Fanfiction: Business or Pleasure (Final Fantasy XVI)
Why am I writing Clive/Charon fanfiction? I don't know. I can't explain it. I woke up at four in the morning and suddenly knew I had to write this. Every time I visit Charon's shop in-game, I somehow come away more convinced that these two are friends with benefits.
Title: Business or Pleasure
Fandom: Final Fantasy XVI
Rating: 14ish
Pairing: Clive/Charon, references to Cid/Clive and Cid/Charon
Wordcount: 1,200
Summary: “Now that you’ve taken up the mantle,” Charon says, “I wonder just how many of his duties you’re planning to take on.”
Warnings: References to past sexual assault.
“I hear there’s talk of putting another Cid in place,” Charon says. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Clive?”
Her gaze is a little intimidating. It’s clear she knows exactly what’s under discussion.
“It was Otto’s suggestion,” Clive says. “He thought it might benefit our cause to have continuity of leadership. On the surface, at least.”
“Could be,” Charon says. “Can’t help wondering how Cid would’ve felt about it. It’s the sort of thing that muddies a man’s legacy, turning him into two men.”
It’s a thought that’s been playing on Clive’s mind as well. He doesn’t want to push the true Cid out of his followers’ consciousness, replace his image with himself. But it’s not easy to imagine it’ll come to that; Cid was a hard man to forget.
“It’ll be the hideaway’s decision,” he says. “I’ll try to honour Cid’s legacy, whatever that decision might be.”
Charon nods. “I’ve no doubt. If the hideaway says it’s a job that needs doing, you’re the right man for it.”
Clive is startled into smiling, very slightly. He’s always found it hard to judge what Charon thinks of him; he wasn’t braced for such a display of faith. “Thank you, Charon.”
“Yeah, well, I won’t say it twice,” Charon mutters.
-
After he’s officially instated as the new Cid, Charon is one of the first people Clive seeks out. Their earlier conversation on the matter is playing on Clive’s mind; she seemed to have mixed feelings about the idea of a replacement, and he wants to know where he’s standing with her.
She seems the same as ever. She welcomes him to her shop, in her gruff way, and tries to interest him in a sword she’s taken delivery of from Northreach. It’s a relief to find that their relationship doesn’t appear to have changed.
“Oh, and congratulations, I suppose,” Charon adds, when Clive is about to leave.
“Thank you,” Clive says. “I intend to do all I can for this place.”
Charon shrugs. “You’ve done plenty already, but don’t think I won’t hold you to that.”
Clive lingers a moment. Something in the way Charon is watching him tells him that she has something more to say.
“Now that you’ve taken up Cid’s mantle,” Charon says at last, “I wonder just how many of his duties you’re planning to take on.”
“Do you have a particular duty in mind?” Clive asks.
“I doubt it escaped your notice that Cid was quick to bed anyone who’d have him.”
Not what he was expecting to hear, but it certainly rings true. They’d stayed up late into the night together, drinking and talking, on an evening not long after Clive’s arrival at the hideaway. Eventually, Cid had leant across the table, his breath hot and his voice intimate, and murmured, What say we take this discussion to my chambers?
In truth, Clive had taken it as a command at first, and his initial shock had given way swiftly to blank acceptance. It wasn’t the sort of order a Bearer refused.
They’d been halfway up the stairs when Cid had turned to him. Just had a thought. I’d assumed the young marquess would be more accustomed to giving orders than taking them. Fact that you’re a Branded slipped clean out of my head and into my cup. You know you can say no, don’t you?
Clive had stood on the stair, frozen.
Then no, he’d said at last. Marvelling at the novelty of it, and perhaps a little afraid.
Cid had nodded. Always room for you in my bed, Clive. But only if you want it. I’ve no interest in the unwilling.
Clive had taken him up on the offer a few days later, the opportunity to make the choice on his own terms as strange and thrilling as having the chance to turn someone down.
“I’d gathered the impression he was... widely slept, certainly,” Clive says, cautious. “Would you call that one of his duties?”
“In a sense,” Charon says. “There are those of us who had good use of the fact that Cid’s bedchamber was always open.”
“Including you?” Clive asks, startled into thoughtlessness.
“I’m an old woman, Clive,” Charon says. “Believe it or not, the men don’t queue up to get between my legs, as they might’ve in my younger days. Hard to find anyone my age in a camp full of Bearers. Harpocrates isn’t my type, and in any case I doubt the man could get it up for anything short of a history book.”
