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Sinful Days and Nights

Chapter Text

  1. Contents
  2. Roman/Gladiator AU: Charles is the Markos' pleasure slave. He's also the main attraction at the feast they throw in honor of General Shaw. Aka Charles + gladiators + public sex - Part 1
  3. Logan is a werewolf who takes wolf form each full moon and is mated to human Charles.
  4. Shaw is Genosha's Royal Chancellor who forces a bond with virgin Prince Erik. Alpha/omega, age difference, breeding, forced bond.
  5. Roman/Gladiator AU - Part 2
  6. Mob AU: Omega!Charles returns home after his time as a mob boss's surrogate. His stepfather Kurt is keen to continue what Lehnsherr started. Lactation kink.
  7. Mob AU - Part 2: Kurt signs Charles up for another surrogacy contract, putting him in the middle of a mob war. More lactation kink.
  8. Mob Boss Sebastian Shaw discovers an affair between his lover Charles and one of his men. Logan is forced to watch as Charles is reclaimed.
  9. Kurt arranges for omega!Charles to be a surrogate for General Stryker. An au of my Regency au. Dubcon, first time.
  10. Omega!Charles as surrogate for General Stryker - Part 2. Voyeurism, exhibitionism.
  11. Omega!Charles as surrogate for General Stryker - Part 3. Drugged sex, threesome.  
  12. Breeding AU - Omega Charles has his first heat. His stepfather offers his virginity to Senator Stryker in exchange for financial favors.
  13. Royalty AU - Erik and Charles disagree on how to deal with a marriage proposal from Apocalypse. Half sibling incest.
  14. Prostitution AU - Charles is forced by his stepfather to audition for the Hellfire Club. Gangbang and b/d.
  15. Royalty AU 2 - Erik's obsession with Nina's wet nurse has potentially dire consequences for his mate. Lactation kink.

Chapter Text

“Open your mouth.”

He obeys immediately, having learned the lesson long ago; that it would always, always be worse if he hesitated, or gods forbid, put up a fight. Once, he fought them with everything he had, and suffered the bruises gladly.

That is, until they started punishing Raven in his stead.

Fingers card through his hair, yanking hard enough to make him wince, and a cock – swollen and already leaking – is pushed unceremoniously past his lips. He closes his eyes to the familiar smell and taste of it, a mix of Cain’s sweat and seed, his stepbrother’s dregs left inside Charles from the night before. It’s a routine to which he’s become accustomed over the course of months and years; falling asleep and then waking up with Cain still lodged deep inside of him. Most days, Cain is already half way done by the time Charles opens his eyes, a heavy body sprawled across his back, cock pounding him into the bed. But there are occasions when Cain prefers to use his mouth instead, wanting to drag out the act and revel in Charles’ humiliation. There is nothing his stepbrother enjoys more after all, than to see Charles debase himself for his pleasure.

The fingers in his hair give a warning squeeze, and Charles responds, humming around the thick flesh in his mouth. He swallows, and then holds himself still, letting his throat flutter around the shaft before sliding off slowly. Dragging his tongue over the slit draws a pleased groan from Cain’s lips, and sucking and licking both balls makes Cain gasp with need. Soon enough Charles finds his mouth being fucked quickly and ruthlessly, the entire length being shoved down his throat as he tries desperately to breathe.

“Your fucking mouth,” Cain pants, as he grabs Charles’ head with both hands, shoving in until he’s flush against Charles’ face. “I love fucking your mouth. Almost as much as I love fucking your ass, you little slut. Gods! Yeah I’m gonna—”

Cain comes hard with a noisy grunt, bucking his hips as a wave of bitterness hits the back of Charles’ throat. Even though he’s expecting it he still gags, half choking, half inhaling it, the sticky fluids threatening to leak past the tight seal around his mouth. He forces himself to swallow it all, ignoring the foulness of both taste and texture, and tries to forget how many times he’s sucked Cain’s prick just this week, and how many more are sure to follow.

He is rewarded with a pat on his head when Cain finally pulls out, satisfied now that he’s pumped every last drop into Charles’ gaping mouth. His stomach roils in protest as Cain wanders around the room, using the chamber pot before shrugging into a cream colored tunic. Charles remains naked and on his knees beside the bed, glad to be largely ignored until a knock on the door announces the next step to his daily degradation.

“Come in.”

Luckily, it’s Ororo that enters the chamber, and not his stepfather Kurt; at least he’ll be allowed his breakfast without the indignity of a second helping of come. She pointedly does not look in his direction, though Charles has long become inured to her bearing witness to his shame, waiting patiently for Cain to give his detailed instructions for the day.

“Feed him well, take him for a bath,” Cain orders, as Ororo listens dutifully with a bowed head, “I want him thoroughly cleaned inside and out, then shaved and oiled. Prep him and then plug him with the largest phallus…he’s going to get a good workout tonight, and I don’t want to risk any damage.”

A shudder runs down Charles’ spine at Cain’s words; he can only guess the fate his stepbrother has waiting for him, given those particular directions. He had known all week that the Markos would be hosting a party at the ludus to curry favor with Sebastian Shaw, just one of many welcoming the General home from his recent campaign abroad. It makes him recoil inwardly at the thought of having to service yet another person against his will, to be made nothing more than a sex slave in his own home.

“Get up,” Cain says, grabbing Charles by the arm and hauling him to his feet, grinning maliciously as he gives Charles’ buttocks a resounding smack. “Go with her, and get yourself ready. When you come back, you can sleep on the bed. I suggest you rest up for the party.”

The word ‘party’ is delivered with a lascivious sneer, and Charles understands well enough that he is meant to be the night’s entertainment. He pulls away – an involuntary flinch that makes Cain growl in warning – and is quickly wrenched back into his stepbrother’s arms as the usual threat is whispered in his ear.

“Behave. Or I’ll have Raven take your place.”

It’s this threat and more that holds Charles captive to the depravities of his so-called family; the image of his beloved sister, stripped nude and paraded like chattel in front of a dozen leering gladiators forever seared into his brain. He can’t stomach the thought of Raven on her knees for Kurt, sucking his prick; doesn’t want Cain abusing her instead of Charles, chaining her to his bed, forcing pain and pleasure on her with those rough and bruising hands…

He manages to hold still this time, when Cain leans in for a kiss, biting down at Charles’ bottom lip with a pleased hum. Another slap on his ass, and then Cain is striding out the door, leaving Charles alone with Ororo who quickly rushes to hand him his clothing.

“Here, put this on,” she says, her voice soothing and her eyes kind, though her smile is weak and strained. “And then let’s get you some breakfast.”

She turns away to give him some semblance of privacy, something sorely lacking in almost all parts of Charles’ life, letting him use the chamber pot too before slipping on his own tunic. Everything he wears is threadbare and too short or too tight, designed to reveal as much of his skin as possible for the Markos’ viewing pleasure.

Once he’s ready, Ororo leads them out of Cain’s bed chamber and through the courtyard, taking the shortest path through the complex to the kitchens. Unfortunately, Raven has already been sent to the market with Anne-Marie and Sean to procure fresh ingredients, leaving Charles to take his meal of wheat bread and dates on his own.

“How is she?” he asks Ororo, as she hands him a glass of water. He downs the contents in one long, greedy gulp, trying – and only somewhat succeeding – to wash away the taste of Cain from the back of his throat. “Does she…is she well?”

Ororo sighs. “Raven is fine. The others are looking out for her, and as long as she keeps her head down and does as she’s told, the Dominus and his son leave her alone.”

“I’m glad,” Charles replies, chewing his food slowly, and ignoring the pitying look from the woman who had been his father’s – and thus Charles’ most trusted slave. “I had hoped for kindness from all of you, after things…changed. I can’t thank you enough for taking care of my sister.”

Ororo smiles again, though the expression isn’t much better than the one before, still edged with regret and shared sorrow. “I wish there was more we could do for you, young Master Charles. But slaves we are, and slaves we remain…you’re the only Roman citizen among all of us, and the only one who’d been intended for a different life. And even you are bound here now to serve at the Dominus’ will, as long as your sister’s life is at stake.”

“You must think me so selfish,” Charles says, with a shake of his head. “To protect Raven, at the expense of you all. If I could, I would--”

“Things aren’t so different now, you know, from the way they were when your father lived,” Ororo interrupts gently, dismissing Charles’ objections with a wave of her hand. “It is you unfortunately, who suffers the most. And perhaps Jean and Angel who are required to service the Dominus in his bed. Let us hope that more don’t suffer your fates for the sake of tonight’s ‘festivities’.”

She says no more then, busying herself with her task list as Charles quietly ponders Ororo’s words. He had been a child still when his father had died from an unnamed illness, and not much older when his mother had remarried her late husband’s close friend and associate. If he had only been more aware of the precariousness of their finances, and less enamored with studying the teachings of Plato, perhaps he could have stopped the Markos from stealing his inheritance…

…and when his mother died unexpectedly, from forcing Charles to share their beds.


He looks up at Ororo, who is standing in front of him and offering her hand. Now that breakfast has been consumed, it’s time for Charles to head to the bathing rooms to be scrubbed clean. It would be a thrill to be rid of Cain’s filth from every inch of his body, if he didn’t know how soon he would have to suffer the man’s touch – and gods know how many more – all over again.

“Sorry,” Charles answers, and lets Ororo pull him up from his chair and into a quick hug. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”


They are both surprised to find the baths in use so early in the day, stopping abruptly at the entrance when they spot a few of Kurt’s gladiators and their trainer lounging at one end of the marble pool. Azazel nods briefly to acknowledge Ororo, and then at Charles, the latter finding himself suddenly under the intense scrutiny of the others gathered in the room. Two of the men Charles recognizes easily as Victor and Logan, brothers from Gaul that were purchased by his father Brian many moons ago. The third is a man he has seen only briefly in passing; a new acquisition by Kurt just in these past few months – Erik of Judea, a prisoner of war uprooted from his homeland and sold into slavery.

He does his best not to flinch, knowing well how he must look in their eyes, clad in a white tunic that is whisper thin and barely long enough to cover the swell of his arse. Once, he had wanted to be a fighter like them, skilled in sword play and hand and hand combat; once, he would have been their Dominus, heir to the most renowned ludus in Rome.

Now, he’s no more than a common whore, slave to his masters’ whims, his body an object of casual lust and imagined violence for anyone with roving eyes.

“Doctore,” Ororo greets with a polite smile and an icy glare. “I’m sure I can count on you to keep your men in line, hm? I don’t want my charge harassed while he’s in the baths.”

 Victor growls under his breath, but Azazel only chuckles at the warning, waving away her concerns. “My men know better than to displease the one who runs this household. The young master shall leave here quite unmolested.”

The reference to his former status stings, though Charles can do nothing but ignore it, moving with Ororo to occupy the opposite end of the pool. He can feel their eyes on him as Ororo helps him shed his clothes; can hear their collective intake of breath when the jeweled plug is removed and last night’s stale semen starts leaking from his hole, a slow trickle down the length of his bare thigh.

Ororo wipes it away quickly with a cloth but it’s much too late; they’ve all seen him for what he is, a receptacle for Cain’s seed, the plug he’s forced to wear holding it in day and night. He slips into the bath and dunks his head underwater, and forces himself to ignore the humiliation that burns him like ice. When he resurfaces, the murmuring voices abruptly stop, and it’s almost worse that the gladiators aren’t mocking him outwardly, pretending that they don’t all know what he is, and what they’d undoubtedly do to him themselves if they had the chance.

The men continue to leer – Victor unabashedly, while the others at least have the decency to be more circumspect – as he scrubs himself clean and then exits the pool for the rest of Ororo’s administrations. She turns him away from the prying eyes at least, so they can’t see anything as she shaves him – armpits and legs and the curls around his penis. But there’s nowhere to hide when Ororo slathers oil on him from head to toe, and the others are practically salivating by the time she inserts gloved fingers inside of him, opening him up as Cain instructed.  

He stands perfectly still and stares straight ahead, as she works him clinically with two, and then three long fingers. By this point, Victor isn’t even trying to hide his excitement, and is enthusiastically pumping himself to the sight of Charles being prepped. The others too are staring, hands moving under the water, stroking themselves as Ororo helps Charles lay face down on the stone bench and spread his legs. She pets him soothingly, and whispers encouragement in his ear, and then she’s dripping oil all over the leather covered phallus – the largest of the three that Cain had custom made for Charles – and gently easing it inside his throbbing hole.

Even with the oil and the prep - not to mention Cain’s thick cock inside of him all night – it burns, and Charles gasps, hands scrabbling at the end of the bench for support. Ororo is careful and slow, pressing in only a little at a time, easing it back gently after a few moments of uncomfortable stretch. But the phallus is both thicker and longer than any man by far, and thus rarely used. In fact, Charles has only been penetrated by it once before, a prelude to the night that both Kurt and Cain had mounted him together, father and son fucking into him as he screamed.

It does not bode well, Charles notes, for tonight’s feast.

He tries to relax, breathing in and out to the sound of the oily phallus pressing him open, as well as the slap slap of Azazel’s men as they pleasure themselves to his shame. Charles has never felt more exposed, moaning helplessly along with Ororo’s every slow drag and push. He too is getting aroused from the overwhelming sensations, erection trapped between his stomach and the bench; even his embarrassment isn’t enough to will away his body’s natural response, stuffed full as he is and gasping for breath. And by the time the entire phallus is embedded inside of him, he’s writhing and desperate to come; only the thought of Cain’s displeasure and ensuing reprisal enough to pull him back from the edge.

The men have no such concern and Victor groans noisily as he comes, cursing in his native Gaul, the sounds bouncing from wall to ceiling in the large bathing room. The others are quieter, though still loud enough for Charles to hear, a few grunts and low sighs as they spill one after the other into the water.

They might as well have marked Charles’ skin directly with their seed, their pleasure derived from his unwilling submission to the Markos’ whims.

He lays quietly on the bench, legs spread and breathing softly, counting the sky blue tiles in the patterns on the floor - tiles that his father had selected to match Charles’ eyes, when he’d had the baths built so long ago for his wife and their only son. There’s splashing, and low murmuring that announces the exit of the gladiators from the pool, which Charles promptly ignores, unwilling to turn his head and see the expressions on their faces. But then unexpectedly he’s being lifted without warning, two sets of hands hauling him up by the forearms and setting him onto his feet.

The surprise from being touched makes him clench tight, which in turn makes him moan, wobbling precariously as the phallus sinks deeper from this upright angle. He might have fallen over then if not for one of the men - Erik, standing on his left - who catches him easily and pulls him close. The press of his back against a hard chest makes Charles’ breath hitch and his skin tingle, as does the muscled thigh pushing inadvertently against the phallus, making him flush with embarrassment and arousal both.

“You alright?” Erik asks, soft and surprisingly gentle. It makes Charles inexplicably angry to hear what must be pity in the man’s voice, and he pulls away abruptly, moving to Ororo’s side and grabbing his tunic from her outstretched hands.


He turns around and gets dressed as quickly as he can, still feeling all those unwelcome eyes burning a hole in his back. There’s shuffling, and a farewell from Azazel to Ororo, and then the men are filing out of the chambers one by one, clad in nothing but their loincloths; all except for Victor who pauses to give him a sly wink, face smug and words full of unwelcome promise.

“See you tonight, little one.”

Charles shivers as Victor turns away chuckling, his gut twisting as the hulking frame disappears through the door.

Chapter Text

Charles woke when a cold nose pushed at his cheek.

“Mm, oh, are you back?” he asked, sleepily reaching up and burying his hand in Logan’s fur. In response, Logan began licking insistently at his neck, stepping closer to Charles on the bed, his massive paw pinning the cover down next to Charles’s side.

“Mm,” Charles moaned again, beginning to sleepily wiggle out of his clothes.

Logan’s breath picked up, puffing against Charles’s skin as it was bared. Logan nosed along his shoulder, his ribs, impatiently pawing the blankets down as Charles kicked off his boxers and rolled over in the cool night air.

He relaxed against the bed on his back and sighed drowsily as Logan crawled over him, nose nudging at the side of Charles’s swelling cock.

“Please, oh please,” Charles murmured, spreading his legs. He moaned when Logan began to lick at him, messily and noisily, the sounds loud in the quiet bedroom, his long rough tongue dragging over the sensitive skin of Charles's dick. Logan settled in closer, licking harder at Charles’s shaft, over and over while Charles’s breath hitched.

It felt so good. Charles closed his eyes and moved his hips up as Logan started lower and lapped at his balls, making them bounce. Logan tried to go further back but this felt too good. Charles blindly reached down and grabbed the scruff of Logan’s neck, urging him back up to continue to lick his cock and balls relentlessly. Logan obliged, a low growl starting deep in his throat, and soon Charles was aching and tingling and his groin was soaked in Logan’s spit. Occasionally a fang would graze the side of Charles’s thigh, only enough to make him shudder in want.

“Okay,” he said finally, releasing his hold on Logan’s fur. He stroked over Logan’s head - the same size as his human form, he was massive as a wolf - and rolled over.

Excited, Logan snarled and barked (though he flatly denied any such canine behavior whenever Charles teased him when the moon was past its peak) and shoved his face in Charles’s crease enough to pitch him forward until he caught his balance. Before Charles could right himself Logan’s tongue was on the back of his balls, so he just dropped to his chest, rather than get on all fours. He buried his face in the mattress, shoving the pillow aside, and let it happen.

By the time Logan got to his hole it felt long overdue. He groaned gutturally as Logan licked him with intent, the rough surface of his tongue dragging over and over against his puckered opening. Charles was hard and aching but didn’t dare touch himself yet. He still had to prepare himself, opening the way for Logan’s cock, and if he tried to stroke himself now, when Logan was licking him out with soft snarls and a paw on his calf, holding him down in the same place he would put his hand, he would come.

He clenched and unclenched the sheets while he sobbed as Logan didn’t let up: Just licked his sensitive and twitching hole over and over and over, the force of it soon rocking Charles forward and down on the bed.

