive has wondered about, exactly what Jill went through in servitude. He’s never been able to bring himself to ask. Afraid of the answer, or perhaps afraid of being asked the same question in return.
He finds he can’t meet either of their eyes.
“It was only a suggestion,” Cid says. “You’re your own masters. No obligations here.”
“I thought I wasn’t your type,” Clive says, in an effort to lighten the mood.
“I’m not a man particularly beholden to his own tastes,” Cid says. “I have my preferences, like anyone else, but I won’t be called a picky eater.”
“Is that why it seems you’ve slept with half the realm?” Jill asks, quietly.
Cid laughs. “About time someone took me to task for it. It’ll be the whole place if you two take me up on my offer.”
“Clive?” Jill asks, catching Clive’s gaze before he can avoid it. “It would be your decision.”
“Because you’ve already made yours,” Clive says. He thought it would be a question; it comes out a statement. “Because you want me, or because you want Cid?”
Jill raises her eyebrows, just a little. “I thought the purpose of the offer was to ensure we wouldn’t have to think about questions like that.”
“If she’s a person of any taste, she’ll be wanting both of us,” Cid says. “And I’ve always thought Jill had a good head on her shoulders.” He looks at Clive. “How about you?”
Clive finds himself tempted, which perhaps means he has no head on his shoulders at all. He can’t deny that he’s thought of Jill in that way. Perhaps not Cid, before Cid put the thought in his head, but the man’s words ring true; the prospect of being with both Jill and Cid feels less intimidating than the idea of being with Jill alone, somehow.
At the very least, Cid’s presence has them talking about the possibility, which is more than they’ve ever managed on their own.
Clive closes his eyes for a moment. The building is kept warm, and his clothing feels heavy and constrictive against his skin; it’s hard to know how much of that is the temperature of the air and how much is his own thoughts.
“I may... change my mind,” he says, opening his eyes. “I’m willing to try. But I can’t promise...”
It feels insolent to say it; it feels like he should anticipate punishment. His throat closes up around those dangerous words, too late. He can’t expect to have a choice here.
But Cid just nods, understanding. Of course he does; he’s Cid. “Your body’s your own. I’ll touch it if you let me, and gladly. If you’ve had enough, though, just say the word.” He turns and holds a hand out to Jill. “With your permission, my lady.”
Jill approaches, with a small smile, and puts her hand into Cid’s. He tugs her gently closer, slipping his other hand to her back, and he kisses her.
Clive isn’t sure where to look; his first thought is that he’s made a mistake. He hadn’t fully thought it through, what it would feel like to see Jill with another. But-
There’s something compelling in it. Were he the one kissing her, he wouldn’t be able to see this from outside: the line of her body against Cid, the way her eyes close.
He wants to see more, suddenly. He wants to see Cid touch her; he wants this.
Cid strokes her hair as they pull apart, then turns to Clive, and Clive goes willingly to him.
Cid’s kiss is ungentle, but there’s no cruelty there, and Clive is able to relax a little into it; he hadn’t realised he was holding himself so tense. He’s with people he trusts. He may come through this with regrets, but he won’t come through with scars.
“Go on, then,” Cid says, breaking away and jerking his head towards Jill. “Kiss the girl.”
Clive has never been taken to bed without being given orders, and, left to his own devices, he’s not sure what to do. He seizes on the instruction with something like relief, and he’s kissing Jill before he remembers he has a choice in the matter.
The moment Clive registers what he’s doing, he’s a flustered mess, with no understanding of where to put his hands or what to do with his mouth. He starts to pull back, embarrassed, but Jill strokes his face and kisses him again, and it helps to calm him a little.
“At last,” Cid says, slowly applauding. Clive and Jill turn to give him a sharp look as one, and he laughs, unabashed. “We could leave it there, if you want. Looks like we’ve broken down some barriers, at least.”
“No,” Clive says, surprising himself with how sure he sounds. Jill, beside him, laughs quietly, but she nods.
