
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12346992.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Final_Fantasy_XIV
  Relationship:
      Cid_nan_Garlond/Nero_tol_Scaeva
  Character:
      Cid_nan_Garlond, Nero_tol_Scaeva
  Additional Tags:
      Non-Traditional_Alpha/Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Consensual_Underage_Sex,
      Fingerfucking, Hand_Jobs, Frottage
  Series:
      Part 1 of cidnero_but_its_abo_this_time
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-10-13 Words: 1678
****** when in doubt... ******
by jonphaedrus
Summary
     He remembered that heat, and how angry he’d been working on any
     project he could get his hands on, any at all, until he’d ended up
     doing half of Nero’s work for the next month. Angry that if he’d left
     someone else would try and get in. Angry that Nero didn’t want him.
     Angry that he wanted Nero at all.
Notes
     this is for asch whom i am very proud of and also i just wanted to
     finish and post it before i forgot about it again
See the end of the work for more notes
At fourteen, Cid spent Nero's first heat feverishly working on literally
anything he could find to do, refusing to leave their dorm room and the omega
unattended. Not out of any Alpha pride, but because if someone came in and
mounted him, Cid wouldn’t be able to get to his projects and he’d hear Nero
bitch for a year about it. So he just sat, drenched in a pool of his own sweat,
and listened to Nero’s wet, laboured breathing as he spent three miserable days
curled up in a ball under his blankets, burning with fever and rut and heat.
At the end of it, they sat together in the ensuite shower, not touching, their
feet sticking out onto the tile of the bathroom floor, and talked about nothing
at all, soaking in cold water, trying to get clean after days of dripping slick
and tepid sweat and scent meshed into their hair and clothes.
That was the first time Cid could remember wanting him, Nero’s longer legs
leaving his heels fetching up almost onto the bathmat by the sink, his soaking
blond curls plastered straight with water, when they had been long and had
slicked down almost to his shoulders in some places, his blue eyes hazy with
residual heat and the first five hairs coming in on his chin. That time when
they sat there, both of them cold and fucking dejected and unhappy as wet
coeurls, but at least together. At least they’d done it together. So they could
do it again.
He remembered that heat, and how angry he’d been working on any project he
could get his hands on, any at all, until he’d ended up doing half of Nero’s
work for the next month. Angry that if he’d left someone else would try and get
in. Angry that Nero didn’t want him.
Angry that he wanted Nero at all.
 
 
Nero didn’t have another heat until after their short summer recess. When they
came back for the following school year, it hit near to the end of the fall
semester, and this time, Cid couldn’t half-do Nero’s finals for him. It had
been so bad that time that Nero had been shaking, his long-fingered, elegant
hands trembling with the weakness he would never have allowed himself to admit.
He had been crying, one of those nights, inconsolably and disconsolate with
every shaking in-breath, and Cid had bitten his lip until it bled before he’d
dragged himself off of his own cot and across the scant three fulms between
their beds, leaned against the edge of Nero’s mattress. “Do you want...” he’d
began, and Nero’s voice had broken, deep as it was, when he said, “Yes.”
Cid had spent the remainder of those three days plastered to Nero’s back, his
hands hot as brands on the other boy’s stomach, nose dug into the lean muscle
of his shoulder, and Cid's iron-hard cock shoved against the crack of
Nero's ass. It was horrible; it was awful. It was overwhelming to sit there and
hold him, all their clothes in layers between them. Fifteen was too young to
mess with heats, he kept trying to tell himself. Fifteen was too soon. What the
fuck did they know about heat safety? What did he know about knotting an omega,
pressing Nero down into his shitty sheets and biting into the back of his neck
and spreading him wide and fucking him in sure strokes, until his knot filled
him up. What did Cid know about the way Nero’s mouth, lush and florid with heat
and rut, would taste if he kissed him?
Nothing.
So they lay locked in an embrace, Nero struggling through assignment after
assignment, focused as best he could be, centred by Cid’s presence behind and
against him, biology overcome just a little bit. Just enough that they could be
stubborn and foolish and forceful and demanding of one more day before they
collapsed.
After that heat, when Cid had come back from the winter solstice with his
father (a trip wherein he barely spoke to his father, and spent two weeks with
Gaius van Baelsar instead) and found his bed covered in blueprints and nuts and
bolts, he’d taken it for the hint it was meant to be. Nero had managed three
full years sharing a room with him and not taken over his bed for more than an
evening, and never without his permission. Even some things were sacred to the
most annoying kid on the planet.
Cid had fallen asleep, shoved in next to the other boy, and slept better that
night than he had in years.
 