Finally, Logan pulled away, still growling, and licked over Charles’s ass, first the right cheek, then the left, and kept licking him there as Charles fumbled back, fingers slick with lube, and stretched himself open as quickly as possible, his hand bumping into Logan’s furred chest and throat as he did.

At last he pulled his arm back. As soon as he did Logan mounted him. Charles curled his arm under his chest to support the extra weight as Logan started thrusting, missing his hole on the first two tries until his aim righted and he sank into Charles.

Charles cried out at the stretch of his inhuman dick, so large in him, Logan a heavy, furry weight on his back, paws clutching Charles’s sides as he began to fuck wildly, the moon’s hold making him relentless. Like this, Charles was pinned and couldn’t thrust back the way he did when they fucked when Logan was human. He could only brace himself on his elbows and moan over and over as Logan bred him.

He worked a hand back and started to jerk himself off, pleasure sparking in every inch of him. Soon he could feel it, he could feel Logan get faster and lose some of his rhythm and knew it was coming. He began to pull faster and harder on his cock. Logan’s cock started to grow until he couldn’t pull out anymore, just kept thrusting in deeper and deeper with his bulbous dick and Charles came, clenching down on the girth of the knot inside him.

Charles and Logan panted for a minute, Charles barely holding himself up with shaking knees. They finally gave out and he collapsed, Logan covering him and making it difficult to breathe under his weight and fur, which rubbed pleasantly along the bare skin of Charles’s ass and back.

He grew drowsy and began to drift toward sleep, Logan’s cock pulsing inside him. Logan turned his head so it was resting against Charles’s shoulder. Charles yawned.

His body was full of pleasure. He could hear himself moaning, feel the sheets rubbing against him, feel a sexual ache between his legs where something was fucking him.

Charles woke a little more, enough to realize Logan, still in wolf form, was fucking him and clearly had been for a while, given the state of his hard cock and Logan’s growls.

“Ohh,” he groaned, arching his back and ass to give Logan better access. He imagined how it had been: Logan waking up to his softened cock outside of Charles, Charles stretched out and asleep next to him, half underneath him the way they slept together when Logan was a wolf, one paw on Charles’s back. He pictured Logan nosing at his wet and loose hole, lapping up the drying come on Charles’s thighs and ass, getting more and more excited the more he licked over Charles’s hole, where he smelled so strongly of them together. How Logan probably kept smelling and licking until, cock engorged, he had crawled over Charles’s sleeping body and started fucking it, cock sinking easily into his ass. How he had watched Charles’s lax and soft face while he bred his mate.

Groaning, Charles reached down and fumbled with his leaking dick, pulling himself off in time to Logan’s rapid thrusts. It wasn’t until after Logan knotted him, cock swollen and huge in his ass, that he came this time, come shooting over the ruined sheets.

Chapter Text

To Sebastian, the boy looked soft and almost welcoming, his brow smooth and lips slightly parted as the potion took its effect, rendering him unconscious in a deep and dreamless sleep.

He did not wake when Sebastian stripped him of his pants and tunic, baring the Omega Prince of Genosha to the covetous eyes of his Royal Chancellor – soon to be his mate.

He did not wake when Sebastian explored his naked body, stroking the smoothness of his warm skin; nor when he pressed his lips against Erik’s cheek, trailing down his broad chest and trim waist to the thatch of hair between his legs, tasting the sweetness that leaked from his slowly hardening prick.

He did not wake when Sebastian gagged him and flipped him onto his stomach, binding his hands above his head, and slept through the humiliation of having his ankles tied to his thighs and his ass spread wide, a pillow tucked carefully under his hips.

He did not wake when Sebastian slipped a tongue inside his virgin entrance, licking him until his body’s growing state of arousal flooded the alpha’s eager mouth with his slick.

And he did not wake until Sebastian had three fingers lodged deep inside of him, readying him to be mounted, and bred; the Prince shivered and clenched tight, shouting as he tried to get free of his bindings. He let out a muffled scream when Sebastian leaned down to nuzzle him, and chuckled menacingly into his ear --

“Did you really think I would let Xavier have you,” Sebastian asked, and laughed again as Erik tried fruitlessly to speak through his gag. “You let him touch you, right there out in the open, by the lake where anyone could see…oh yes I had you followed, and my men told me everything that you did with him. You let that old scoundrel use you like some common dock whore; you spread your legs and let him taste your sweet cunt, didn’t you? Before an engagement, or even an official offer of courtship from Westchester! Imagine the scandal if the whole kingdom knew, just how easily their precious Prince fell for sweet nothings whispered in his ear!”

Throughout his accounting, Erik continued to strain against his bonds, arching to get away from the body pressing him into the bed. He seemed most intent on struggling, and trying to get free, as though he believed Sebastian would not have him if he fought hard enough; it was a folly that Sebastian sought to dispel immediately, if only to have Erik save his energy instead for their coupling.

“I will give it to you plain, Your Highness,” Sebastian explained, and Erik stilled beneath him, even as long fingers continued to work in and out of that delectably tight passage. “I will mate with you today and we will be bonded, alpha and omega as I put a child in your womb. We will be married within the month, and you will forget you ever heard the name Xavier, or your dear mother the Queen will never leave the tower in which I have secured her, for the rest of her days.”

Erik screamed again, but Sebastian could feel the Prince’s resolve slowly crumble, the fight draining out of him as he lay obediently on their marriage bed. It was enough to fuel his own lust for more; to knot the boy and fill him with seed, and take what belonged to Sebastian by right, as reward for his fealty to the Lehnsherrs and his long and dedicated service to their lands.

He slid his fingers out – they were sopping wet, and Sebastian licked them with glee, savoring again the sweet nectar that Erik’s body leaked as it made him ready for mounting. He moved carefully into position behind Erik then, kneeling as willing supplicant before his beautiful Virgin Prince.  He guided Erik’s hips in place and held him still, and marveled at the sight before him – Erik’s hole was swollen pink and tender, and oh how Sebastian wanted to sink his cock into him, rock hard and dripping, the urge to fuck his omega overpowering.

Erik gasped and keened as he slowly pushed in, body shuddering against his will, until Sebastian was completely buried in the tight clench of all that hot, smooth flesh. It was incredible, the way Erik gripped the entire length of him, his cunt molding to his prick like a tailored glove; it was better even than in Sebastian’s dreams, on the many nights he lay planning, and waiting patiently for the right moment to make his move.  

He kissed Erik again, soft and affectionate, and whispered, “Yes, my dear boy…I just knew you’d be perfect.”


All thoughts of his mother - and Charles - evaporated when Shaw began to move, as he hiked Erik’s hips up for better access, exposing every last inch of him for the taking. It hurt as though his insides were lit on fire, every time Shaw thrust in and pulled out again, though the pain lessened bit by bit, the way made easier by the gushing wetness that coated Shaw’s prick and leaked down his own thighs. He felt his cunt loosen too in slow increments, his muscles relaxing to the intrusion, accommodating the rhythmic push and drag of being ruthlessly breached. Erik realized then with gut wrenching horror - his body cared not at all for the concerns of the mind; it wanted to be fucked by an alpha, and mated, welcoming the permanent bond being forced on him by a man he despised.

He lay there, unable to speak, or move, gasping for breath as Shaw pounded into him, whispering insults and endearments both against Erik’s cheek. It became harder to ignore as it went on and on, the way his blood sang every time Shaw pumped his hips; he dug deep furrows in the sheets as he bucked and writhed, his toes curling as he was fucked steadily and vigorously into the bed.

“You’re mine, Erik. Mine to keep,” Shaw said with an air of promise, and he could hear the satisfied smirk curled on the alpha’s lips. “Mine to fuck, when and where I want. How I want. You belong to me now, my darling boy, and you will never know another’s touch for as long as we both shall live.”

Shaw buried himself to the hilt then and grunted, hitting a spot deep inside Erik that made him moan pitifully through his gag. Every inch of his skin itched and burned for something he couldn’t name, his eyes watering as Shaw battered at it precisely, again and again, until he felt near to bursting. But it still wasn’t enough, not nearly enough; every part of him was sore, and he felt stretched thin and hollow, yet the need to be filled and knotted was overwhelming.

“Gods,” Shaw murmured, nosing the back of his neck, breath hot, where Erik’s bonding mark pulsed and throbbed like a brand. “You’re so good, aren’t you, boy? Taking my cock so beautifully, like I always knew you would. My sweet omega whore.”

No, he cried, because he wasn’t Shaw’s, would never be his; Erik’s heart belonged to another, and he would not so easily give in. His words were muffled though by the gag, and Shaw continued to pummel him, his strokes faster and more erratic now, until Erik felt as though he’d been split in two. And when Shaw’s cock started to swell, the knot pushing against the walls of his cunt and began to spurt—

Erik screamed as Shaw bit down on him hard, right on the bonding mark; screamed as hot seed flooded his insides and filled him to the brim. It hurt, but it was glorious too, electric and dizzying in turn, and he cried out in an intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure, spilling his own orgasm all over the silk sheets. He could feel his muscles contracting involuntarily around Shaw, milking him as the alpha groaned and grunted above him. It seemed to go on forever, Shaw pulsing wet and sticky, until Erik thought he would burst if not for the thick knot locking all of it inside his worn and aching body.

It was horror.

It was ecstasy.


When next he woke he was no longer bound, and Shaw was fucking him again – or still – the way made smooth and easy now from what felt like a gallon of slick and seed. His bottom half was drenched with it, along with the sweat of their coupling, and every inch of his skin smelled like the alpha that was draped over his body. He tried to move, but his head felt heavy and his limbs refused to obey, and Sebastian only laughed to watch him struggle, and just kept rocking his hips.

Then Shaw came again, his knot swelling and locking in place, and shot another load of hot seed deep inside Erik’s cunt. He bit Erik’s bonding mark too – a gentler nip this time, with a soft sweep of his lips –and Erik keened in surprise when white hot pleasure coursed through him, like a lightning bolt surging through his veins. He knew it then, deep down, though he still could not believe it…

The bond had taken hold, and he’d been inexorably claimed.


Shaw kept him in bed for three straight days, letting him out of it only to take water and broth and relieve himself as needed. He was not allowed to clean the seed that his alpha planted inside of him, and so could scarcely move as the hours wore on, so full was he, as he was fucked and knotted and filled to the brim, over and over and over again.


“Congratulations, Your Grace. The Prince is pregnant.”

He kept his face in the pillow and did not move, as Essex pumped his fingers twice, slowly, before he slid them out of Erik’s cunt. The Royal Healer did not bother to cover his nakedness as he moved away, and so Erik curled onto his side instead, and breathed deeply.

“Very good,” Shaw said, full of pride as he ushered the beta out of the room, and came to sit next to him on the bed. “You have done well, my dear boy. Rest now, and I will return soon to take you to the Queen. So we may give her the good news, and make plans for the wedding.”

Shaw left him then, and Erik pulled the covers over his body, his hands curling instinctively to protect his still flat belly. He thought about his unborn child or children, and his mother, and what he needed to do to keep them safe. He thought about Shaw, and how much Erik hated him, and how it made him sick to feel such pleasure in being mounted and bred, how his own body betrayed him every time he was fucked by his alpha. Lastly he thought about Charles, and of the man’s promise to love him forever and to marry him--

He knew Charles would not – could not – have him now, not when he belonged so wholly to another; that Erik could no longer bear the touch of any other alpha, nor could he carry their children to term. He was Shaw’s and Shaw’s alone; now and forever, so long as they lived.

Erik closed his eyes then, and wept.

Chapter Text

Lunch is brought to him in Cain’s room, where Charles spends most of the day in bed, the size of the phallus making it both awkward and uncomfortable to move around. He sleeps only fitfully, sprawled on his stomach and legs spread wide, conscious of the way he’s being prepped for an evening of vigorous use. And when he dreams they’re of Cain holding him down, arms pinned above his head as his stepfather pants and huffs, driving into him over and over to the sound of Raven’s screaming. 

Cain pays him a visit sometime in the early afternoon, eager to check on his progress; he takes great pleasure in pumping the phallus gleefully, keen to test the yield of Charles’ tight flesh. He kisses him too, practically devouring him, and delights in every sound he’s able to drag from his stepbrother’s lips. And when he tires of Charles’ mouth he moves ever lower, lavishing his attention along the seal between the phallus and his entrance, tracing eagerly in and around the swollen rim.

He’s still on his hands and knees, Cain’s face buried in his arse when they hear a loud knocking on the bedroom door. He hears his stepfather’s voice call out a greeting, the creak of the handle as it turns, and then Kurt is entering the room in long strides, with Jean and Angel trailing dutifully behind him.

“Are you still at it?” his stepfather snaps, even as Cain grins up at him, licking Charles’ hole like the most delicious treat. “Get up. He has to be dressed and ready before the guests arrive.”

“What else do we need to do with him? He’s going to spend most of the night naked anyway.”

There’s a gusty sigh, and then he’s being shoved face down onto the bed again, and Cain’s presence between his legs is replaced by an exasperated Kurt. “The girls are going to re-oil and then paint him,” he explains, his hands moving to grip Charles’ hips, holding him steady as he starts working the phallus again, slowly pulling it out. “If he’s to be our Ganymede, he needs to look innocent and untouched…at least to start.”

Cain mutters under his breath, but does move away from the bed, letting Angel help him into a handsome blue toga. Charles shudders when the phallus is finally removed from his body, a momentary relief as Kurt immediately thrusts three fingers inside of him, and starts massaging his walls, testing its elasticity.

“Good,” Kurt murmurs, and then slips in a fourth finger. Charles groans as he’s prodded and scissored, and cries out when Kurt rubs deliberately against his sensitive spot. “He’s nice and open. Jean, oil him again and then plug him. The new one with the jewels. Angel will help you finish up when you’re done.”

He sweeps out of room without another word, no doubt headed to his own chambers to get dressed for the party. But Cain doesn’t follow him out as Charles expects; no, he pulls his cock from beneath his toga and starts stroking it, as Jean crosses the room to kneel on the bed. She drizzles the scented oil liberally in and all over Charles’ buttocks, and rubs his sore muscles with her strong, steady hands. Her fall of red hair tickles as she works, brushing lightly against his skin, making his cock throb and his hole clench around her long, slender fingers. It’s a gentler, more considerate touch than he’s ever gotten from either Kurt or Cain, and he’s ashamed at how much he wishes for things to be different; that he was making love to her, as an equal and not master and slave, with neither being forced to follow another’s orders.

His thoughts are rudely interrupted by Cain’s cock pushing into his mouth again, and he’s forced to lick and suck him as Jean continues her work. Cain fucks him steadily, fists curled into his hair, grunting loudly with every careless, brutal rock of his hips.

“That’s enough. Put the plug in and jerk him off.”

The new phallus slides easily into place, a relief after the strain of the previous one. It’s a sensation he’s been conditioned to crave, being stuffed full, as constant a presence in his life as Cain’s unwelcome advances. But Jean’s touch is both novelty and bliss, and Charles can’t help but thrust into her hand, groaning as oiled fingers slide in rhythm to Cain’s frantic pace. His body sings with the desire that’s been building all day, and he spills quickly, his moans of pleasure tipping Cain over the edge too with a lusty bellow.

Charles swallows the bitter seed, licking Cain’s prick clean until he pulls away with a satisfied grunt. Collapsing on the bed he closes his eyes, and lays impassively as two sets of hands return not long afterwards to slather him with oil; Angel and Jean, kneading him thoroughly, intent on covering every inch of him until his skin glistens like burnished gold.

“That was kind of me, wasn’t it?” Cain purrs, settling beside Charles on the bed, hand stroking his hair with feigned affection. “I let you come now, because I know how hard it will be for you tonight. You’re going to get fucked, all night, by a lot of men, Charles. And you’re not to come unless you’re given permission…do you understand?”

He feels sick, his stomach queasy as the reality of Cain’s words solidify in his head. It’s been bad enough, being forced to pleasure the Markos these past few years, but up until now he’s never been made to service any others…

He’d never even been with another man or woman; his first time had been with Kurt, who cared little for Charles’ feelings or comfort, shoving him - frantic and fearful - onto what had been his own mother’s bed.

“Do you understand?” Cain says again, voice laced with menace, yanking Charles’ head off the soft pillows by his hair. “What your duties are going to be tonight? You will be beautiful, and desirable, and pour wine for our honored guest. And you’re going to suck every cock they put in your mouth, and moan every time there’s a cock in your ass or so help me, I will sell Raven to the whore house before the day’s end.”

Someday, Charles vows, he’s going to stab Cain with the sharpest dagger, and rip that black heart right out of his chest.

“Yes, I understand.”


By the time he’s finally led out of Cain’s room, the guests have already begun their feasting, arrayed on couches circling the dining room. The table in the center is laden with the finest foods; boar, venison and suckling pig, along with game birds and dormice – a delicacy favored by the elite, dipped in honey and rolled in poppy seed. Fruits and vegetables of all types and colors finish the tableau, a cornucopia of decadence meant to awe and impress. Angel and Jean are there, along with Anne Marie and many others, pouring wine and serving the food, washing the guests’ fingers between every serving.

Charles is relieved, not to see Raven in their midst.

At one end of the large room a man reclines on the single golden couch, clad in a rich pallium of Tyrian purple and hair crowned in a laurel wreath. He is Kurt’s age or a few years older, with a rugged handsomeness to the steely cut of his jaw and an almost regal bearing.

He must be the guest of honor, Charles notes, the Imperial Legate Sebastian Shaw.

Flanked by his stepfather on one side and Cain on the other, the General seems almost bored with the festivities all around him, his expression dispassionate as he scans the crowded room. But then his sharp gaze fixes onto Charles like a hawk, blue eyes hot and piercing as they slowly rake over his body from head to toe.