“I’ve no objection,” Cid says, a grin spreading across his face. “You’ll know men already, I suppose, Clive. Not women?”
Clive flushes, avoiding his eyes. “I... know the theory.”
“The theory will do nicely,” Cid says. “This isn’t army training; nobody’s going to be judging your performance. Not harshly, anyway, and not if I know Jill.”
“He’s right, you know,” Jill says. “Let’s not worry too much about expectations. We’re supposed to be enjoying ourselves.”
Cid waves a hand at her. “Wise words. You’re among friends, Clive. If you acquit yourself poorly, we’ll forgive you.”
Clive mumbles a word of thanks. The reassurance that he’s among friends means more than he can truly express, and probably more than he should.
“Now,” Cid says, “we’re all wearing atrociously complicated outfits, so I suggest we all take charge of undressing ourselves.” He’s undoing the numerous buckles on his boots as he speaks. “I wouldn’t know where to start with Clive’s getup.”
Jill nods and moves to unbuckle one of the belts around her arms. Even knowing their intent, it feels too intimate to watch her disrobe, somehow.
Clive looks away, tries to focus on his own clothes. It’s true; they seem far too complicated, suddenly. He wonders if Jill is watching him undress; he wonders if Cid is watching him, or watching Jill.
“You can’t mean to keep your gloves on,” Jill says, half-laughing.
It startles Clive into looking up. She’s down to her underclothes; Cid is nude, save the gloves.
Perhaps Cid was right. In any other situation, seeing Jill in this state of undress would feel like too much. With Cid here - with the knowledge that this isn’t for Clive’s eyes alone - it’s easier to bear, somehow.
For an instant, Cid looks almost selfconscious. It’s a strange expression on him, rare enough to be disconcerting. “More stone in my touch than the women prefer, I’d say.”
It’s a strange, sad reminder of the curse, and Clive can see from Jill’s expression that it’s the same for her. But she clears it from her face and tosses her hair back. “Surely the women should be the judge of that.”
“Isabelle said you couldn’t please her as well as Otto,” Clive says, the situation making him bold. He’s already thrown caution to the wind, after all. “If you insisted on keeping your gloves on, I suppose we know why.”
“Oi.” Cid points at him. “If you’re not going to use it to please your lady, you can rein in that tongue.” He raises his pointing hand to his mouth and tugs off the glove with his teeth.
-
“You’re cold, girl,” Cid mutters. “If you’re not feeling this, we don’t have to do it.”
Jill shakes her head. “I’m always cold.”
Cid laughs, quietly. “Forgot Shiva was in the bed with us.”
It’s something Clive hadn’t thought about, how their Eikons would play into this. But they’re inescapable, of course, shaping this aspect of their lives in the same way they’ve shaped every other.
Jill is ice against his fingertips, or water, perhaps: cold, but liquid, yielding. It seems he can almost feel the lightning beneath Cid’s skin, something humming and flickering, the charge in the air before a thunderstorm. Clive wonders if they can feel Ifrit in him as well, if they’re touching an inferno made flesh.
He finds his fingers returning to the patches of stone on Cid’s arm, again and again. It’s not conscious, but, if he lets his mind wander, his fingers will stray to trace those dead parts of a man who has always seemed so alive to him.
It’s his own future, Clive knows. He’s not exactly sparing with his use of magic.
He meets Cid’s knowing eyes, and he has to look away.
-
“Won’t be here forever, y’know,” Cid says afterwards, pulling his gloves on over his slowly petrifying hands. “You two are going to have to learn to do this on your own.”
“We’d miss you,” Jill says. She looks suddenly at Clive. “I mean-”
Perhaps she’s afraid that those words might hurt Clive. But they ring true, simple and clear.
“She’s right,” Clive says. “After that, I think it would feel like you’re missing.”
Cid laughs, quietly. “Not exactly the legacy I’ve been striving for. But, aye, I’ll take that.”