Clive swallows. It feels like there’s something suddenly caught in his throat. “And you’re asking whether I’d provide a similar service.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Charon says. “Me and Cid, we weren’t sweethearts, but he wasn’t grimly bearing the burden of my visits. He wasn’t expected to drop his britches every time someone knocked on his door. It was a transaction like any other, when both parties were in the mood for it. A little pleasure, a little stress relief.”
Clive tries to find the words to respond. They seem to be hovering just beyond his reach. It’s difficult not to picture Cid and Charon together, or to wonder exactly how many of his acquaintances have spent time in Cid’s bed.
Charon shakes her head, unimpressed. “Don’t look so gormless. I’m not holding you at knifepoint; you’re free to refuse. Duty’s the wrong word; call it an option. I was half joking when I brought it up, anyway.”
Strange, the way just the words you’re free to refuse dry up his mouth and set something tightening in his chest. An odd paradox: being invited to turn down the bed just draws him more strongly towards it. He ends up between the sheets either way, it seems.
“And the other half?” he asks, after a moment.
Charon eyes him, with a smile. “Well, then.”
-
“Great Greagor,” Charon breathes. “Where’d you learn to do that? Call me indelicate, but I thought I’d get you into bed and you wouldn’t know which end of you your cock’s on.”
Clive’s lived a decade branded; it’s a position in which one learns to please. Sex has always made most sense to him as a transaction, or rather as an obligation; attraction has little to do with it, although he can’t deny that there’s something compelling about Lady Charon.
He opts not to mention any of that. Tries to turn his thoughts towards the future, instead of the past.
A part of him is wondering who else might come to call on the new Cid’s services. The thought is strangely thrilling. If the choice of whether to accept is up to Clive, he could learn to embrace this. Intimacy on his own terms, for his own pleasure and the pleasure of his friends: it’s a welcome prospect, after so long viewing sex only as a danger or a tool to appease. With Charon, with Cid, it’s nothing like the dark thing he’s always known it as.
“Don’t start thinking that’ll get you a discount,” Charon says.
“I’ll have to try harder next time, evidently,” Clive says.
Charon starts to laugh. “Nice to have summat to look forward to.”
Title: Business or Pleasure
Fandom: Final Fantasy XVI
Rating: 14ish
Pairing: Clive/Charon, references to Cid/Clive and Cid/Charon
Wordcount: 1,200
Summary: “Now that you’ve taken up the mantle,” Charon says, “I wonder just how many of his duties you’re planning to take on.”
Warnings: References to past sexual assault.
“I hear there’s talk of putting another Cid in place,” Charon says. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Clive?”
Her gaze is a little intimidating. It’s clear she knows exactly what’s under discussion.
“It was Otto’s suggestion,” Clive says. “He thought it might benefit our cause to have continuity of leadership. On the surface, at least.”
“Could be,” Charon says. “Can’t help wondering how Cid would’ve felt about it. It’s the sort of thing that muddies a man’s legacy, turning him into two men.”
It’s a thought that’s been playing on Clive’s mind as well. He doesn’t want to push the true Cid out of his followers’ consciousness, replace his image with himself. But it’s not easy to imagine it’ll come to that; Cid was a hard man to forget.
“It’ll be the hideaway’s decision,” he says. “I’ll try to honour Cid’s legacy, whatever that decision might be.”
Charon nods. “I’ve no doubt. If the hideaway says it’s a job that needs doing, you’re the right man for it.”
Clive is startled into smiling, very slightly. He’s always found it hard to judge what Charon thinks of him; he wasn’t braced for such a display of faith. “Thank you, Charon.”
“Yeah, well, I won’t say it twice,” Charon mutters.
-
After he’s officially instated as the new Cid, Charon is one of the first people Clive seeks out. Their earlier conversation on the matter is playing on Clive’s mind; she seemed to have mixed feelings about the idea of a replacement, and he wants to know where he’s standing with her.
She seems the same as ever. She welcomes him to her shop, in her gruff way, and tries to interest him in a sword she’s taken delivery of from Northreach. It’s a relief to find that their relationship doesn’t appear to have changed.
“Oh, and congratulations, I suppose,” Charon adds, when Clive is about to leave.