The room hushes as he follows behind Ororo, the guests whispering excitedly once he comes to a stop in front of Shaw. He can feel the General assessing him, taking in the glow of his skin under the light of the oil lamps, clad in nothing but a white loin cloth. Charles’ arms are adorned with gold bracelets and his eyes colored with kohl, a story of seduction veiled in innocence. Even the handle to his plug is studded with gems, made by valuables stolen by the Markos from Charles’ own treasury. He is to be cupbearer and lover to Shaw’s Jupiter, a role made explicit as he kneels obediently before the General, a heavy, ornate jug of wine placed into his hands.

“He is here to serve you, Sebastian,” Kurt says, full of pride as the General grips Charles’ chin lightly, tipping his head first to the left, and then to the right, inspecting him like a prized mare. He rubs a thumb across Charles’ plush bottom lip, nudging it until Charles opens his mouth dutifully to lick at the tip. “Your Ganymede, for tonight’s festivities.”

“Gorgeous,” Shaw murmurs, seemingly transfixed by the sight of his thumb nestled between Charles’ parted lips. “But does he know how to use that pretty mouth?”

Cain laughs, as ugly and derisive as ever, though he takes care to be polite in his response, “Oh he knows quite well how to suck a cock. He’s had plenty of practice.”

Shaw hums in acknowledgement, and then pulls away so he can maneuver upright into a seated position on the couch. He tilts Charles’ head up to meet his intent gaze, and then smiles as he pats his cheek. “Very good. Show us your skill, boy. Pleasure me well, and I shall reward you handsomely.”

It takes every ounce of willpower he has not to shudder at the General’s words.

It’s not the first time of course, that Charles has been called upon to ‘perform’ in public; the Markos -young and old - are only too happy to use him in and out of the bed chamber. But it’s never been in front of quite so many people before, and Charles finds his hands trembling as he settles dutifully between the General’s legs, pulling the pallium aside carefully to reveal his half-hard prick. He licks the tip of it with a broad swath of his tongue, tasting the salty fluid, tracing the base of the head as the shaft thickens and swells in his hands. Moving slowly, Charles stops at the soft spot above the testis and suckles it gently, before taking first one sac, and then the other within the warmth of his welcoming mouth.  

Shaw hums with approval, and something like relief shoots through his body, knowing that the General is pleased with his performance.

It does not occur to Charles until much later, that what he feels is a twisted sense of pride for being skilled at his own debasement.

He loses himself to the act of it, taking it all down his constricting throat, letting the girth fill his mouth and his senses as he glides along the weighty shaft. There are words spoken – Kurt, or Cain probably, about the way his lips look wrapped tightly around Shaw’s prick, so red and puffy and made for this – and the sounds of drinking and merrymaking from the other guests. All of it he shuts out as he licks and swallows, methodically, and patiently, fucking his mouth onto the General’s cock under the collective gaze of Rome’s wealthy elite.

They’re all watching him still when Shaw finally comes, sometime later, grunting softly as he floods Charles’ mouth with long spurts of hot seed. Ignoring the bitter taste and the ache in his jaw, he swallows all of it down his throat and licks his lips, using his tongue to clean every last inch of the General’s slowly softening prick.

“Very good,” Shaw praises, voice warm and sated, as Charles tucks him deftly back under his expensive garments. He settles back into a more comfortable position, still kneeling at the General’s feet, and takes up the wine jug again as all the assembled guests congratulate the Markos on their perfect, obedient slave.

“Have you had him long,” one of them asks – Nathaniel Essex, a senior official in the Emperor’s court – “he is well trained, and very lovely to behold. I see that he has no markings yet on all that pretty alabaster skin….have you considered adorning him with various piercings?”

“Oh? What kind of piercing did you have in mind?” Surprisingly, it’s Kurt who answers instead of Cain, and Charles balks at his stepfather’s considering tone. “I should not like to see him damaged. He is a pleasurable way to pass the time.”

Essex chuckles, low and dark, and panic stirs in Charles’ gut even as Shaw presses a bit of delectable wild boar between his hungry lips. “Not to worry; I have seen piercings added to many of my own slaves without issue. I say he would suit with a set of nipple rings, with a golden chain linking them together.”

“And I say he would look best with a red hand print or two on that luscious bottom,” a new voice chimes in, the others roaring with amusement as he continues, “and some bruising here and there would not be remiss.”

“I should like to see him in ropes,” another says, as all the while, Shaw feeds him tiny, delicious morsels of the decadent feast. “Stripped and then lashed until he screams for mercy.”

“You would mar that flawless canvas with a whip, Stryker? What a waste of a perfectly good slave.”

“You’ll change your tune I think, as soon as you see tears in those pretty blue eyes.”

He can only listen numbly as they argue on, over all the various ways to use and abuse him, while the General continues his little game, treating Charles as a pampered pet feeding off the scraps from his master’s plate. They all watch avidly as he swallows the offered wine from the General’s cup, and licks the juices dripping from his fingers; this current display will likely be a prelude to Charles’ new pride of place at ‘family’ meals.

“I should like to see him in the throes of pleasure,” Shaw muses, his words slicing neatly across the quickly dissipating chatter. Charles can feel the General’s steely gaze on him as he speaks, as surely as the hand that’s gently brushing his cheek. “I should like to see him spread out and naked on fine sheets, baring all that loveliness to our admiring eyes. I should like to see his face as he’s being breached by a cock; watch him moan and writhe as he’s being fucked. Will he come without being touched? How many times will he come? And how many cocks can he take before he’s all but begging for mercy?”

Charles’ gut twists with dread but he doesn’t move, his limbs frozen by training and by fear as Shaw’s hand finds a resting place at the curve of his neck and shoulder. There is much murmuring – excited agreement, and sycophantic support for the General’s contribution – and then Kurt is coming to stand next to Charles with a triumphant smirk, and dragging him awkwardly to his feet.

“That is precisely what I had in mind for the rest of this evening’s entertainment,” Kurt announces, and servants immediately bustle in to move the large table from the center, still laden with food, replacing it with a silk covered bed. Then his stepfather gestures to the back of the room with a flourish, where four men – all gladiators, Azazel, and the others from the morning’s bath – are quietly standing at attention. “Great Jupiter, our heroes have returned from grueling adventures, performing deeds of great renown in your honor. Will you see them rewarded for their bravery? For their fealty and hard work? Shall we offer them your loyal Ganymede for their pleasure, sire? What say you, o’ mighty king of the gods?”

Shaw’s answering smile – showing wry amusement, and a complete indifference to Charles’ dismay – sends a shiver down his spine; only Kurt’s hands gripping his shoulders keeps him from falling to his knees. “I say…it would please me greatly, to see it so.”

Chapter Text

It was on the second night of his return that Charles woke to find his stepfather in his bed.

He gasped in shock and tried immediately to wriggle free, though he stopped when he realized it was a futile struggle; Kurt had stripped him of his pajamas and tied his hands above his head, and had Charles pinned beneath his heavy bulk while he nuzzled his chest. Heavy with milk, his breasts were tender and sore to the touch, overfull and sensitive from two days without feeding. The discomfort had become intolerable as the hours had passed, and Charles was increasingly desperate for relief from the building pressure.

That must have been Kurt’s intention from the start, he thought bitterly, and why the drugs to stem his milk production had been purposefully kept from his meals.

Dimly, he thought of the last person that touched him like this as he laid in his bed; Erik, who drank from him and then knotted him for hours before sending Charles home. The memory of Erik’s mouth and his prick drew from him a low groan, and droplets of pearlescent liquid beaded and then started leaking down his chest. There was no way to hide or to deny his body’s response to months of rigorous conditioning, his every reaction sculpted by Erik’s own hands. Desire swelled as soon as warm lips teased at his nipples, and he bucked shamelessly when Kurt began kneading at his chest.

His stepfather chuckled, and nibbled his bottom lip. “Foolish boy,” he chided, ignoring Charles’ half-hearted efforts to tug free from the ropes. “You know there’s no need to suffer alone. I’d be happy to continue what that asshole started.”

“Kurt, no—“

A mouth closed around his nipple and sucked, skilled and ravenous, and he moaned at the jolt of pleasured pain that sent a naked shiver down his spine. He groaned again when his milk let down and started to flow, and writhed involuntarily when Kurt hummed around a mouthful of his flesh.


Kurt drank from him then, from one side to the next, gulping the milk that flooded his mouth with an almost joyful enthusiasm. It had become dangerously arousing over the past few months, and Charles often found it difficult to think while he was emptied. It was so easy to let go and enjoy the sensation, and eventually it wouldn’t matter at all that it was Kurt who was doing the sucking.

And just as Charles began to relax he felt the fingers breach him - three fingers slotting deep in his cunt, slipping in with ease. He cried out and clenched tight around the unwelcome intrusion, and was horrified by the gush of warm slick that oozed lazily down his thighs. It was beyond shameful to be so stimulated by his stepfather’s touch, to gasp and quiver and bear down as he was methodically worked open. It was making him ache to be filled and drained at the same time; a craving that Erik had nurtured daily once he’d fully recovered from the birth.

“Did Lehnsherr do this to you?” Kurt asked, fingers slow and teasing as he stroked, mouthing wet kisses against Charles’ neck and throat. “Did he make you sopping wet like this with his fingers, boy?  Fuck you while he was drinking from your tits? Did you beg for it, like a filthy little whore? Beg him to fuck you ‘til you can’t remember your own name?”

“Fuck you—” he snapped, but Kurt quickly swallowed his words, taking his mouth in a kiss that was rough and possessive. Charles couldn’t breathe from the way he was being inhaled, as though Kurt wanted to devour and consume him whole. It distracted him from being roughly jostled and his legs thrown wide, and then – oh, Kurt was shoving his cock into Charles’ cunt and spreading him open.

“C’mon…yeah… there’s a good boy.”

He sank all the way to the root, rough and deep, and laughed when Charles’ shocked cries turned swiftly into wanton groans. The cock was thick and swollen and filled every inch of him, and drove a surge of heady lust straight up his spine. It got better when Kurt started to rock in and out, light teasing strokes that had him arching for a better angle.

He hated Kurt Marko with everything he had, and yet his body wanted it to keep going and never stop.

It would be easier if he could pretend it didn’t feel so good, or just lay back and ignore his body’s willing compliance. Instead he could only squirm and clench around that meaty shaft, as his stepfather teased him relentlessly to distraction. Charles thought he might actually beg if Kurt kept it up, the same way Erik always made him so desperate and needy, ‘til all he wanted was to take the alpha’s knot and come.

He bit his lip to hold the words back, which only made Kurt chuckle wickedly, and dig in until Charles let out a long and pitiful groan.

“It’s alright, you don’t have to pretend, Charles. I know how much you like getting fucked. Lehnsherr told me all about it, in great detail, how you spread your legs for him day and night. He tells me you’re insatiable for cock, you little slut…and how I should get plenty of good use out of you, now that he’s gotten tired of your sweet cunt.”

“Lies! Erik would never—“

“Oh but he did,” Kurt interrupted with a lazy smile, hilting his cock with enough force to knock the breath from Charles’ lungs. “You really think he gives a shit about you, boy? Some omega he got on the cheap to make his wife happy? He paid for your virginity and bought out your baby, and then he couldn’t wait to send you packing.”

“It’s not like that,” Charles panted, as Kurt started moving steadily, digging in deep. He wanted to argue, that Erik would come and get him as soon as he’d taken care of things with Sebastian Shaw. It wasn’t love he understood, what Erik felt for him, but the man had made it clear that Charles belonged to him and him alone.

“God, you taste good,” Kurt said, and went back to his breasts, sucking great mouthfuls of milk as he pumped his hips. He was clearly done teasing and keen on seeking his pleasure, thrusting into him with increasingly deep and frenzied strokes. Charles could do nothing but submit to it, how good it was to be fucked and filled, and he keened when Kurt tossed his legs over his shoulders and started pounding him into the bed.


Kurt might have laughed again but Charles didn’t hear it - the pressing heat all but overwhelmed him, drowning him in a haze of pleasurable lust. He was made for this, Erik had told him often enough; beautiful in his surrender, total and complete.

When he came it was with his legs in the air and Kurt’s knot swelling inside of him, stretching him wide and making him keen. His clenching dragged Kurt with him over the edge, and his cunt was flooded with seed, wet and hot and sticky. It went on and on until Charles thought he might burst; his chest in contrast, was now gratifyingly empty.

Awareness came back to him in slow increments, to Kurt kissing him tenderly, and to gentle hands kneading his chest. It made Charles sick to his stomach, knowing what had just happened – what he’d enjoyed, even unwillingly – with his own mother’s husband.

“Get off of me.”

Kurt tsked with amusement. “Temper, temper. We both know you liked it, and that you’ll like it just as much the next time I fuck you—”

“There’s not going to be a next time, you bastard. I’m going to tell Erik you raped me and he’s going to put a bullet in your head.”

Kurt laughed. “Lehnsherr’s a little busy at the moment, trying to fend off Sebastian Shaw. I suggest you get used to me in your bed, Charles, since it might be a while before you see Lehnsherr again. Who knows? Maybe he’ll still want you, if he hasn’t moved on to someone new.”

Charles scoffed. “Thanks but I think I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself,” Kurt said with a shrug, as though they were discussing the weather, and he wasn’t currently still buried inside Charles’ cunt. “I’ll just get what I need from your sister then, hmm? Maybe I don’t let that McCoy boy marry her after all. And she can just stay here and take my knot when I’m bored, if you’re so uninterested in the job.”

“Don’t you dare,” Charles snarled, twisting to try and buck Kurt off of him, so full of hate and loathing he wanted to scream. “Don’t you touch Raven, you hear me? Or I’ll kill you myself.”

But Kurt only looked at him, fondly amused, as though Charles was no more than a petulant child and said, “You won’t have to worry about Raven, if you just do as you’re told, boy. You always have, for the good of the family, haven’t you? And you always will.”

Charles closed his eyes, and didn’t bother to answer.



He got the call from Lehnsherr at exactly 9 am sharp, giving Kurt just enough time to see Charles again before sitting down to breakfast. The boy was still angry from last night, but gave in easily enough, and Kurt drained him and fucked him again until he was all but begging for more. Omegas were so susceptible when they were properly trained, and he had to thank Lehnsherr for doing such a fine job with Charles, before sending him home.

‘Course the man couldn’t have known that Kurt would be the one to benefit from his hard work.


“Mr. Lehnsherr, how are you? How’s your lovely wife.”

Cut the bullshit,” the man snapped, and Kurt had to suppress the urge to laugh at his posturing. “I’m calling to check on Charles.”

Kurt smiled. “He’s fine. Settling back into the household and spending time with his sister. He asks about you of course, and I’ve told him to be patient. He knows this is just temporary, until things settle down.”

The money is in your account,” Lehnsherr continued, as though he hadn’t heard a word that Kurt said. “I trust you know what will happen if Charles is treated poorly, by you or that idiot you call ‘son’.

That made Kurt smile even more, and he allowed himself a small chuckle. “Don’t worry, Mr. Lehnsherr; Charles is being well taken care of. I’ll make sure to give him what he needs, just as I promised.”

He hung up the phone and finished his breakfast, and thought about the rather hefty sum in his bank account. It was not a small amount that Lehnsherr paid for the surrogacy and his continued patronage, or what he believed to be exclusive rights to his lovely stepson. But Kurt Marko wasn’t afraid to take a risk here or there, especially if it meant making even more money, and so he picked up his phone and dialed the number, and wondered how long he’d get to enjoy fucking Charles before the new deal fell into place.

The line connected, and a familiar voice answered, “I’ve been expecting your call.”

“Mr. Shaw,” he replied, “always a pleasure.”

Chapter Text

Kurt drank from him at least twice a day; just enough that he wasn’t in pain but not enough for any lasting relief. It kept his body in a perpetual state of low level arousal, something his stepfather was only too happy to exploit - with or without Charles’ consent.  

By the fourth day, he realized Erik wasn’t coming to get him.

By the fifth day, he stopped actively fighting Kurt’s advances.

By the third week, Charles began to lose hope that it would ever end, being used daily by his stepfather, and his sister none the wiser. With nowhere to go and no access to funds, Charles was essentially a prisoner in his own home. Escape meant leaving Raven to suffer in his place, something Charles wasn’t willing to risk, so close to her and Hank’s wedding. And contacting the police wasn’t an option either, since Charles was unmarried and therefore still legally bound to Kurt.

“We’re here.”

The car had stopped outside a nondescript building downtown, a luxury hi-rise condo that Charles had never seen before. Dread pooled in his gut as Kurt quickly opened the door, stepping out to greet the two men in dark suits waiting at the curb. These were not Erik’s people, Charles instantly knew, and he was not being taken back to the Lehnsherrs as he’d been promised.

No, Kurt had lied and like an idiot, he’d chosen to believe him.

An arm reached in and grabbed him before he could even think about running, yanking him from the car and onto the sidewalk. The jostling made his breasts start leaking like a faucet, and his face burned as twin wet spots started spreading through the thin material of his shirt. Kurt hadn’t bothered to drink from him since late last night, though he did take the time to fuck Charles on his hands and knees earlier in the morning.

“Let go of me! Where are you taking me?” he snarled.

Kurt laughed as he pulled a struggling Charles towards the building’s rotating front door, the men flanking them like hulking shadows. “We’re going to meet your new sponsor, boy. I’ve signed you up for a new surrogacy contract.”

“What? No!”

He was dragged, not quite kicking and screaming into the elevator, and shoved roughly against the wall. The slap that followed surprised more than it hurt, and he stopped struggling when Kurt grabbed one of his sore breasts and squeezed.

“It would be better for us both if you stopped trying to fight me, pretending you have any kind of say with what’s happening here. You’re an omega and that means I own you in the eyes of the law, and I get to decide who fucks you and who gets to put a baby in you. And right now we’re going to meet a very powerful man who is willing to give me a lot of money for you, Charles, so--“

“Erik is going to come for me! You can’t just give me to--“

Kurt laughed. “Lehnsherr’s not the only game in town, boy. But don’t worry; I have a feeling you’re gonna be seeing him soon enough.”

And that could only mean one thing to Charles – that Kurt was taking him to Sebastian Shaw, Erik’s old boss and his biggest rival.