 
The next heat, Nero fucked himself on his fingers with Cid plastered naked to
his back, panting into the curve of his shoulder, fingers digging into the
other boy’s narrow thighs. He could hear it, smell it, almost taste it, the way
Nero kept shuddering and shaking and moaning as he rocked back against Cid’s
erection, hard and drippy against the small of his back, shuddering every time
he slid three and four fingers into his slit.
It took until the third day for them both to crack, and the first time Cid
curled around him, let Nero grab his wrist and guide his hand, tug him forward
and at just the right angle. The first time Cid slid two fingers inside him,
into where he was hot and wet and clinging, into where his soft walls clenched
and squeezed, he came immediately, spilling in hot spurts over the small of
Nero’s back, his knot so swollen it bulged and ached, red and raw.
“Ew,” Nero had laughed, trembling with need as Cid thrust against him, like he
was in him even though it was just against the small of his back, and then
curved his fingers and started to fumble in the way of teenagers, fucking Nero
like he thought would feel good.
“You’re ew,” Cid had told him, without any heat.
It had taken him two more days of heat to figure out how to get Nero to come
(not helped by Nero refusing to show him how) but eventually, Cid had turned
his hand just right, curled his fingers up and in, got his other hand around
Nero’s little cock, and he’d yelped as he came, shaking apart like Hydaelyn
herself in his arms.
The other students still laughed and ribbed Nero, the only unbonded omega among
their number, but Cid knew better than to stand up for him, knew better than to
try and fix the problem Nero had made for himself, and at each heat instead
they took it further, until by the end of the year, after two more four such
days spent locked in legs and arms, Nero rolled over to face him, grabbed him
by his ears, and kissed him.
It was like trying to kiss a wet cat, and Cid didn’t know what to do with his
hands, but he ended up shoving Nero into the mattress and making him moan, and,
yeah, he could work with that.
 
 
Literally the first night Cid had been back at school had been enough, and Nero
had launched into heat like he’d been thrown from a magitek cannon. They’d both
woken up at half-past two, sticking together in bed with sweat, and Cid had
torn his shirt trying to get it off, Nero had nearly ripped his slacks. They’d
kissed like men drowning, and Nero had spread his legs for him for the first
time where Cid could see, and his mouth had been so dry his tongue had stuck to
his palate, seeing Nero sprawled, his curls in dishabille, his blue eyes bright
as stars, his thighs wide open, baring his dick hard and arched up against his
stomach, his ass clenched tight and his pussy sopping, the labia hard and
swollen, the inside pink and wet.
That had been the first time Cid had curled his fingers and slid his hand up,
and in, to the bulge of his knuckles and the implication of more, and oh, what
Nero had sounded like. His head thrown back, his long neck bared, adam's apple
bobbing, teeth clenched. Oh, what he’d felt like, all wet and wanting inside,
and Cid had longed to reach for him, to give him what he needed, break him in
half and pull him open and then push in until his knot sealed them together.
“Please,” Nero had whispered, grabbed at his hips. “Please, please, please.”
Cid had almost cracked that night, drowning in his scent, hand buried inside
him. He had almost given in, wanting, needing.
Almost.
 
 
At the start of the following semester, after another heat between them spent
with biting lips to bruising and Cid's hand just barely nudging Nero open to
the knuckle and threatening to fist him in lieu of a knot, Cid had woken up to
Nero’s weight plastered on top of him, the other boy’s mouth on his own, hands
up underneath his shirt. He felt displaced for a moment, confused, because he
didn’t smell—didn’t feel—heat, didn’t have that heavy weight crushing his chest
and squeezing his heart, twisting his body into a mobius strip of jealousy and
want.
Nero wasn’t sweat-soaked. His thighs weren’t slick.
“What,” Cid managed, when they finally broke apart, sprawled boneless next to
one another on the bed, staring down at the other boy above him, his heart
hammering up into the back of his throat. Nero stayed poised, his eyes
terrifyingly sharp, cutting through him, his lips red and damp and his
expressive mouth slack. “Wait, what is this.”
“You know shit all about heat,” Nero said, curling his upper lip into a sneer.
“So do I. I’m not in heat; you’re not in Rut. Do you want to do this, or not?
Because we are wasting our time, Garlond.”
Cid stared at him. Stared down at where they were plastered together, looked
back up at him—
And took off his shirt.
And pulled him down.
And pushed home.
End Notes
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