He had been roaming the green, green earth fifteen years and six months and eight days when he decided to seduce Dimitri Allen. He, Clive Dove, at the genius age of fifteen and a half, was going to get the darling, fumbling doctor to fall in love with him. Unrequited, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with him.
And it'd be all in the span of six months. He'd ruin Dimitri all over again- maybe he was a sadist, more than he'd previously thought.
He liked the other's crying face more than he cared to admit.

He started it simple; he remembered how Dimitri liked his coffee, how he liked his tea, his favorite colours, significant dates, significant habits. Slowly. He noted how flustered Dimitri got at the smaller gestures- a hug at the end of the day, before they parted for the evening, when Clive brought him coffee in the morning without being asked to. When he progressed to making hugs longer, he noted how Dimitri didn't refuse.
Dimitri was depravity shoved into a seven-foot-null mess of a man that was too tall and not heavy enough, desperate for affection and to be touched. Clive knew this. Clive also knew many of the finer details of what Dimitri liked in others- he learned, he'd loved Claire for her mind before her body.
Clive could do that. He took great interest in what Dimitri did, asked questions, got close and smiled at him often.
Three months into his experiment, Dimitri's thirty-third birthday, and Clive held Dimitri's hand for a brief period of time, and he could swear he felt the other's breathing get shallower. Admittedly, he liked the feeling of the other's hugs and hands- but that was different, only for the feeling, not for the fact it was Dimitri. He'd grinned, and, admittedly, he was enjoying this.

He never took Dimitri as the kind of person to ever initiate anything, and he was proved wrong in the fifth month of his experiment. Valentine's day, and Dimitri asked him if he wanted to get coffee, after they were done for the day. Done with as straight of a face as Dimitri could manage, naturally- it's not a date, he insisted.
He treat Clive to hot chocolate and coffee, whatever the younger wanted, he obliged. Dimitri was a sucker, and a pushover- combinations that were all too perfect for him. He couldn't help but notice that the other's hair was long enough to tie into a decent ponytail, that his hair was streaked with gray. Dimitri made it look elegant, and he made a point to tell him such- much to the other's embarrassment.
He laughed.
Sipped his coffee, and noted, we should go home.

At the end of his experiment, now was the deciding factor. Naturally, he wasn't sure if he'd succeeded, but now was when he found out. Two weeks from being sixteen, two weeks from the legal age of consent.
Dimitri was more than aware of this, but it didn't make him pull away when Clive leaned over his desk and kissed his mouth, tentatively. Testing for reactions. It was a small kiss, chaste, gentle- just to test. The look in the other's face when he pulled away gave him all the answer he wanted; something scared and nervous and wanting, the involuntary twitch of his dominant hand to reach out to Clive, try to pull him back.
The pinnacle of depraved shoved into a seven-foot-null physicist, and Clive had him head-over-heels for him. Knowing Dimitri, knowing Dimitri's moral compass- he knew it was wrong, he'd say it was wrong, and he wouldn't admit to it, he wouldn't want to say anything, he'd want to keep quiet about it for as long as possible so he wouldn't be a burden. That was what Dimitri did, and that was what he'd always do.
Clive decided, it was cute.

Two days later, he sat in Dimitri's lap, during their lunch hour, facing him, and Dimitri did nothing to stop him- no, he looked up, and Clive could never pin the right words for the expression on the other's face. Wanting, needy, some sort of begging and saying please- without speaking. Hands on Clive's hips, just lightly, he might float away. He wanted to do something, make the older beg, he knew he would- and the lock on the laboratory door beeped, and Clive went on.
Nothing had happened, they went on to act as if nothing had happened.

He was one week to being sixteen, and he'd invited Dimitri over to his flat on an off-day. For tea. For conversation. He knew, and he knew Dimitri knew what he was planning, and neither of them said a word.
He made the tea, he served Dimitri, who'd crossed and uncrossed his legs too often to be at any ease. Nervous and flustered were the only words that would come to mind when he thought back on how Dimitri was, on that occasion- as they did on other occasions, given the other.
It took an hour of quiet conversation before he dared start getting close to the other. Deer, was an appropriate way to compare Dimitri to something- like hunting deer. Be slow, subtle, you'll get what you want. He sat next to the other, and then it went rather quickly. Dimitri put his tea down, Clive climbed into his lap.

Dimitri leaned back, skiddish, hesitant, and Clive leaned against him, an arm around the older's waist, a hand on his chest,
To a bed, I think, would be better.
He liked to think he sounded smart.
Clive, I can't- you're underage, I can't- this isn't-
Dimitri tried to sound stern, initially, he knew, but it faltered and turned shaky, higher than the voice he usually spoke in, and Clive quieted to a whisper, against the shell of Dimitri's ear.
You want this. I feel it. Against my thigh.
He tried so, so hard to hold back the grin at the immediate expression of shame that fell across Dimitri's face, how he screwed his eyes shut and looked away, inhaling sharply, mouth opening and closing, trying to form some argument as to why Clive should get off of his lap, why this was wrong, how this was wrong.

Dimitri said nothing. No, he complied when Clive got up, pulling both his hands. Led the two of them to his room, stripping the other of his overcoat, standing before him and, gingerly, started unbuttoning the older's shirt. Grey shirt, blue buttons. Black belt and a silver buckle, black pants that conformed nicely to his legs, silver buttons and zippers. Dimitri was surprisingly colour-coordinated, he realized, and, now, he was thrown off, slightly, when he saw the other's collarbone.
Scars. Dimitri was covered in scars, he realized, unbuttoning further, and took note of how little the other resisted, face flushed, breathing shallow, the look of panic skittering across his face, his protests dying on his mouth before they'd become more than small sounds of mild disdain.