“No Kurt please,” he pleaded, even as the doors opened and they stepped out onto the penthouse floor. “You can’t do this. Shaw hates Erik…he’ll kill me.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Kurt scoffed, “you’re much more valuable to Shaw alive than dead. And I’m not some kind of savage…your surrogacy papers are filed properly with the government and even Shaw won’t risk the authorities breathing down his neck over a dead omega. You’re a bargaining chip against Lehnsherr that’s all, though I suggest you play your cards right and behave. No need to make things harder on yourself by pissing him off.”

The door opened as they approached, and Kurt led them in while the two guards waited in the hall. The interior of the penthouse was opulent in the most ostentatious of ways, a clear reflection he thought, of the owner himself. He wondered if Shaw was planning to use Charles as bait, to lure Erik into some kind of trap if he attempted a rescue...

If he had than Shaw had clearly overestimated his worth to Erik Lehnsherr, for the man had never expressed any feelings for Charles beyond that of surrogate and preferred bed mate.

“Hello Charles. Dad.”

“Cain, my boy. You look good.” Kurt answered, as Charles could only gape at the unexpected appearance of his stepbrother in the hall. He was supposed to be in the army and far away, and Charles couldn’t think of anything worse than seeing Cain here of all places, in Sebastian Shaw’s home. “Is he ready to see us?”

“Yeah, follow me.”

 A second unpleasant surprise awaited him inside Shaw’s office, when Azazel – the man he knew as Eriks second in command – greeted them at the door. He gave Charles a wink as he ushered them in, and then yes; Sebastian Shaw was indeed behind the great oak desk, handsome and impeccable in a grey bespoke suit.

“Mr. Shaw, thank you for seeing us.”

“It’s Sebastian, please, and it’s definitely my pleasure! I’ve been looking forward to meeting Mr. Xavier now for quite some time.”

The man came around his desk and stood in front of them, his sharp blue eyes slowly blazing a trail along Charles’ body from head to toe. When they rested on the dark spots that stained the front of his shirt he smiled, his pupils going dark and wide.

Charles crossed his arms and swallowed his fears, tilting his chin defiantly and said, “Whatever he’s told you about me; it’s all lies. Yes, I carried Lehnsherr’s baby but that’s all. He won’t care that I’m here or what happens to me. I’m of absolutely no consequence to your mob war.”

Shaw threw his head back and laughed, genuinely amused it seemed, by Charles’ declaration. “You never told me your stepson had such spirit, Kurt! And he’s quite attractive, isn’t he? All that pale skin and those lovely freckles…I think I’m going to like having him around.”

“You see now why Lehnsherr likes him so much? That and he’s a delightful little bitch in the sack.”

His instinct told him to make a run for it, and he took a step back from Shaw, slamming instead into Cain’s solid chest. He cried out as his arms were yanked roughly behind him, and closed his eyes when Kurt slapped him again and hissed, “I said behave.”

“Gently now,” Shaw chided, and the hold on him immediately loosened, though not enough for him to wriggle away. There was a pause, and then a hand cupped his cheek, softly caressing the spot where he’d been hit twice in the span of minutes. “You don’t need to be afraid, dear boy; I’m not going to hurt you. But I did sign a contract for an omega surrogate in good health…you understand that I have to ‘examine the goods’, don’t you?”

He knew what Shaw was capable of doing to him, despite his assurances, remembering Erik’s loathing for the man who raised him. Charles held his tongue for long moments while Shaw waited, until he finally let out a deep breath and reluctantly nodded.

“Good,” Shaw said, and his hands moved to the top of Charles’ shirt, unbuttoning him and pushing the material off his shoulders. He was leaking again, his breasts full and aching, and Charles thought he might die from mortification at being so exposed. It was a hundred times worse when Shaw touched him, tweaking his hard nipples and then kneading his flesh. And he couldn’t help groaning out loud when Shaw leaned in close and started licking, lapping the milk as it dribbled down his chest.

“It’s quite sweet,” the man said, and then he took more of Charles’ breast in his mouth and began sucking in earnest. The angle wasn’t quite right, and he was pulling too hard, but then Kurt reached over and started massaging him, and Charles sighed when the milk let down and started to flow. But he stopped after only a few mouthfuls, leaving Charles thoroughly humiliated and still uncomfortably full.

“Azazel,” the man said, and Charles stiffened, remembering the surprising presence in the room and what it meant for Erik. His former sponsor – or lover, at least from Charles’ perspective – was in far more danger than he knew, if Azazel was indeed on Shaw’s payroll. Though at the moment there was nothing he could do with the information, and could only hope that the others on Erik’s team would keep him safe.

“Tell me – is Erik very fond of Mr. Xavier? Did he enjoy his company often? Beyond what was needed to make a baby for his wife? Would he care that Charles was here now, knowing he’ll be staying on as my guest?”

Azazel snorted. “He saw Charles more than his own wife, and not just for fucking, but whenever he had free time to spare. They’d do it at home, in the car, at the office – didn’t matter. I say he’s at least a little bit obsessed, Sebastian…there’s no telling what he’s going to do when he finds out.”

“How splendid!” Shaw clapped his hands together and chuckled, clearly delighted with the news before directing his next question to Kurt. “And the other important item of note - is Charles likely to get pregnant any time soon? I mean while he’s still…”

“Lactating?” Kurt answered with a smirk. “As long his body keeps producing milk, there won’t be a baby to worry about. And he’ll keep producing as long as somebody’s feeding from him regularly.”

“How very enlightening,” Shaw replied, with such a predatory glint in his eye that Charles found himself squirming unconsciously against his stepbrother’s hold. “Now then, let’s get a better look at you, shall we? Lay him down.”

He was lifted without warning, and dropped unceremoniously on top of the desk, as Shaw cleared the surface of its clutter with a careless sweep of his hand. Cain pinned his arms above his head while the others crowded around him, with Shaw coming to rest between his spread thighs.


“Shh, it’s okay,” the man said, as his hands gently kneaded Charles’ ankle. “I promise, as long as you do as you’re told, it’s not going to hurt. Now, I’d prefer if I didn’t have to tie you down, Charles, but I will if you won’t cooperate. What do you say?”

He looked up at the faces arrayed above him – Shaw, with his benevolent smile and Cain’s hungry leer, to Kurt’s amused grin and Azazel’s quiet appraisal – and knew it would be pointless to put up a fight. No one was coming to save him; not the authorities, since Shaw had a perfectly legal contract, and certainly not Erik, who had a family to care for and a business to run. No, the only way to ensure his safety was to please Shaw and flatter his ego, and hope that this mob war wouldn’t eventually cost him his life.

Charles knew too, both from reputation and the hard glint in his eye that Sebastian Shaw would just as happily break him if he didn’t choose to comply. He had no choice but to give in and do what was asked, or risk having his body sent home to his sister in unrecognizable pieces. He took another deep breath and nodded again. “Yes, I'll...yes.”

“That is a very wise choice,” Shaw praised with mocking affection, as he continued massaging Charles’ legs, hands sliding up his thighs until his fingers grazed the edge of his opening. Charles closed his eyes and forced himself not to flinch, as Shaw rubbed him until his slick began to soak through both layers of pants and underwear. “Let’s see about making you more comfortable hmm? Boys, why don’t you two do the honors and help him out.”

A mouth closed on each breast before he even registered the words, enthusiastic sucking that had him arch up with a startled gasp. Cain and Azazel flanked him on either side of the desk, taking greedy gulps from him under Kurt’s encouragement and direction. The sudden let down and release winded him and made him lightheaded, and their eager touch -  mouths hot on his skin as their hands palmed and kneaded his flesh - slowly drained the coiled tension that had wracked his entire body.

He barely noticed it, when Shaw stripped him of his bottom half and started working him loose with his fingers.

Three fingers teased and twisted and made him moan, violating him as Shaw and Kurt traded banter over his naked body. They mused at how tight he still was, and how much he enjoyed his tits being sucked, while Azazel and Cain drank and chuckled gleefully as they worried his swollen nipples. And then Kurt added two fingers and started pumping, thrusting counter point with Shaw and splitting him wide open.

Charles bucked his hips and came with a shout, gushing slick around both sets of thick fingers buried in his cunt.

“That’s a good boy.”

They pulled out of him, and Kurt made a show of licking his hand, savoring the taste of Charles’ slick that was dripping from his fingers. He leaned down and lapped at the splattered come that covered Charles’ belly, moaning like he was enjoying a fine wine or the most delicious of meals.

Shaw smiled and then slammed in and buried his cock to the hilt.

It was terrible and also perfect and oh how he hated Erik Lehnsherr in that moment; for conditioning his body to crave pleasure, even – or especially – while he was feeling so much shame and humiliation. Charles hated and wanted and was desperate for more; he thought he might die if they kept on fucking him…

It would be worse if they stopped.

But they didn’t stop and they kept going, splayed on Shaw’s desk and spread out like a feast, all of them taking turns drinking from his breasts. Shaw especially took his time to appreciate and explore, pulling out and driving in, controlled movements that were rough but steady. They devoured him with eyes and mouths and grasping hands, delighting in the pleasure they forced on his willing body.

Charles had no idea how long it went on, nor was he aware of anything beyond every moment of bliss; that was until he heard the phone click onto speaker dial, and a voice he knew well answering with annoyance, “Fuck off. I told you, I’m not interested.”

He gasped and was promptly silenced, as Kurt shoved his entire prick into Charles’ mouth. The others continued to use him too even though he tensed and began to struggle, until Shaw squeezed his thigh in warning, hard enough to leave a bruise.

“So you keep saying, Erik,” Shaw said, tone light and airy, though his strokes were harder now with each new rock of his hips, “but I think you need to look at the bigger picture.”

“This again? Look, we’re done here, Shaw. Stop bothering me or you’re not going to like what I do next.”

Shaw chuckled, and his hands dug just a little deeper into Charles’ flesh. “It’s different this time, I promise. I have something I’d be willing to trade for your cooperation; something I know that’s going to be of great interest to you.”

Erik scoffed. “You don’t have anything that I want. Not now, not ever. This conversation is over.”

The phone disconnected, but Shaw only laughed, thoroughly amused it seemed by Erik’s terse response. He lifted Charles’ legs and threw them over his shoulders, pressing in at just the right angle to make him clench down and shudder.

“I’ll bet he changes his tune,” Shaw purred, his thrusts faster and increasingly frenzied as Kurt fucked his aching throat, “once he realizes we’re talking about you, pet. But don’t worry, we’re not in any rush, are we? We’ll take good care of you before we send you back to little Erik Lehnsherr.”

When they’re finally finished with him, Charles was bruised and sore all over, his chest empty and his cunt leaking seed all over Shaw’s desk.

He’d been knotted by Shaw as his stepfather came with a grunt, flooding his mouth with come that he had no choice but to swallow. By the time Shaw’s knot subsided, Cain had shot another load straight down his throat, while Azazel had jerked himself off and then spurted hot and sticky all over Charles’ breasts. He felt dirty and used and utterly helpless, and could only lay there, too exhausted to move as they admired their own handiwork.

Shaw chuckled and patted his head. “You did so well, my boy; absolute perfection. Let’s get you cleaned up and then you can get some rest. Cain, I trust you can take your stepbrother to his room and get him all settled?”

Cain snorted, lifting Charles - limp and unresisting - into his arms. “Oh I’ll give him what he needs all right.”

“Good,” he heard Shaw reply, as Cain turned and started carrying him away, “now we send Erik a video of our little chat and wait for his call.”

Chapter Text

“Ah Logan, so nice of you to join us! Come in, come in.”

He sees it immediately; there’s a bruise on Charles’ right cheek, splotchy and purple, a new addition since Logan last saw him just a few hours ago. There’s a wet sheen to his eyes that makes them even more striking and blue, like an ocean to drown in, dangerous and irresistible…

They take his gun and then shove him onto the couch, Janos’ hand gripping his shoulder hard in obvious warning. The tension in the room is palpable, teetering on the edge of violence, and Logan doesn’t have to be told to know what’s about to happen; somehow Shaw has found out about his affair with Charles, and he’s going to make them pay dearly for the betrayal.

“I don’t blame you, you know, for your little indiscretion,” Shaw says mildly, as he pours two fingers of Scotch into an expensive crystal tumbler. “Charles is…rather enticing, isn’t he? With those pretty eyes and all that soft skin? And he knows how to take a cock better than any whore money can buy…” Shaw hands the drink to Logan then, and grins. “In fact, he’s the best whore that money can buy. But he’s my whore, Logan, and I don’t share.”

“I don’t—”

“Shh, please no need to explain,” Shaw interrupts, as Charles shoots Logan a warning look – shut up, don’t make it worse – “Charles told me it was all his doing. That he seduced you; told you he’d lie and say you forced yourself on him if you didn’t fuck him when he asked for it. Isn’t that right, Charles?”

“Yes,” his lover answers, and doesn’t flinch when Shaw grabs him by the throat, hauling him against his chest. “It was all me. Logan didn’t have a choice.”

Shaw laughs, loud and amused, sending a shiver of foreboding down Logan’s spine. “All he has is choice, pet,” Shaw says, “and now he gets another one. He can tell me that he has real feelings for you; that you fell in love, and you two were going to try and leave together—”

“No,” Charles whispers, “never.”

“—and I put a bullet in each of your heads. Or, he agrees with you, that you’re the one to blame, and he gets to watch while I teach you a much needed lesson.”

Logan thinks about it, for much longer than is wise; whether he could possibly overpower Shaw and the others and get Charles safely out of Hellfire. Every part of him sings for it – to answer Shaw’s threats with violence, and fight tooth and nail for the man that’s come to mean his everything. Logan would gladly die if it meant that Charles could be free, away from the mob and Sebastian Shaw—

The barrel of someone’s gun – Azazel’s, he thinks – nudges impatiently against the back of his head.

“Tell him the truth, Logan,” Charles pleads, with his eyes, his voice, the stiffness in his entire body, “tell him I seduced you. That I deserve to be punished.”

There’s only one way for this to play out, he realizes, where Charles lives to see another sunrise.

Even if Logan would rather be skinned alive than say the words that he forces through gritted teeth, “He seduced me. I had no choice.”

The tension in the room eases just a little, though Logan’s stomach roils in violent protest; he can’t bring himself to look into Charles’ eyes - see relief there instead of disgust - when Logan has essentially thrown him to the wolves. It hardly matters that it’s the lesser of two evils; whatever happens to Charles now Logan will be complicit, and it shrivels the last shred of decency and goodness left in his cold and withered heart.

“Good, very good,” Shaw says, and then he’s pushing Charles face down onto his desk, shoving his pants down around his ankles with a pleased grin. “Now, Charles. I realize this is partially my fault. I’ve obviously been neglecting you, if you had to go elsewhere for pleasure. Should I make it up to you now, hm? Give you what you crave, pet?”

In response, Charles gasps, unable to hide the discomfort as Shaw presses three fingers into him without warning, his whole body going rigid and still. “Please, Sebastian,” he breathes, sounding inviting enough to make Shaw’s smile widen with glee. “Please fuck me.”

“I don’t think you need to be prepped, do you? Since you’re probably still all wet with Logan’s spunk,” Shaw murmurs, withdrawing his fingers quickly and undoing his belt. He presses the tip of his cock against Charles’ hole and starts pushing, and doesn’t stop until he bottoms out with a loud, satisfied grunt.

Charles digs his fingers into the wood, and hangs on.

He’s forced to watch it all – Shaw’s hands spreading Charles wide, his hips slap slapping against the soft flesh that Logan kissed so tenderly just this morning. Shaw’s thrusts are brutal as he sets a brisk pace, fucking in and out of Charles with all of his pent-up rage. And Charles can only moan like he loves every second of it, pretending to enjoy the humiliation of being used in front of Shaw’s men and Logan, who is too pathetic and useless to help him.

“Did you fuck him on his knees, Logan?” Shaw asks, a glimmer in his eye as he rocks back and forth, hands clutching Charles hard enough to bruise. “Did he bend over and offer it up? Beg you to stick your cock in his ass like a cheap whore? ‘Cause that’s what you are, aren’t you, pet? A dirty whore…only good for one thing?”

“Yes, Sebastian, yes,” Charles pants, and now he’s arching back, moaning like he did when it was Logan and not Shaw behind him, fucking him open. “I just want you to fuck me. Make me come. Use me like a dirty whore.” 

Inexplicably, Shaw gentles, before sliding out and maneuvering them into his leather chair, with Charles sprawled on his lap. He pulls Charles onto his prick and groans, dragging their lips together into a heated kiss, anger slowly morphing into real passion as Charles starts riding him, bucking and writhing and begging for more.

Logan has never hated anyone more than he hates Sebastian Shaw.

He’s forced to keep watching – watching the man he loves throw his arms around Shaw, gasping every time Shaw pushes up and drives himself inside Charles, cock disappearing and then reappearing from that tight, pink hole. His own cock stirs at the sight of it; because it’s Charles, though it makes him feel sick and the worst kind of filth, getting off when his lover is trying to save his life.

By the time Shaw spurts his load, Logan is hard as a rock, and eager to get away before he’s drawn into anymore of the man’s sick games. But Shaw isn’t quite finished forcing his wayward lover back into compliance; he replaces his prick with a thick, silicone dildo, and fucks Charles with it until he arches and comes with a howl.

And he keeps fucking him with it, while Charles writhes and wails and begs Shaw for a break; for forgiveness and mercy and please I’m sorry I’m yours and it’s you Sebastian only you no one else never

The last thing he sees, before Azazel and Janos are shoving him out the door is Charles cradled in Shaw’s arms, wrecked and covered in come, moaning Shaw's name.

Logan never lays eyes on him again.