“Thank you,” Clive says. “I intend to do all I can for this place.”
Charon shrugs. “You’ve done plenty already, but don’t think I won’t hold you to that.”
Clive lingers a moment. Something in the way Charon is watching him tells him that she has something more to say.
“Now that you’ve taken up Cid’s mantle,” Charon says at last, “I wonder just how many of his duties you’re planning to take on.”
“Do you have a particular duty in mind?” Clive asks.
“I doubt it escaped your notice that Cid was quick to bed anyone who’d have him.”
Not what he was expecting to hear, but it certainly rings true. They’d stayed up late into the night together, drinking and talking, on an evening not long after Clive’s arrival at the hideaway. Eventually, Cid had leant across the table, his breath hot and his voice intimate, and murmured, What say we take this discussion to my chambers?
In truth, Clive had taken it as a command at first, and his initial shock had given way swiftly to blank acceptance. It wasn’t the sort of order a Bearer refused.
They’d been halfway up the stairs when Cid had turned to him. Just had a thought. I’d assumed the young marquess would be more accustomed to giving orders than taking them. Fact that you’re a Branded slipped clean out of my head and into my cup. You know you can say no, don’t you?
Clive had stood on the stair, frozen.
Then no, he’d said at last. Marvelling at the novelty of it, and perhaps a little afraid.
Cid had nodded. Always room for you in my bed, Clive. But only if you want it. I’ve no interest in the unwilling.
Clive had taken him up on the offer a few days later, the opportunity to make the choice on his own terms as strange and thrilling as having the chance to turn someone down.
“I’d gathered the impression he was... widely slept, certainly,” Clive says, cautious. “Would you call that one of his duties?”
“In a sense,” Charon says. “There are those of us who had good use of the fact that Cid’s bedchamber was always open.”
“Including you?” Clive asks, startled into thoughtlessness.
“I’m an old woman, Clive,” Charon says. “Believe it or not, the men don’t queue up to get between my legs, as they might’ve in my younger days. Hard to find anyone my age in a camp full of Bearers. Harpocrates isn’t my type, and in any case I doubt the man could get it up for anything short of a history book.”
Clive swallows. It feels like there’s something suddenly caught in his throat. “And you’re asking whether I’d provide a similar service.”
“Don’t get me wrong,” Charon says. “Me and Cid, we weren’t sweethearts, but he wasn’t grimly bearing the burden of my visits. He wasn’t expected to drop his britches every time someone knocked on his door. It was a transaction like any other, when both parties were in the mood for it. A little pleasure, a little stress relief.”
Clive tries to find the words to respond. They seem to be hovering just beyond his reach. It’s difficult not to picture Cid and Charon together, or to wonder exactly how many of his acquaintances have spent time in Cid’s bed.
Charon shakes her head, unimpressed. “Don’t look so gormless. I’m not holding you at knifepoint; you’re free to refuse. Duty’s the wrong word; call it an option. I was half joking when I brought it up, anyway.”
Strange, the way just the words you’re free to refuse dry up his mouth and set something tightening in his chest. An odd paradox: being invited to turn down the bed just draws him more strongly towards it. He ends up between the sheets either way, it seems.
“And the other half?” he asks, after a moment.
Charon eyes him, with a smile. “Well, then.”
-
“Great Greagor,” Charon breathes. “Where’d you learn to do that? Call me indelicate, but I thought I’d get you into bed and you wouldn’t know which end of you your cock’s on.”
Clive’s lived a decade branded; it’s a position in which one learns to please. Sex has always made most sense to him as a transaction, or rather as an obligation; attraction has little to do with it, although he can’t deny that there’s something compelling about Lady Charon.
He opts not to mention any of that. Tries to turn his thoughts towards the future, instead of the past.
A part of him is wondering who else might come to call on the new Cid’s services. The thought is strangely thrilling. If the choice of whether to accept is up to Clive, he could learn to embrace this. Intimacy on his own terms, for his own pleasure and the pleasure of his friends: it’s a welcome prospect, after so long viewing sex only as a danger or a tool to appease. With Charon, with Cid, it’s nothing like the dark thing he’s always known it as.
“Don’t start thinking that’ll get you a discount,” Charon says.
“I’ll have to try harder next time, evidently,” Clive says.
Charon starts to laugh. “Nice to have summat to look forward to.”