Only when he pushed Dimitri back on the bed, did he actually try to do something to stop Clive, eyes glassy and panicked, close to hyperventilating.
This is wrong, Clive, this is wrong, please, don't- it's a mistake, please, Clive.
Kissing him until neither of them could breathe was fairly efficient in shutting Dimitri up, and he went on to take off his own shirt, toss it to a side, and, too-hastily, get his socks, his pants off, leaving him over Dimitri in his underwear. Panting, bothered, he made it obvious in the grin, prying the older's arms from his face. Dimitri tried, he tried so hard to be a good person. He tried not to look, not to look at Clive, think about Clive.

He tried so hard, and it was for nothing.

Reward systems, Clive gave him a kiss to the mouth, drew it out when Dimitri gave in, just a little bit, a hand on Clive's cheek, the other tangling in his hair. Clive was slow, in the process of rutting against Dimitri, earning a gasp from the older, a new string of protests, more 'please,' than, 'don't,' and at some point, he had to question just, exactly, what the other was begging for.
Please, don't, Clive, please, please, please, don't, Clive, please, Clive.

He was ready for this, he'd gotten ready before Dimitri walked into the building. Get fucked- he wanted Dimitri to fuck him and feel so, so guilty for it.
Didn't hurt to put on a show, even if Dimitri tried not to look. Tugging down his underwear, he dug around the bedside cabinet- having servants really, really was the best thing- for the lubricant he'd had before, reapplying to his fingers, on his knees over Dimitri, fingering at himself, relubricating, eyes half-lidded, words coming out as a hiss, a command.
Get your arms from your face. Look at me, Doctor.

Dimitri actually whimpered, but did as told- he lifted his arms, spread his fingers, and watched, wide-eyed in some horrified fascination, before gasping, realizing, a new thread of protest being uttered.
Oh, no, no, no, Clive, please, no, please, please, god Clive, please.
Shut up. Look at me. Watch.
He wouldn't deny, his breathing was heavier, and he had to lean back against an arm to support himself, and Dimitri fell quiet- or, no, that was wrong. He stopped speaking, but he was whimpering. At the point Clive decided he was adequately stretched and prepared enough to take what was to come- pun rather intended- he got to unbuckling Dimitri's pants, receiving a loud noise of protest from the other. Pulling the pants down, leaving Dimitri in his underwear, he hummed, to himself, momentarily stilling to listen to the other.

Dimitri was crying. Oh, this was rich. Quietly, into one of Clive's favourite pillows, Dimitri was crying. Honest-to-god sobbing, and Clive could only grin, tugging down Dimitri's underwear, tossing it to a side, he had to sit on the older's legs when he tried to pull them up, an attempt to hide.

You won't, Dimitri.
Clive, please, please, don't do this, oh, god, please don't, please, no, Clive, god, n- ah.
That shut him up, quickly enough. Putting more lubricant on his hand, hand back around Dimitri's prick, he was lazy and half-assed in stroking the other, doing only to prepare the other to fuck him. That's all it really was- when he deemed that ready, another healthy dallop of lubricant added, he hummed, and, now, focused on what he was doing, carefully fixing himself over, slowly having the other press in- even if he was trying his damndest not to move, Dimitri still moved, more with his arms than his hips, the sobs laced, with quiet gasps, a small moan.

Not that Clive was so much better; he was gasping, moaning softly, careful of how much noise he made.
Get the pillow from your face. Look at me, Dimitri.
Dimitri was always prettier when he was crying. Eyes red and puffy, his face flushed, mouth slightly open, he couldn't say he didn't like looking at Dimitri like this. Because Dimitri adamantly refused to move, Clive did, stroking himself, moving slowly, at first, before becoming a little more frantic, moving faster, the movements more than slightly disjointed. The other had stopped protesting- no, now, in between sobs and gasps, his words were quiet moans of the Clive's name, shuddering.

He had to let a sneer tug at the corners of his mouth, even when he was shaking and gasping, himself.

Y-you're fucking pathetic, Dimitri. It was a snort, and Dimitri gave a sound he could only describe as a wail- a pleasured or pained sound, Clive wasn't sure, but he rather decided it was one hell of a sound and that he sure as fuck liked it.
The sex itself didn't last as long as Clive thought it would, but it was long enough to leave him satisfied. Dimitri finished first, and Clive wanted to say it took ten minutes, and the feeling that left him with- fullness, he supposed, that'd be the best term, Dimitri's come still running down his thigh, he sat on the other's hips when he finished himself off, leaving himself on Dimitri's scars.

He didn't think he'd ever forget what he saw, then.
Dimitri under him, flushed and hiccuping, eyelashes stuck together, nose red, his hair a complete mess. Bony hands trying to cover his face, his lips kiss-swollen and bleeding from biting down, and the look in his eyes.
Broken.
Given up.
Hurt.
Betrayed, somewhere.

He decided, he liked that- compensation, a thanks for something he didn't want to give- Clive leaned in and kissed Dimitri, made it feel as soft and meaningful as he could;
Dimitri still reached out, to bring him closer. Hand on his cheek, hand in his hair. Try to give him a hug, maybe- try to get close, try to feel, to touch.

Clive decided, that was one hell of a means to lose his virginity.

Author's Note; uh
this was a kinkmeme fill for nasty dominant clive
i hope i was able to do that? it turned more non/dubcon than intended but i still like it!

crying dimitri is my favourite thing