Chapter Text

His first evening at Ostwick Manor was spent alone, unpacking the few items Charles had brought with him from Xavier manor, letters he’d exchanged with Tony as well as a few well-worn books that had belonged to his late father. The room he’d been given was both spacious and luxurious, and his dresser was filled with an entirely new wardrobe of the latest fashions, courtesy of his new benefactor, General William Stryker. The Steward had given him the briefest of tours upon his arrival in the afternoon, and assigned servants to see to his needs, letting Charles know in no uncertain terms that they would bring him whatever he wished. Later, a most decadent meal of roasted beef and potatoes was delivered to Charles in his rooms with a glass of fine vintage, along with an apology that the General was indisposed, and unable to dine with his new guest as he’d so fervently wanted.

It was all very generous, and overly solicitous, and did absolutely nothing to assuage Charles’ fears; that this surrogacy arrangement meant trading his old life for a new one in a comfortable, gilded cage.

He did not see the General until it was near to bedtime, when a loud knock on his door interrupted the letter he was penning to Raven.

“Yes? Who is it?”

“It’s me, dear boy,” the General said, and the door opened before Charles had the chance to reply. Stryker came striding into the room with a winning smile, uncaring of either manners or etiquette as a stunned Charles looked on. “I’ve come to see how you’re settling in. Has Geoffreys shown you around the Manor? Do you have everything you need?”

Charles did his best to offer a smile. “Yes, General. Your Steward has been very kind and very thorough. I…thank you for your generosity.”

Stryker grinned, well pleased it seemed with the response that he no doubt expected to hear. “Good, good. I want you to feel at home here, Charles, as you’ll be fulfilling a very important function in this household.”

Though he tried not to blush, Charles cheeks burned nonetheless, to hear aloud such a bald statement of his purpose at Ostwick.  Turning from the desk he took a few steps to the far side of the room, to gather his wits and put some distance between himself and the gregarious General. “You’re too kind, Sir.”

“Now, now, none of that,” Stryker said, quieter now and much more solicitous, as he closed the distance and laid a meaty hand upon Charles’ shoulder. Manners and good breeding at least, kept Charles from flinching at his touch. “We are to be well acquainted after all. You must call me ‘William’ as I call you ‘Charles’. There’s no need for titles between us, not now, and certainly not when we lay abed.”

His whole body stiffened then, and he forgot for long moments how to breathe, though Charles knew that it was a foolish reaction to the inevitable. He had known for weeks that he would have to couple with the General, for how else could he fulfill his duty as promised? To bear the man’s child if not to take the man’s seed?

Charles closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing the butterflies in his stomach to stop fluttering. He felt Stryker’s hands on both his shoulders now, and turned easily – if not quite willingly – at the man’s gentle prodding.

“You don’t have to be frightened,” he said, pressing quite close – too close – to Charles now, firm hands rubbing both his arms in an attempt to massage away the tension. “I know you’re a virgin, my darling boy, and that you don’t know the first thing about taking a knot. I promise I’ll be gentle enough, and make this a pleasant experience for both of us.”

His assurances did nothing to quell the fear that clawed at Charles’ throat, nor did the fierce glint he saw in Stryker’s eyes, promising unhappy consequences should he not comply with his every demand. No, Charles could not be truthful with him, now or at any other time…

It would not do to tell the General how much he craved another alpha’s touch, and how he wanted to run away screaming at the thought of being unclothed in his presence. He could do nothing, but let Stryker help him out of his waistcoat and cravat, and shrug the shoes off his feet at the other’s bidding.

“Your shirt…and your trousers. Take it all off; I want to see you.”

More order than request, even if the words were no more than a low rumble, and Charles shivered with dread as his fingers moved to follow the General’s command. His skin tingled when he was finally made bare for Stryker’s scrutiny, those sharp eyes raking over him with a hunger that was palpable and utterly terrifying.  

And he almost fell over in surprise, when Stryker pulled him abruptly into his arms and kissed him roughly.

It was hot and messy, and nothing like kissing Erik, though the thought of the Earl only made his heart throb painfully in his chest. He let the General ravish his mouth and run greedy hands upon his skin, and tried not to miss the tender way in which another had kissed him, or wish that it were another who made him gasp, fingers prodding indelicately at his entrance.  

With great difficulty, Charles cleared his mind of all other thoughts as he was borne impatiently to bed. 

“Beautiful,” the General breathed, with a reverence that should have been flattering, and would have from a lover of Charles’ own choosing. But Stryker was married, and their arrangement was for procreation, not to sate the General’s lust for a decades younger bedmate. It made Charles’ stomach roil with every press of the man’s lips against his, and every touch of his hands as they mapped the contours and crevices of his naked body. He tried not to tense as Stryker spread his thighs and exposed him to the cool night air, though he couldn’t hold back the gasp when two fingers breached him without warning, making him clench down hard as they filled him and forced him open.

“Shh, it’s alright. It’ll get better,” the General said, petting his flank with one hand as the other began to rock, in and out, over and over. Charles wanted to cry out and beg Stryker to stop; or at least to slow down and let him get used to the burn. It was intense and overwhelming and almost unbearable, and try as he might he couldn’t get used to it; the unnatural fullness of being so penetrated. But then the General brushed him just so and his whole body shuddered, and slick began to ooze down his passage and even to leak from his hole. Then it stopped hurting, and started to feel good, and Charles found himself moaning as he was roughly scissored, hips rocking rhythmically against every thrust and pull of Stryker’s thick, unyielding fingers.

In his haze he did not notice the General disrobe, and when Charles looked up he saw that the man’s bottom half was already bare, though his shirt was only unbuttoned to expose his chest. And he could not stop staring at the intimidating sight of Stryker’s prick, hard and leaking and impossibly big, knowing that he was meant to take it inside himself, tonight, and for countless more nights to follow.   

“Relax,” Stryker whispered, and he cupped Charles’ cheek ever so tenderly, even as he pushed Charles’ legs wide to settle like a statue between his thighs. Taller by inches and heavier by many pounds, Charles was all but trapped beneath him now with no room to move. He could do naught but grit his teeth as the hardness nudged up against him, and close his eyes to the raw desire that coloured every inch of the General’s rugged, leering face.

“No. You must look at me,” the man snapped, and Charles’ eyes flew open as thick fingers gripped him by the chin, too rough and likely to bruise. “I want to see you, boy; the face you make when I take you for your first time.”

And then he was being breached, his body split wide as Stryker thrust all the way in, making Charles cry out in shock at the sudden and gut wrenching pain. It was too much and too fast and made his insides quake, though his discomfort had no seeming effect on the General’s ardour. In fact, he merely shushed Charles and gently kissed his tears away, and then proceeded to move above him in a steady, unhurried pace.   

“Yes, good,” the General cooed, and Charles could only cling desperately to the man’s shoulders, unable to speak, or think of anything beyond the great thickness that impaled him. “You are a delight, aren’t you, hmm? I knew that you would be, the first time I saw that pretty face.”

He did not know how long he lay there, as Stryker took his pleasure, grunting and groaning with such obvious enjoyment as to make Charles blush with mortified shame. It stopped hurting, once he acclimated to the mounting, though it still felt strange to feel the man’s prick moving inside of him. And he felt no stirring of passion, no matter how the General pushed and pulled at him, filling him and driving his entire body ever closer towards the head of the bed. It did not change until Stryker groaned loudly and clutched him tight in his arms, and he felt the man’s knot swell and harden and rub in the most excruciating way. Charles cried out in surprise, certain that his insides would burst, and then again when pleasure upon pleasure hit him in waves, coursing like lighting through his veins.

It was long moments before either of them could speak, and Charles could feel the General shudder against him, filling him with great stripes of warm and sticky seed. Belatedly, he realized that he had come alongside the General, his own release triggered by the knot that tied the two of them in place.

For a moment, curiosity overcame his misgivings and he blurted, “Will this happen every time that you…that I…”

Stryker laughed. “You did well, Charles, very well indeed. And yes you will come every time you take my knot, so there will be pleasure for you too, every time we mate.”

“Oh I didn't mean—” Charles hurried to reply, and then he realized that the General was still sprawled on top of him, and his knot showed no signs yet of receding. “How long will this…I mean, will we be tied together for long?”

His heart raced a little at the way Stryker smiled then, as though he relished Charles’ discomfort, and knew his desire to be alone now that the deed was done. “Minutes or hours, it’s hard to say, so the best thing to do is to get some sleep while we wait.” And he promptly followed his words by rolling them onto their sides, shifting their bodies until they were laying somewhat more comfortably on the bed.

It was not at all what Charles expected, or wanted, though he swallowed his protest and asked simply, “Is that wise, General—”

Stryker grunted and squeezed his buttocks, making Charles squeak with indignation. “William.”

“Yes, William,” he answered, and tried not to be alarmed by the liberties the General was taking, beyond what was necessary for procreation. “Don’t you think you should head back to your room? I’m sure your wife is expecting you.”

The man scoffed, and simply waved away his concerns. “My wife knows what must be done to make a baby, Charles. She will not begrudge the time we need to make it happen. However long it may take.”

And then there were no more excuses or objections to be made, and he allowed himself to rest in the circle of the General’s arms, even as the alpha kept touching him, and occasionally slipping a finger in alongside his knot – to gauge how much longer it would take to go down, though even Charles was not so naïve as to believe that flimsy excuse. He fell eventually into a tense and uneasy sleep, heart and body sore from the ungentle handling, wishing yet again that Erik had come calling, as he’d promised all those months ago at the MacTaggert’s ball.

He dreamt that night of Erik’s kisses, and the taste of his lips, and way a single touch from Erik could light a fire under Charles’ skin. It was Erik that nuzzled his cheek and Erik that cradled him from behind, wrapping strong arms around Charles as he slid home with a quiet, blissful sigh.

He writhed and bucked and arched back with abandon, moaning as Erik pressed tender kisses upon his skin. It did not hurt at all this time, even as Erik picked up the pace, driving his hips faster and faster at Charles’ own impatient urging. And he came again when Erik’s knot swelled and Erik’s seed spilled inside his hole, the pleasure wracking him inside out until it finally jolted him awake.

“I must admit to being surprised by your passion, though I cannot be more pleased,” Stryker gloated, and Charles entire body went numb at the revelation; that his dream had not been a dream but was in fact the General mounting him in his sleep. Embarrassment – at being so violated, and at his own shameful lust for one man while he lay in bed with another – kept him from trying to get out of the bed, and reacting in any way that might cause the General to renege on their surrogacy deal.

After all, had he not sworn to do whatever was necessary, to preserve their family’s livelihood and their home?

“It did not take you long, did it? To embrace your true nature? Indeed I've always known it; an omega such as you is made for breeding, and cannot help but beg for more.”

There was nothing Charles could say that would not be disgraceful, for he could hardly tell Stryker that he’d mistaken him for another, and found sex with him to be unpleasant at best. Nor could he admit to such a vile insinuation, even with the evidence of his own pleasure smeared all over the fancy, embroidered sheets.

He simply shook his head and refused to answer, and pretended not to hear the many promises whispered in his ear, of lewd and entirely inappropriate things, that Charles would have to look forward to in his new life at Ostwick Manor.

Chapter Text

The General returned to Charles’ bed the next night and every night thereafter, and always with great interest and excitement, delighting in every new sound he pulled from Charles’ lips. It became increasingly clear that Stryker wanted more than a simple surrogate, for the General set to pleasing him as a lover would, teaching him all manner of decadent and sinful pleasures of the flesh. He used his mouth and his tongue liberally to taste at his entrance, even as Charles gasped and writhed and objected weakly to the act. He took Charles on his hands and knees – the best way to mount an omega he said – and made him squeal aloud at being so deeply penetrated. And he taught Charles how to use his own mouth to pleasure and prepare him for sex; to feel it swell against his tongue as he licked and sucked at the man’s hard prick.

His days were quiet, and he spent most of it alone, for there were no others at Ostwick who seemed interested in his presence. The servants were polite and brought him whatever he wanted, and looked through him as though he were merely another of the General’s fine collectibles; pretty and valuable and utterly useless. Stryker’s wife was rarely around, though she radiated distant pity when they spoke, rather than the outright scorn that Charles might have expected. Their son Jason though, was downright hostile whenever he was home from school, as it became apparent how little his father enjoyed his company, preferring to spend any free time he had with his new house guest. Charles wished he could speak the truth to the young man about his father’s seeming attentiveness; that it was not Charles’ mind or his scholarly leanings that attracted him so.

For the most part, Charles was free to do as he pleased, and so he spent many hours in the library each day, and just as many exploring the grounds outside. He took his meals alone in the dining room or in his own quarters, for it did not seem that the Strykers gathered often to eat together, except once a week when the General entertained guests at his dinner table. This, Charles was required to join without fail, and always made to sit at Stryker’s side, regardless of the ranks of those in attendance. It made him self-conscious, to have the General breach etiquette this way, drawing undue and unwanted attention to his presence.

It was the third week of his stay that Charles met Colonel Everett Becker at one such dinner, a handsome man in his forties with dark hair and a winsome smile. He seemed to be a favorite of Stryker’s, having served with him during the war, and the two enjoyed a comradery that spoke to much time spent in each other’s company. They regaled him with tales of battle and bravery, during dinner and then afterwards in the salon, and Charles found himself listening on with genuine interest. He thought the General much less grating, and more candid around Becker, and was surprised at how little he minded both conversation and company. And though it might have been all the brandy he consumed – for Becker toasted many times, and Stryker poured generously as a good host should – Charles found himself slowly relaxing over time, letting the rhythm of their banter lull him into a quiet contentment.

They parted ways outside Charles’ bedroom, the Colonel dipping his head to wish him goodnight before stepping into the guest room next door. The General of course, followed Charles into his room, and began stripping him of his clothing before they even made it to the bed. To say that it was expected – that he was already used to being handled this way – was akin to accepting his fate, and prompted Charles to at least speak out against the inevitable.

“Please William,” he whispered, for he did not want the Colonel to hear, the idea mortifying beyond belief. “You have a guest in the next room. We shouldn’t—”

Stryker chuckled, his hands moving deftly to unbutton Charles’ shirt and tug impatiently at his breeches. “Everett knows why you’re here, darling boy, and won’t begrudge your chance to perform your duty. Be good now, and spread your legs.”

“But he’ll hear,” Charles protested, even as Stryker ignored him, dragging the clothes off his own body in record time. “I cannot…please, it’s too shameful! I couldn’t bear to look him in the face tomorrow, should he overhear.”

Stryker stilled then, cupping his cheek gently with one hand, and circling Charles’ prick with the other, making him groan. “I promise you; he will not hear us. The walls are thick and he’s had much to drink. He’s probably already snoring under the covers.”

And then the General was on him, his mouth silencing Charles’ in a kiss that stole his breath away. He could only lay back as Stryker shed the last of their clothing, and began caressing every inch of his nude body. With his head fuzzy from brandy, Charles found it easy to give in, reassured by the yawning silence that enveloped them. There was not a sound to be heard throughout the Manor, except for the harsh panting breaths of their coupling.

“Your lips are sinful,” the General said, as he maneuvered Charles onto his knees, and bade him use his mouth on his purpling erection. “Red, like the apple in the Garden of Eden. I like to see it wrapped around me, boy; watch you suck on it with those pretty, puffy lips.”

Charles flushed, though he could not stop or pull away, with Stryker’s hands holding him in place. He could only lick, and suck, and try not to gag around the man’s prick, letting the words wash over him as they guided his every move. The General had never spoken so much during their previous encounters, and he wondered if alcohol might be the culprit, loosening his tongue as it seemed to make Charles’ own limbs feel loose and heavy.

“Good. Let me lick you, Charles,” Stryker said, and he was pushed forward onto his hands and knees, facing the wall that separated his room from the one next door. “That’s it; spread yourself open for me, so I can taste your sweet nectar upon my lips.”

This was not the first time that the General had touched him so, but oh how especially eager he seemed tonight, his tongue delving deep inside Charles’ entrance, licking and teasing him to distraction. Stryker described his every action with detail and delight, as though he were narrating for a rapt audience under his spell. And he was not satisfied hearing his own words alone; he made Charles answer him, and to plead for more, and would not be content until he had Charles twisting and moaning on the bed.

“Does this feel good, Charles? Do you want more?”

He gasped as one finger became three; as they slid in and filled him and made him keen, slick trailing from his entrance and running down his thigh. “Yes,” Charles whispered, “please, William. Yes.”

“Say it again. Louder, my sweet,” Stryker said, punctuating his order with a twist of his fingers, rubbing against Charles’ sensitive spot with a chuckle. It made him cry out, the sound echoing in the room, though Charles was too far gone to be concerned about noise. There was only need, building inexorably in his groin, and the desperate hunger to be knotted, pleasure soothing his shame and alcohol dulling his inhibitions.

“Yes,” he cried loudly as he was breached; as Stryker began pounding him ruthlessly on the bed, hard enough that the frame bumped against the wall with every brutal thrust of his hips. It was intense, bordering on cruel the way the General was using him, and yet Charles couldn’t deny the tiny part of him that welcomed it; being made to enjoy his defilement, and forced to endure. He could no more stop Stryker than make the sun fall from the sky, and could only hold on as the man wrung every ounce of satisfaction he could from Charles’ willing body.

He didn’t have to feel any guilt for liking it, if the choice was so clearly taken from him.

“Yes! Look at you taking it…taking it so well, my boy. I wish you could see what I see…your lovely buttocks spread wide and my cock sliding into you so deep. So easily…in, out. In, out,” Stryker panted, fingers digging bruises into his skin. “What a pretty picture you make, darling Charles, on your hands and knees, just waiting for a knot to make you scream.”

 And scream he did, loud enough that the room seemed to shake, when Stryker slammed home even as he jerked Charles roughly to completion. The edge of pain made him come harder, the sensations more intense, as Stryker’s knot rippled and pulsed and jarred into place. He could scarcely breathe, and his arms wobbled before he fell face forward onto the bed, while the General grunted and then shouted as he came.

Charles’ eyes closed from one moment to the next, his insides warmed by Stryker’s seed, the man’s body covering his own as he lay aching and spent. There were no more thoughts now and no more talking, though the General did not stop touching him, or pressing lazy kisses against his cheek. It was not…unpleasant, to be gently coddled after sex, and Charles let himself settle bonelessly into Stryker’s embrace.

He closed his eyes and slept until morning.

“Are you alright, Mr. Xavier?”

Charles flushed at the Colonel’s words, and stopped shifting in his chair, swallowing the hiss that threatened to make it past his lips a second time that morning. His head still throbbed from the effects of the brandy, making it much harder to be a gracious and unobtrusive guest. And he was aching too from being so roughly taken the night before, the memory and the lingering pain of it making him squirm. It was torture to sit and eat breakfast with the General and Becker, though he had no reason he would willingly share to abruptly leave the table. He could only smile at them both and suffer in silence, and ignore the smug grin that Stryker wore, knowing he was the cause of Charles’ discomfort.

“I’m fine. Thank you, Colonel. I’m afraid I may have imbibed a little too much brandy, that’s all.”

Becker returned his slight smile with a far larger one, and Charles’ insides warmed at his kindness and concern. “Well do I know that feeling, Mr. Xavier. I believe more rest would do you a world of good.”

“Yes,” Stryker added with a smirk. “Best get back to bed, Charles.”

He ignored the veiled jibe, and turned his attention instead to the handsome Colonel, guiding the conversation to safer and more conventional subjects. As before Becker was both charming and attentive, and Charles found himself savoring the man’s presence, preferring his harmless gaze to Stryker’s lascivious glances.

“Will you visit again, Colonel?” he asked impetuously, for Charles did truly enjoy the man’s company, and would gladly see him once more. “That is…I mean…I’m sure the General would be pleased to have your esteemed company, as time permits.”

He did not quite understand the look that transpired then, between the General and Becker, before they both smiled broadly and the Colonel took up Charles’ hand.

“I would happily visit again, if the General wills it—”

“Yes, come!” Stryker said, grinning almost gleefully at the prospect. “Come back and enjoy Charles’ delightful company, as often as you can!”

“Then I will return gladly,” Becker said, making Charles blush when he gently but gallantly squeezed his hand. “It will be a pleasure.”

“Please,” Charles answered, “the pleasure is mine.”

Chapter Text

Though Becker promised to visit as soon as he was able, Charles did not see the Colonel again for many months, until the crisp autumn had morphed into winter and then the first days of spring. It was strange, how much Charles missed the man’s presence, as they’d barely spoken beyond the stories told about his time under Stryker’s command. Yet there was something about Becker’s manner that appealed to Charles from the start, and so he was pleasantly surprised when the first letter came - offering well wishes and an invitation to correspond - and more than happy to write back to his new and interesting friend. 

Of course Charles was not exactly lacking in new acquaintances, for Stryker continued to entertain guests almost every week, most of whom served the General at one time or another during his long and illustrious career. Some were perfectly pleasant, while others bordered on the obscene, barely concealing their lewd interest in Charles and the ‘duties’ he performed nightly at Stryker’s behest. It was difficult to sit through a meal with eyes that threatened to devour him, even as the General continued on without pause, retelling old tales of glory while Charles squirmed uncomfortably under the brash and unwelcome attention.

And occasionally, there would be a repeat of the night after dinner with Colonel Becker, where he was set upon by a particularly loud and lascivious Stryker while his guest slept in the room next door. It happened just often enough that it made Charles wonder, if perhaps the General meant to be heard, though it couldn’t be proven, and Stryker denied it every time he was questioned. And none of the guests ever showed signs of embarrassment or discomfort, from being inadvertently exposed to the frenzied coupling of their host and his omega surrogate.

By the time Becker finally returned it was early April, and Charles had been at Ostwick for just over seven months. His arrival was long anticipated and greatly welcomed, for Charles had grown fond of the Colonel in their months of regular correspondence. It was not the same as what he had felt for Erik that night at the MacTaggert’s ball – a lifetime ago now it seemed – when his intense and instantaneous connection with the Earl had practically swept him off his feet. No, this was a fondness borne from understanding and good intentions, and not the wild passionate spark that had burned so brightly and promptly petered out. He did not think Becker would abuse his heart as Erik did – or his body as Stryker continued to do each night without fail – and trusted in the man’s promise of honesty and support.

Of course Charles could not deny the thrill it gave him to have the Colonel’s regard and attention, nor did he miss the subtle hints in the letters he received; that Becker harbored feelings for Charles that went beyond friendship to something more.

Dinner was a joyous occasion, for Charles was not the only one who was happy to see Becker again it seemed; the General had the kitchens prepare a splendid meal of venison and game bird and far too many desserts. They drank many bottles of the best wines from Stryker’s cellar, and Charles found that his glass was never allowed to stand empty, until his head began to swim and he could scarcely sit up straight in his chair. Stryker laughed at his low tolerance of spirits, and Becker teased that it was a common shortcoming of youth, though they gave him a dose or two of laudanum to help ease the dizziness that plagued him. They shared with him too, a bit of opium that Becker procured from London, though Charles did not remember if he took one drag or three from the long thin pipe Stryker pressed eagerly against his lips.

It took the strength of both Stryker and Becker that night, to help an inebriated Charles back to his bedroom.

Unlike the last time Becker visited, they did not part ways at the door, with the Colonel following them in to help guide him to the bed. Charles did not think he could manage it, finding it on his own, for his head felt fuzzy and his limbs moved as though he were swimming under water. It was just as well that this strange lethargy came just as they’d planned to turn in, as even simple conversation seemed now to be beyond his capability.

“Colonel,” he said, as Becker guided him gently onto the bed, while Stryker merely stood to the side and watched without comment. “Thanks…you. For…helpin’ me.”

“Shh,” Becker breathed, as he brushed a light kiss upon Charles’ limp hand. “Please, you must call me Everett, for I consider us friends. And there’s no need for thanks…I’m happy to be of service.”

“Everett…E..ver..ett.” He let the name roll off his tongue, and laughed a little at the sound. “G’night, Ev-rett.”

“Good night, Charles,” the Colonel answered, and then he was gone from his view, and replaced by a looming Stryker who sat down beside him on the bed. He heard the door close, then felt a hand brushing his forehead, and knew that Becker had left him with the General to turn in for bed.

The brush of cool silk against his skin came unexpectedly, as Stryker leaned over him and looped a handkerchief around his head. “This will help you,” he said, making sure to cover Charles’ eyes completely before tightening the knot, “so the light won’t hurt your eyes and you won’t feel so dizzy.”

“Hmm,” Charles said, which was not what he meant to say to the General, who was still gently stroking his hair. And indeed he felt less unsteady, now that was no longer on his feet, though his body refused to cooperate when he tried to move his hand. “Yes. S’better.”

“Good, good,” Stryker answered before pulling away, and Charles heard shuffling as he got up off the bed. For a moment it seemed that he might be left alone to his rest, though it did not surprise when he felt hands on him just a moment later, and a body hovering over him with silent intent.

“Shh, Charles. Relax, and let me take care of you.”

He was stripped, leisurely and with great care, and more patience than the General had ever shown in the many months they’d spent in each other’s company. There was a gentleness to the hands that caressed every inch of him, exploring as they peeled away the layers; a hiss of breath when warm fingers skimmed under his shirt to graze the flesh hidden beneath. His mouth too was tender once Charles was fully bared, blazing a trail from his lips to his nipples and down to the secret place between his thighs. And he could do naught but cry out when his prick was licked and sucked for the very first time, growing thick and hard under such skilled and enthusiastic handling.

“So beautiful,” Stryker said, as his legs were spread wide, exposing him to the tongue that pressed deep inside of him, making him groan. Calloused hands held his thighs apart as he was thoroughly tasted, and Charles could only imagine how he looked, skin flushed from both alcohol and the shame of his own wantonness; how much he craved this now, his body conditioned to respond. He moaned again when fingers breached him, stretching and scissoring him open, pressing at the spot that made him gush until the sheets were soaked through with slick. So different was it, from the usual feverish way that Stryker used him, that Charles would swear it was someone else entirely pinning him to the bed.

“Does it feel good, boy?” the General asked, the words whispered from somewhere above his head. Then he was suddenly on top of him, and rubbing his impressive erection between Charles’ thighs. A mouth covered his and his legs were pushed wide, his breath stolen by a hungry, almost bruising kiss. He sighed when he finally felt it, probing at his hole, all heat and force barely restrained; groaned loudly as it pushed in and in, the entire length slotting like a missing puzzle piece, fitting into place.         

Pleasure flooded his senses and made him keen, as soon as Stryker began to move, rocking his hips to a steady beat. It filled every inch of him, stuffing him full, wrenching gasps and moans from his swollen and kiss bitten lips. Charles tried to arch into it, each time he was breached, or clutch at the muscled body sliding against him. Yet his limbs would not obey and he could only lay still; a passive observer as Stryker directed the ways and hows of their coupling.

With his eyes blinded by the handkerchief and his head muddied from the wine, Charles had no real awareness of space or time; of how long the General had been moving above him, or how long his legs had been held practically over his head. He was lost in a sea of pleasure and sensation, drowning in the heady smell of sweat and slick. Groans filled his ears – from odd angles, or too far away – and hands seeming to touch him everywhere at once, confusing and inexplicable and forgotten one moment to the next.

But none of it mattered to Charles, except how good it felt – better in fact, than it had ever been. He wanted, in a way that he’d never wanted Stryker before, writhing and desperate to take his knot, the tight stretch pushing and rubbing against his walls…

“Isn’t he perfect?” Stryker said, brushing the matted hair from his forehead, his voice calm and teasing even as Charles felt the heat of his breath every time he panted and grunted. “Don’t you just want more of it, now that you’ve had a little taste?”

He had no idea what the General meant, or what answer he expected; could only moan when Stryker shifted so he could throw Charles’ legs over his shoulders, the thrusts wild and deep and increasingly desperate.  

Stryker chuckled a little then, smug and satisfied as though he had an amusing secret to share. “Have you ever imagined another in my place, dear boy?” he whispered, and the man’s hips stuttered mid-stroke before resuming at an even faster pace. “A secret love perhaps? That makes your blood sing and your heart race? Or..” And here he leaned in close so Charles could feel his hot, alcohol laden breath against his cheek. “Maybe a handsome Colonel that’s caught your eye?”

He did not know what possessed him to answer, even as he groaned out the name. “Ev…Everett,” he sighed.

“Oh yes, our dear Colonel Becker,” Stryker said, as hungry lips pressed eager kisses all over his skin. “He finds you very beautiful, dear boy, and would love to have you this way. His hands on you and his cock spreading you wide…Do you want him too, Charles? Do you want Everett to fuck you? Make you come all over his prick?”

“Nnngh…Oh. The…oh, yes.”

“Then say his name, Charles. Ask him to fuck you. Beg him for it, you wanton trollop.”

He could not, for it was shameful, even if the mention of the Colonel filled him with a longing that both surprised and frightened him. And though Charles would not say out loud what he wished he was certainly imagining it; Everett’s hands and Everett’s teeth kneading and worrying bruises all over his body.

That it was the Colonel driving into Charles with such fervent desire, pushing them both to the brink until they fell head long into the precipice.

But then a hand reached to grasp the base of his prick, just as Stryker pulled out of Charles completely, dragging him back from the edge. The General however, groaned noisily as he came, white hot stripes splattering like rain all over Charles’ chest and stomach.

“No,” he moaned, frustrated and dissatisfied as he clenched around thin air. “Knot. Please…please.”

He did not have long to wait, for Stryker was pushing in again mere moments later, filling him and pounding him into the bed. The General set a punishing pace, wild and reckless as though he was desperate for release, even though his seed was still cooling all over Charles’ feverish skin. Driven to distraction - by the need to come and the keen pleasure of every jarring thrust - Charles did not balk when two fingers slipped surreptitiously into his mouth, the taste of something sticky and bitter filling his senses.

He swallowed the strange substance three times, before he realized what it might be.

And then he was coming, as the knot swelled and locked into place, pushing him over the edge so violently that his whole body quaked. He could feel teeth biting down on his neck, too rough and too painful, as gentle lips teased his mouth open with a soft, languid kiss. It was overwhelming, and deliciously satisfying, the tension dissipating as though his body floated weightless amongst the clouds…

The last thing he remembered was Stryker groaning above him, flooding his insides with seed, the feeling warm and familiar.

When Charles woke next it was morning, evident by the bright sunlight streaming through the gap in the curtains onto the foot of his bed. His head ached ferociously from all the wine he’d consumed the night before, and every inch of his body seemed to throb and ache. He was grateful at least, that Stryker had retired to his own room instead of staying until morning;  he did not think he could stomach the man’s hands on him right now, when he was feeling so nauseous and physically drained.

He could see a glass of water on his writing table by the bed, and reached for it greedily, taking a long, much-needed drink. It was only after he’d drained the glass that mortification set in, when he realized that one of the servants must have left it, and would have seen him in such a pitiful state. Though they were used to cleaning after him – and seeing the physical evidence of his couplings with Stryker – it had never been quite so obscene, for Charles was still naked and his chest and stomach was caked with dried spend. At least he was mostly under the bedspread, so his private parts were hidden from prying eyes; the same could not be said for all the bite marks and purpling bruises that littered his fair skin.

Sitting up was difficult, pain flaring as he instinctively clenched, his hole sore and open as though it had been used for hours upon hours. Charles had never been quite this uncomfortable, no matter how amorous or rough Stryker had been with him, making him wonder just how it could feel so differently after a night of ill-advised drinking. He could feel the slick oozing from him too, every time he moved and shifted, leaving a pool of seed on the bed that also coated his arse and his thighs.

There was so much of it – both on and inside of him – as though Stryker had discovered some previously hidden stamina to breed him continuously through the night.

He shivered, and lay back down on the bed, pulling the covers under his chin so his body was entirely hidden from view - though that did nothing to obscure the memories of what had happened the night before. Little tidbits of sense and sound bubbled unbidden to the surface; there were hands – more than two it seemed at times, in his drunken haze – touching and kneading and prying him open, and a cock in his mouth and his hole in too rapid succession.

And Everett’s face above him, green eyes wide and captivating, whispering indecipherable words as he bent to kiss Charles’ lips. That…couldn’t be real, he thought, and flushed at the remembrance of Stryker’s teasing; how he managed to uncover and then use Charles’ attraction to the Colonel as a means to taunt and humiliate. His jumbled mind must have conjured those realistic images of Everett in Stryker’s place, or else he had dreamed it, as he had when his heart belonged to Erik once, so long ago…

He was getting wet again, as the images bombarded him, of the way he moaned as he sucked greedily at Everett’s prick; the way Charles writhed as the Colonel slid in and out of him, their fingers entwined as pleasure surged through his veins. And he stroked himself quietly, overwhelmed with guilt and shame, to the false memory of Everett’s face, riddled with pleasure, his muscular body coiled above him in silent, rapturous grace...

He buried his face in the pillow, and muffled the Colonel’s name as he came.

Chapter Text

Kurt did a final check of the buckles on the breeding stand, tugging at the velvet covered straps that held Charles’ torso and hips in place. It had been a good investment to have the thing custom made, both for better comfort and scalability; as expected, his stepson was still rather small for his age, and he would have been swimming loose in one of those cheap, store bought contraptions. As it was he just barely fit properly on the lowest setting, his body almost entirely swallowed by the metal frame.

He ran his hands down Charles’ flank – so slim and soft – and then patted that pert little ass with a satisfied hum.  It was the boy’s first heat and therefore his first time with an alpha, and he’d done everything he could to ensure Charles’ safety and wellbeing. He would have preferred to be the one to take the boy’s virginity, but a deal was a deal, and Kurt needed William Stryker’s support to get that government funding he needed for Xavier Inc. As long as that happened the company would be in good shape, and their finances set for the foreseeable future.

Charles shuddered, and started pulling at the restraints, yanking at the cuffs that kept his arms apart so he wouldn’t accidentally scratch his own face. He’d left the collar off this first time too, just to ease him into things, and added extra cushioning so Charles could rest most of his weight on his chest and stomach. And the stand had been mounted over the bed so that he was kneeling on top of the mattress; a nicer alternative to the ground or a floor cushion, when you had to spend so many hours locked in place.

“It’s alright, Charles, “ he said when the boy moaned, clenching down hard around the dildo that Kurt had slipped into him that morning. He pumped it a few times and watched that sweet cunt practically swallow it whole, anticipation high as he imagined his own cock in its place. Of course the dildo wasn’t nearly enough to sate an omega in heat, and Charles only whimpered as Kurt worked it steadily in and out of his body. No, the boy needed desperately to be knotted and soon, before he hurt himself from thrashing and trying to rip his arms and ankles free.

“Kurt…please, it hurts…”

He checked the time – it was five after two – and cursed the sly old bastard for being late. It was hard enough, holding back since the heat started; even more as he had to prep the boy himself for someone else’s mounting. Kurt had thought about letting the servants do it, stripping and bathing him and then working him open, but in the end he didn’t want anyone else’s fingers – or tongues – inside of Charles before he had a chance to taste. Stryker aside, he intended to make the boy his own, now that his mother was gone and Kurt was without an omega. And when Charles turned sixteen Kurt would marry him and make it official, allowing him to maintain control over both the boy and the Xavier fortune.

Charles moaned again, and tried to arch against the dildo, though the frame did its job at keeping his movement restricted. The sight of him bound – coupled with the wafting scent of ripe omega – sent a jolt of lust to Kurt’s groin that made his knees weak and his heart race. It was enough to warrant another taste, he thought, something to distract them both as they waited for their guest’s arrival.

He knelt quickly behind Charles and sighed, breathing in the sweetness of his virgin flesh. Dimly, he thought about sliding his prick into that luscious mouth, but ultimately decided to hold off until after the end of his heat. There were enough new things to learn this first time around, and Kurt had all the time in the world to teach young Charles just how to please him.

Slick coated the length of the dildo, leaking from the boy’s cunt, and Kurt was quick to replace it with two fingers and his tongue. Eating Charles out was like eating an overripe peach, and the boy shuddered with pleasure as Kurt licked at his hole. He’d been waiting for months now, for Charles to be ready; fantasized endlessly about all the ways he would sate himself on that creamy, unspoiled flesh.

He thought about Charles on his bed, sprawled naked across the sheets, writhing as Kurt worked thick fingers and a tongue inside his tight little hole. He thought about the sounds that Charles would make when he was spanked, arching as Kurt’s hand came down over and over, marking red prints all over his petal soft skin. He thought about fucking Charles for hours, in every position imaginable, sweat glistening and the boy’s head thrown back in ecstasy…

But mostly he imagined sinking into a Charles that was round with his child, belly swollen and heavy as he gasped and moaned around Kurt’s throbbing prick.

Yes Charles – his beautiful, sweet, precious Charles – was going to give Kurt everything he’d ever wanted.

The doorbell rang, announcing Stryker’s arrival at last as Kurt pulled away with a sigh. He’d done what he could to get Charles ready, making him loose and wet enough to take a knot without injury. There would still be a bit of pain of course, this first time being bred, but nothing Charles would even remember when he came out of his heat.     

He’d told Edwards to let their guest in and send him down to the breeding room alone, so he wasn’t surprised when Stryker came striding in without bothering to knock on the door. At fifty-five the Senator was handsome but starting to show signs of his age, by the silver in his hair and beard and the extra weight he carried around his middle. But his predilection for virgins kept him on the lookout for omegas decades his junior, and neither vanity – nor the fact that he was married – would keep him from satisfying his voracious appetite.

“Senator. Good of you to finally join us.”

His reproach fell on deaf ears as Stryker quickly stripped out of suit jacket and tie, eyes glued to the naked omega on the breeding stand. He ran a weathered hand along the expanse of Charles’ back down to the roundness of his ass cheek, and then slipped two of his fingers into the boy’s hole with a soft, satisfied sigh.

“Such a lovely specimen you have here, Marko,” the Senator said, pumping his fingers as Charles clenched down and moaned. “A little skinny, but he’s certainly pretty enough.”

Kurt smiled. “Charles is perfection.”

“We’ll see,” Stryker snorted, wiping his sticky fingers carelessly against Charles’ thigh. He unzipped his pants and pulled out his prick and - without any preparation or fanfare – sank balls deep inside Charles with a satisfied grunt.

The sound the boy made – a desperate, keening cry that reverberated around the room – sent a shiver down Kurt’s spine, enough to almost make him come in his pants.

“Tight,” Stryker rasped, and then immediately started rocking his hips, pulling out and slamming back in as Charles thrashed and wailed at the top of his lungs. Though it made Kurt tense, the boy’s distress seemed only to fuel the Senator’s lust, his pace relentless as he buried himself over and over inside Charles’ lithe body. Eventually though, the sounds turned from pained cries to low gasping moans, and Kurt could see and hear the schlick schlick of the fluids dripping from the boy’s passage, easing the way. It was…tantalizing, watching Charles open up so beautifully for a thick cock, his toes curling as he was pounded ruthlessly in the stand.

Stryker’s stamina was impressive, for someone more than a decade Kurt’s senior, fucking the boy with infinite patience. He slowed frequently to catch his breath before shoving all the way in, starting steadily and picking up speed before reining things back in again. Charles’ every reaction – his protests when Stryker stopped railing him, his fevered moans when he was being pummelled – seemed to fall on deaf ears; he was nothing but a hole for the Senator to use, hot and wet and utterly interchangeable with his numerous virgin conquests.

He watched avidly when Charles finally came with a full body shudder, clenching down on Stryker’s knot when it locked into place, making that pink hole bulge outwards as it strained against the deluge. It was the boy’s first orgasm, a sight to behold, as Charles went completely limp even as Stryker grunted and groaned like he was dying, filling the omega with his come. He emptied three loads in rapid succession, with only minimal breaks in between, until Charles’ belly ballooned outwards in a soft swell, a receptacle stuffed full to the brim.  

Kurt wiped some of the boy’s spend off his tip and licked it, and marveled at the sweet taste of virgin seed on his sticky fingers.

“Not bad, Marko, not bad at all,” Stryker mused. He pulled out slowly once his knot had deflated, and chuckled at the boy’s groans of pleasured relief, as come leaked steadily down his creamy thighs. “He’ll make a good breeding mare for you, if you mean to keep him.”

“I do.”

Stryker chuckled as he tucked himself in and zipped up his pants, relaxed now that he’d released all that pent-up tension. “You’ve got a few good years with him I think, before you’ve got to worry about replacing him.”

He thought he might pity the Senator just a little, to have never found an omega he desired with every fiber of his being, the way Kurt felt about the boy in his keeping. “I don’t plan to replace him. I’m going to marry him and he’s going to bear my children, for as long and as many as he can.”

“Suit yourself,” Stryker said, as he shrugged on his jacket and pocketed his tie, “but feel free to give me a call if you ever change your mind. I have contacts that would quite happily take him off your hands, permanently or otherwise, in exchange for…well, rather useful things.”

Money or favors was what he meant, and though Charles would indeed be valuable to trade he was sincere in his desire to keep him; he wanted Charles to be his alone, to be shaped by Kurt’s desires and molded to his preferences, grooming him to become his perfect mate.

He walked Stryker to the front door and shook the man’s hand, securing a firm promise from the Senator for approval soon on the funding he’d been promised. It alleviated his concern for the immediate future – and some of the guilt for essentially selling off Charles’ virginity – though they could both be reassured now that things would move forward as planned.

His cock was aching by the time he made it back to the breeding room, where Charles was still strapped into the stand, come dripping steadily from that puffy entrance. He found himself caught between dueling impulses; between the urge to stake his claim now and mount his omega, or to rid him thoroughly of another alpha’s seed. In the end it was Charles himself who made the choice easy, moaning desperately for Kurt as he writhed and bucked against the restraints. And it helped to know that Charles wouldn’t be getting pregnant from this first heat – Kurt had made sure to inject him with a contraceptive beforehand – so it mattered less whose come and how much of it rounded his belly.

There was no need to wait or even to hold back, with Kurt hard as a rock and Charles wet and fucked open; he gripped Charles’ hips and sank in, pleasure instantly wracking him from head to toe. He couldn’t take his eyes from where the two were connected, transfixed by the sight of his cock swallowed whole. There’d been so many nights of jerking off to just this image, while the boy lay asleep across the hall; of days where’d been so tempted to take, though Charles’ body wasn’t quite ready for breeding. But now – now, he could have this whenever he wanted, in and out of heat, in every position imaginable.

He leaned forward to press a kiss to Charles’ cheek and whispered, “You’re being so good for me, my boy. Very, very good.”

“Kurt,” Charles whined, body swaying back and forth as Kurt pummeled him, the force of the thrusts making the entire frame shake. The boy wouldn’t be able to sit for the first few days after this heat, with the way his skin was bruising under two sets of fingertips. Though that suited Kurt’s plans just fine, as he had no intentions of letting Charles out of his bed for at least the first week.

Please…” Charles keened, and the desperation made his voice sound even higher and younger than his fifteen years. It was exactly as he’d imagined it, the way he always knew it would be, Charles begging for it as Kurt buried his cock in that tight heat. Silky smooth it was, and so so good; he would never get tired of it, he thought, the clench of that sweet cunt around his prick, working it and dragging him in…

He came with a grunt, his knot swelling thick and hard, rubbing against the boy’s pleasure spot and making him scream. It made Kurt shiver, from his head to his toes, the day’s pent up frustration finally being let loose. Like Stryker he spurted once, twice, then a third time in rapid succession, until Charles’ belly swelled to its limit. He would be able to take much more, in future heats, Kurt mused, as he swiped his finger around Charles’ rim, tracing the come as it leaked steadily from the edges; Kurt had all the time in the world to train him after all.

Once his knot deflated, he pulled out of Charles with a sigh, checking as he did for any signs of tearing or traces of blood. He ignored the boy’s whimpering, and the way he clenched around Kurt’s fingers as he pushed in, until he was satisfied that Charles’ first mating had been injury free. Once he was certain, he grabbed the dildo again and slotted it in, pressing a tender kiss to Charles’ ass cheek as the boy moaned and writhed. Then he left him there in the stand and went to the room next door, where a tub had been installed in anticipation of Charles’ heats. It was big enough that they would both fit, and he stripped out of his clothes quickly, checking the temperature of the water as it slowly filled in.

He was struck again when he re-entered the breeding room, by the exquisite sight that was Charles in the frame, his limbs spread and held securely in place. It tugged at his alpha senses in every way, to keep the boy on his knees and fuck him again, a warm, pliant hole for the taking. He thought of using the stand too, even when Charles wasn’t in heat, aware of his surroundings and still compliant, catering to Kurt’s every whim.

He thought too of leaving marks on that pale skin; of teaching Charles how to crave the sting of pain as much as he desired his pleasure. He wanted even now to see his hand imprinted on that virgin flesh, and hear the boy’s cries as Kurt spanked him, until his ass was red and glowing. And – eventually, after Charles got used to his hands, and needed more to elicit true tears – he would introduce the paddle, or a proper switch.

It was too soon yet, he knew, to push the boy to his limits, though Kurt thought that a piercing might be appropriate in the interim – a nipple, or his bellybutton – to mark his new role.  

Unbuckling him from the frame took no more than a minute, and then Kurt was slipping them both into the tub, bracing Charles between his thighs. Gently, he set to washing the boy clean, massaging shampoo through his matted hair and soaping every inch of his sweat soaked body. He left the dildo inserted - though the thought of Stryker’s leftovers still made him cringe – so Charles could get used to holding in seed from multiple breedings. It was another lesson that Kurt planned to continue outside the boy’s heats, to facilitate conception and increase the chance of pregnancy.

Charles sighed, his head tilted contently against his chest, and Kurt couldn’t resist brushing a tender kiss against his cheek. Loose limbed and relaxed, now that his urges had been temporarily sated, the boy was slowly regaining his senses, mind no longer clouded by the hormones that raged uncontrollably during an omega’s heat. He hoped that Charles remembered well the lessons he’d been taught about his condition, as well as Kurt’s stated intent to marry him, so that none of what was happening would be a surprise…

He greatly preferred a happy, satisfied omega, to one that cried or pulled away from his touch.

“Kurt?” Charles sounded uncertain, but not particularly frightened, or even unhappy.

“Yes, Charles?”

“I feel…a little funny,” he said, and Kurt kissed him again, pressing his lips to Charles’ brow. “Did we…I mean, did you…?”

“You’re still in the middle of your first heat, Charles. And yes, I took care of you, and now you’re officially my omega, like we talked about remember?” He massaged the boy’s arms and thighs with his hands, punctuating his words with long, soothing strokes. “You feel funny because it’s your first time having sex, but your body will get used to it soon enough.”

There was silence for a few moments, and then, “I think…I liked it, Kurt. It felt good, really good. Did it feel good for you?”

He laughed, wrapping his arms around Charles and hugging him tight. “Oh baby of course it was good for me! You’re perfect; exactly what I wanted, Charles. You don’t know how happy you make me, just being yourself.”

“Oh good,” Charles said, and then he was shifting around, sloshing water out of the tub as he twisted so he could throw his arms around Kurt’s neck. “I want to make you happy. I love you.”

He smiled, and thought again how lucky it was the unhappy circumstances that brought them together. Every moment would be pleasure, now that the boy was truly his in every way, and Kurt could only kiss him tenderly, and say, “I love you too, Charles, more than anyone has, and ever will.”

Chapter Text

He storms from the Council Chamber with Charles at his heels, the maelstrom of his emotions barely contained, the words of his myriad advisors ringing in his ears. Even the tentative touch of the younger prince on his mind is angrily rebuffed; Erik does not want to be soothed, nor does he want to hear Charles tell him why he must follow his Council’s advice.

“Get out,” he snarls, too caught up in his anger to care that he’s scaring the poor servants in his quarters. Charles will speak to them later, and set things right, as he’s been doing since they were both children; following after Erik dutifully and fixing whatever mess he leaves in his wake.

But Charles won’t be around to do that for much longer will he? If the Council – and even Charles himself – has their way.

“Leave us.”

The servants bow, first to Erik and then to Charles, before they scurry out of the King’s personal chambers as though their feet are on fire. Charles doesn’t sigh until the door is closed firmly behind them, and then he’s there, his hand on Erik’s back to comfort him – comforting Erik, when Charles is the one who must leave and marry a tyrant to keep them all safe.

“He’s not—” Charles says, only to stop and bite his lip when Erik sends him a vicious glare. “Fine. Apocalypse is a tyrant, and his moniker is well-earned. But he has no wish to harm me, Erik. He wants my Gift…and yes, he wants to marry me. And if we give him both he will leave Genosha alone.”

“I will not bargain you off like a parcel of land or a herd of cattle! You are my brother! And a Prince of Genosha! I would sooner cut off my own arm then send you away from me!”

“It’s not your choice to make.”

Erik whirls to face him, grabbing Charles roughly by the shoulders, incandescent with fear and outrage. “It is my choice! I am the King and you are my subject. I forbid it! The subject is closed.”

“You know it’s the right thing to do,” Charles counters, because he has never backed down from a fight in all these years, not with Erik and not from one he means to win. “My marriage will prevent a war with Apocalypse and save the lives of our people. What does one life matter compared to millions? You’re the king, Erik. You have to do what’s right for Genosha.”

“Don’t tell me what’s right for Genosha!” He knows – he knows in his heart that Charles has the right of it, which only makes Erik want to tear the world apart. “What do I care about saving millions? I would drown my lands in blood for you! I would die a thousand deaths to keep you safe!”

He doesn’t expect it; the punch that lands on his jaw and knocks him off his feet, tumbling onto the furs before the stone fireplace. Charles’ eyes are glittering now and so very blue, his own anger cresting fast and furious at Erik’s provocation.

“How dare you! You really care so little for your people? You would let Apocalypse—”

Erik grabs Charles by the arm and yanks him to the ground, pinning him face down in a move they learned together at their father's feet. It stokes Charles’ anger even more at being so handled, and Erik has to twist his arm behind his back to keep him from breaking free of the hold.

“You bastard! Let me go.”

“Are you really so eager to marry that monster?” Erik hisses, the thought of Charles with another man burning him to the core. “Do you think that will save you from me, Charles? That I will not have you, if you belong to someone else?”

Charles stills beneath him, though only for a moment, before he starts wriggling again and trying to get away. “Erik, please. We’re brothers. It’s not right.”

It’s the same answer to the same question, every time they find themselves at the brink. No matter how he feels – and Erik knows that Charles loves him deeply, with the same passion and desire that Erik has for his beloved brother – Charles will not let them consummate their union. They are the same blood, he says, and royalty at that; they cannot act on their feelings for the sake of Erik’s throne and his reputation.

“Our love is dangerous,” Charles says, his lips still red and puffy from Erik’s kisses. “It could light the whole world on fire.”

“Then let us burn it down,” he answers, even as Charles pulls away, eyes wet with unshed tears. “I love you. You and no other.”

“You can’t,” Charles whispers, no longer struggling, even as Erik’s free hand slips low inside his trousers, sliding from his hip to the slope of his shapely buttocks. “It’s madness.”

Erik laughs, his bitterness – and the temptation of Charles’ pliant body – unbearable and overwhelming. “You will not deny me, brother,” he answers, darkly satisfied by the shock on Charles’ face as Erik rips the fine material covering his legs. “If you wish to be a martyr, then I shall oblige you.”

In his mind he has ever been gentle and tender, treating Charles as he would a much cherished lover. Instead, he ruts against him like an animal in heat, robbing him even the simple courtesy of a coupling in bed. But he finds that he does not want to be kind, or considerate, to Charles in this moment; he wants Charles to feel the same gut wrenching pain that Erik feels at the thought of never seeing him again.

He scarcely remembers prepping Charles with his fingers, before he’s pushing in and slotting into place.

Charles gasps, and clenches tight, and does not cry out when Erik finally starts moving. But with each thrust Charles answers with a little pained moan, back arching and legs spreading ever wider to accommodate Erik’s bulk. His eyes though, are wet and his expression shuttered, as Erik takes what should belong to him, driving his hips mercilessly in and out of that tight, warm flesh.

“You cannot lie to me,” he says, as he nips Charles’ ear, wrenching the collar of his tunic wide so he can lick and taste the pale skin beneath. “Would you pretend not to love this?” Erik asks, his thrusts urgent and ruthless even as Charles moans, low and pitiful, fingers clenching white-knuckled against the furs. “Would you say this is wrong, even as you lay bare and wanton before me, impaled on my prick?”

“Erik, Erik, please,” Charles whimpers, still too proud to admit what his heart and his body wants, with his erection hard and leaking in Erik’s hand. “This cannot be.”

It is just like Charles to remain stubborn to the last, unwilling to concede even now, and it does nothing to stem the tide of Erik’s fury. If he will not tell the truth willingly than Erik will make him, letting the fire in his blood burn them both to ashes.

He grabs Charles roughly by the hair, and snarls in his ear, “Tell the truth, or I shall call for the servants, so they can see you for what you are; mine, sprawled naked beneath me, my cock rammed inside your body.”

Mortified at the thought, for propriety’s sake and his own reputation, Charles snaps, “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, I would,” he replies with a grin, snapping his hips even harder as Charles writhes and pants beneath him. “Say it.”

Charles moans then, loud and unashamed, and Erik is triumphant as he batters repeatedly against the spot making him shiver and quake.

“I love you,” Charles says, soft at first, and then louder in concert with Erik’s thrusts. “I love you! Erik, please. Please, I need…Erik.”

“Say you’re mine,” Erik orders, slotting their mouths together in a kiss that makes them both breathless and dizzy. “You’re mine, Charles, and no one else can have you.”

They’re both close, and Charles is pushing against him now, rapidly coming undone. “I’m yours.” He clenches down hard around his prick, head thrown back as Erik jerks him roughly to his peak. “I’m— Oh gods, Erik!”

He comes, and then Erik is coming too, shouting out as he spurts hot and sticky deep inside Charles’ body. It’s done now, he thinks, in a cloud of lusty haze; he has marked Charles with his seed, and claimed his brother for his own.

“I will not let you marry him,” he says, gentle now as he kisses Charles’ cheek, and brushes the matted hair from his forehead. “You will stay with me, and we will prepare the kingdom for war.”

In his arms, with Erik’s cock still inside of him, Charles sighs but does not answer.

Chapter Text

I love this, Charles thinks, his eyes watering as Shaw comes down his throat, swallowing the bitter stickiness like the finest red wine. I’m a whore, and I was made for this.

Kurt’s words, drilled into his head for too many years until Charles can’t remember if he ever thought differently, or had desires or wishes of his own. Not that it matters what he might feel about his stepfather’s training, or what will become of him if he’s sold to a man like Sebastian Shaw.     

His days and nights would hardly be any different, servicing others with his mouth, his hands, his ass, all of him covered in come, his body bruised and aching when he’s finally permitted to sleep. Waking up to hands on him, or a cock fucking him into the mattress, being used for the pleasure of others without any regard for his own.

Of course Kurt had dealt with that aspect too as part of his training, and now Charles gets aroused easily by the lust of others, his body responding to the pleasure he can feel even through the dampening effects of his anti-mutation collar. It’s what makes him such a perfect whore, Kurt says, the first time Charles comes as he’s being flogged, drowning in the waves of lust radiating from the ones watching his ‘lesson’. He’s nothing but an outlet for the needs of others; taught to revel in depravity inflicted on him and then ask for more.

And he does ask for it – begs for it even – preferring obedience and pleasure to the horrors of sensory deprivation, and being totally cut off from his telepathy. He wants this; to be used, to be told that he’s beautiful, and perfect, and so very, very good…

There’s a spot of come on the edge of Charles’ lips, and Shaw smiles, oozing satisfaction as he smears it over the apple of his cheek.

“You were right. He is very good at sucking cock,” Shaw says to a beaming Kurt. “Now show me how he takes pain. I need someone that can handle it when clients want to get a little rough.”

“Oh, I think you’ll be very pleased,” Kurt answers, veritably bursting with pride as he hauls a naked Charles to his feet. Taking his time, he searches for the best place to set up the scene, gazing at the various furnishings inside Hellfire’s elite VIP room. Dismissing the bar and the couch outright, he finally notices the hook coming out of the ceiling, and grabs a length of rope from his kit to bind around Charles’ wrists.

He waves for help from one of Shaw’s men – there are three of them in the room, bodyguards or lieutenants or whatever they call them in the business – and together they string Charles up by his wrists, arms stretched above him and dangling precariously on his toes. It’s impossible to get comfortable in this position, or to rest his weight properly on his feet, which will make it that much more difficult to absorb the blows as they come.

The whistle of the crop comes only an instant before the sting, pain blooming across his right buttock as Kurt lands the first blow. He cries out, his body swinging out of balance, head arching back to reveal the column of his throat. The lust ramps up immediately, coming at him from all directions, stirring his blood as the sting slowly morphs into a warm, tingly glow.

Then Kurt hits him again, and again, on his ass and the back of his thighs, the blows coming steadily now with few and random breaks. It hurts, though not as much as it could, or anywhere near what he’s endured before; just the rhythmic whistle and smack of leather against bruising flesh. He can feel their eyes on him, the excitement in the room, want and need pulsing with every desperate, keening sound that falls from his lips.

“Fuck,” one of the men says, breathless and heady, and it’s enough to push him over, riding the high of it to his own abrupt finish. He comes, hips rocking forward as he spurts, clenching around the butt plug as his entire body stiffens. But it still hurts, since Kurt doesn’t stop, until the tears come and he’s writhing and gasping and half hard again from the pain.

“That’s enough,” Shaw says finally, though by then Charles is sagging pitifully on the hook, arms burning from the strain. “Victor, get him down. Erik, get him a drink, and come and refill my glass.”

Victor is the massive brute that worked with Kurt to string him up, and he’s just as eager now to offer his ‘help’. His hands are rough as he gropes Charles’ limp body, rubbing his obvious erection against the cleft of his ass. Kurt unties him once he’s been dumped onto the leather couch, and even massages some of the circulation back into his wrists. He must look a pitiful mess, half slumped over from exhaustion, though the cool leather against his ass and thighs does help a little to sooth the burn.

“Here, drink this.” One of Shaw’s men – lean and handsome, though with cold eyes and a lethal grace – hands him a glass of water, and he downs the entire thing with a grateful hum. Then the man takes the glass from him and replaces it with a shot, which Charles takes after only a moment’s hesitation, letting the burn of the whiskey warm his throat and settle his nerves.

“Erik,” Shaw snaps, which draws the man’s attention immediately from Charles, and back to the Club’s owner seated on the other leather couch. There’s a flare of emotion from Erik – a spike of hatred, as potent as the lust from before – as he refills Shaw’s glass from the bottle on the coffee table, making Charles wonder at their relationship and why he's even allowed in the Hellfire’s inner circle.

Kurt reaches over and pats Charles' knee, the gesture almost affectionate, before tipping a thanks for the glass he’s handed. “Well? What do you think? Have we got a deal?”

There have been many in the past few years who have studied Charles this way, gaze dark and accessing as it rakes over his body from head to toe. But there is something in Shaw’s eyes that makes his stomach clench with dread, a sort of callous disregard for life that makes a person both cruel and dangerous.    

“Patience, Mr. Marko,” Shaw says, leaning back against the couch cushion with a lazy smirk. “I’m paying a lot of money for the Club’s new star attraction. It’s been a good show so far, but he’s going to have to pass one more test.”

“Whatever it is, he’ll do it,” Kurt is quick to agree, eager for the huge payout that’s been promised for the perfect whore. “He might look breakable, but I assure you he can take it.”

“Well, I certainly hope that’s true.” Shaw waves over the man standing by the bar; the only one of them with an obvious physical mutation, sporting red skin and a long forked tail. “As you know I like to have a special night once in a while for my VIPs…an interactive live show if you will, on stage, with a handful of participants. I’m going to have my men fuck him now while we watch, and if I like what I see…well then we have ourselves a deal.”

Kurt laughs, no doubt thinking of all the ‘shows’ he’s put on for his own friends, with Charles as the centerpiece. “Don’t worry, Mr. Shaw, your boys are going to have a great time with him. I guarantee it.”

Shaw smiles, then turns to the red mutant and says, “Put him through the wringer, Azazel. And use lube; I don’t want him out of commission for long if we decide to keep him.”

“Sure, boss.”

He watches as Azazel shrugs out of his suit jacket and rolls up his sleeves, before coming to kneel at Charles’ feet. Unlike Victor’s impatient hunger, or Erik’s stone faced glare, Azazel merely smiles pleasantly at Charles, all business as he brandishes the bottle of lube Victor tosses his way. “Do you want to do the honors, Pretty One? Or should I?”   

“I’ll do it,” he says, taking the bottle from Azazel and flipping the lid, squirting a good amount of it onto his fingers. Conscious of the eyes on him, he spreads his legs wide, and slowly slips the plug out of his hole with a sigh. He takes his time, working the lube thoroughly in and around his pucker, and then squirts some more lube onto three fingers and sliding them in, knuckle deep.

By the time he finishes with the prep, Azazel is seated next to him on the couch, pants shoved down to his ankles and his erection hard and leaking. He reaches for Charles and pulls him into his lap, hands gentle on his buttocks as he guides him into position.

Charles reaches back and spreads his cheeks wide, and sinks down until the entirety of Azazel’s cock is swallowed inside his body.

“Fuck, that’s good,” Azazel says, as Charles starts riding him on the couch, moaning when Azazel meets his every move with a sharp thrust of his hips. They find a good rhythm together, after the first few awkward tries, and soon enough they’re both panting, and Azazel is muttering something in another language, hands half lifting Charles up and down his shaft. This close the pleasure radiating from Azazel is intoxicating, and Charles sinks into it like a warm bath, the sensations – that thick cock driving in, filling him up and splitting him open – enough to make him forget temporarily that he has an avid audience of four.

That is until Erik and Victor join in, bracketing him on either side.

“That’s it,” Azazel croons, as Erik presses close, pants open and his cock stiff, long and thick and utterly gorgeous. “Open wide for Lehnsherr, Baby. Let him fuck that pretty face of yours.”

“Yes,” he says, because he wants nothing more than to take the length of it in his mouth, tasting the saltiness of sweat and pre-come on his tongue. And when he does, Erik groans loudly, tugging him roughly by the hair, and Charles can’t do much more than swallow it whole, letting the man fuck his throat as he tries not to gag. 

Not to be left out, Victor grabs his hand and wraps it around his massive prick, making Charles jerk him off while he’s getting his face and ass thoroughly pummeled.     

It doesn’t take very long – because Charles knows how to make a man come, how to clench and buck and moan with each thrust – before Azazel is coming with a shout, spurting his load in Charles’ ass, fingers digging bruises into his still tender flesh. He thinks too, that Erik might be close, his pace increasingly wild and erratic, but then he finds himself being lifted clean off of Azazel’s prick and shoved chest first over the back of the couch.

“Fuck, Creed! What the fuck!”

“What? It’s my turn with his ass,” Victor says, as a fuming Erik circles around so he can cram his dick back into Charles’ mouth. He’s even rougher now, with his orgasm so abruptly stalled, grabbing his head with both hands and driving his cock straight down his throat.

But Victor's the one that makes him scream, arms flailing in shock, body seizing up like he’s being split in half by the man's utterly monstrous cock. He’s huge – the biggest Charles’ has ever taken, and he’s taken a lot – and the pain is sharp even after being worked open by Azazel. And Victor doesn’t care to go slow or be gentle; he pounds into Charles with the force of a freight train, bouncing Charles and the couch back and forth until they’re both perilously close to breaking.

He barely notices, when Erik grunts and comes down his throat, swallowing it reflexively and licking him clean.

By the time Erik pulls away and tucks himself back into his pants, Victor’s thrusts are becoming more tolerable, with Charles’ insides no longer feeling like mush. In fact it’s starting to feel good – really, addictively good; the way Victor’s cock fills every inch of him, rubbing up against the tight walls of his rectum. And it helps how much Victor is obviously enjoying himself, his fervor buffeting and ramping up Charles’ own libido, until he’s climaxing again, muscles clenching as he spurts all over the leather cushion. Victor comes too, while he’s still panting from the orgasm high, collapsing on top of Charles and almost burying him under a mass of hair and muscle. Then Victor pulls out and slaps him hard on the ass, leaving him exhausted and wrung out, legs shaking and knees weak, his asshole gaping wide and fucked open for the whole world to see.

He collapses onto the soft leather and closes his eyes, and doesn't flinch when he feels the hot sticky come - Shaw, or Kurt, or both he can't tell - splattering all over his face and in his hair.

When Charles opens his eyes long moments later, Shaw is standing over him, watching him with a sunny, indulgent smile.

It sends a shiver of fear and anticipation racing down his spine. 

“That was a very good show,” he says, his eyes never leaving Charles’ face, “I expect you'll be very popular indeed.” Turning to Azazel he adds, “Take him to get cleaned up. Then take him to my room, so I can give him a proper Hellfire welcome.”

And then he waves for Kurt to follow him out, leaving Charles to contemplate his future, and what else Shaw has in store for his newest addition.

Chapter Text

Sleep was the furthest thing from Erik’s mind when he returned to his quarters, his mind reeling still from a day in Court, hearing endless petitions from the scrabbling nobles. He unclasped the soft maroon cape from his shoulders without thought, letting it pool in a heap at his feet, before setting his heavy crown upon the pedestal next to his bed. The thought of crawling under the sheets alone, tossing and turning for hours appealed little in his current mood, mind buzzing and skin itching for some unknown balm.

He did not want to lose himself in drink either – no matter the appeal – as he’s done often since Nina’s birth. Negotiations with MacTaggert would be intense tomorrow, of that he has little doubt; establishing an equitable trade agreement with the Muir Isles would be a challenge, and he could ill afford having his wits or his senses in any way hindered. A good sparring session might have served as a viable alternative, draining his excess energy, though even Erik wasn’t so pitiless as to drag Logan out of bed at this late hour.

Thoughts of his Guard Captain inevitably led Erik to muse on Howlett’s mate, situated even now in the Royal apartments caring for Nina. His Chancellor had personally selected the omega for the needed role of wet nurse, citing both his gentle nature and his husband’s loyalty to the Crown. And he had agreed readily to Frost’s suggestion after only a brief meeting, grateful to have trusted help after his Queen’s sudden passing.

Perhaps, Erik thought - as he changed out of his court attire to his sleep tunic and trousers - a visit with his daughter would ease him into slumber, her sweet scent and soft curls soothing his restless jitters.

He left his own quarters for the rooms next door, and instructed the two guards to vacate the premises, and make their station at the entry way to the Royal Wing. There were no other exits in and out of this section of the castle, and the windows too high up from the ground for intruders to scale. Erik was assured of their safety here; it was privacy that ever eluded him and privacy that he most craved.  

Once the area had been cleared Erik stepped into Nina’s rooms, locking the door behind him with a barely audible click. The figure seated by the fireplace did not move at the sound, though his back stiffened at little as he heard Erik approach.

“Your Majesty.”

The omega was beautiful, haloed by the light of the fire, and the candles that burned low on the mantle and the table set beside the chair. In his arms Nina was resting, her mouth suckling at his breast, eyes closed and throat moving slowly as she fed. Erik never tired of watching them, seeing his daughter at such quiet peace, the sight almost hypnotic with each rhythmic pull and swallow.

“Charles,” he murmured, and the omega smiled, drowning him in eyes made of liquid moonlight. Since taking up the post as wet nurse he had been living here, with Nina in her quarters, instead of in the room he shared with his mate. It had been long enough that Charles no longer smelled of his alpha, or anything beyond the sweet scent of milk and the babe he was nursing.

“Is she…?”

“Nearly done,” Charles replied, brushing a gentle finger against Nina’s downy cheek. “I don’t think she was really hungry, as much as she was tired and needed soothing.”

“I see.” His eyes trailed from one breast to the other, riveted by the ring of wet that had seeped through Charles’ tunic, his nipple a clear outline through the matted cloth. The covered breast was fully, almost painfully engorged, and strained obscenely against the almost see-through material each time he shifted. “You are still full from Nina’s neglect.”

Even in the dim light Erik could see the way his skin flushed, as Charles half turned in embarrassment at the blunt observation. “It’s no matter. I can deal with it after I have put Her Highness to bed.”

Emboldened by their last encounter, Erik smiled, and ran his finger along the seal of Nina’s mouth, tracing the warm flesh and making Charles shiver. He knew he should stop, and would if the omega asked, even if it pained him to maintain distance from that which he craved beyond measure.

Yet he knew that Charles would not ask, no matter that he was already wed, and belonged to another…

He would deny Erik nothing, because Erik was the king.

The scent was almost tangible as Erik settled onto his knees, a spike of arousal that was somehow spicy and yet honey sweet. Their eyes met, and Erik held his gaze steady, his hand careful but firm as he slid under the wide collar of Charles’ tunic, before slipping it entirely off his shoulders.


“Erik,” he corrected, and Charles eyes’ glittered in the low light, breath quickening as his hand moved to cup the swollen breast. It was a heavy weight, full of the fragrant nectar that sustained his infant daughter, and Erik found himself almost overeager to taste it again; to sate his own voracious appetite with everything the omega had to offer.

He bent his head forward, and latched down hard on Charles’ breast.

They both groaned, and then his mouth exploded with flavor, the milk letting down immediately as he started to drink. It came in great spurts, and filled his mouth to the brim, forcing Erik to swallow quickly to keep up with the flow. He could feel Charles shudder, and gasp softly for breath, as Erik teased his nipple with his teeth and licked greedily at his flesh.

If he touched him now, Erik knew, Charles’ thighs would be wet with his own slick.

He mouthed, and he tasted, and he drank to his fill, as all the while Nina dozed on, suckling sweetly at Charles’ other breast. It was fitting, that Charles should provide them with such succor and care, serving parent and child both and earning their affection in turn.

Not for the first time, the thought bloomed in his head, hazy and half formed—

—that Charles belonged with him and with Nina, and not the simple commoner he’d married.

When he pulled away, the breast was much less full and obviously tender, matching closer to the one that dangled loosely now from his daughter’s lips. Charles’ skin was flushed and his own lips red and puffy, as though he’d bitten them to keep from making any sound. It only made Erik want it more, to hear him cry out, mewling from pleasure and begging for his touch.

He stood, gently prying Nina from Charles’ arms, and carried the sleeping babe into the bedroom so he could set her in the crib. She slept soundly as Erik looked upon her perfect face, and imagined a future where Charles might stay permanently at their side. A future where Charles would teach Nina her letters and read to her before bed, singing songs remembered from Erik’s own childhood. Perhaps even one where Charles would bear Nina one sibling, or many…

He pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, and tucked the blanket securely in its place.

When he returned Charles was still seated by the fire, every inch of his chest bared and his tunic bunched at his waist, waiting it seemed, to decipher Erik’s intent. His knuckles were white where he gripped the chair tightly with his fingers, though he melted instantly when Erik reached for him, a large hand wrapping gently around the curve of his neck.

It was as good as submission, and Erik took it as such, stripping Charles of his trousers and smallclothes and laying him bare. The omega’s skin was practically glowing, his pupils blown wide, and when Erik reached to check on his earlier assumption…

Indeed he found Charles’ thighs sticky and his entrance sopping wet.

He could do nothing then but press in, probing gently and working those tight walls, watching avidly as Charles gasped and writhed and clenched wantonly around his fingers. Then, once Charles looked ready, and suitably debauched, he slung the omega’s legs over his shoulders and licked him, savoring his juices like it was the sweetest, ripest peach.

They had not gone this far, the last time it happened, and Erik had left immediately after he’d emptied both of Charles’ breasts. But it was not nearly enough, that little taste of the heavens, and Erik found himself craving far more, the dark pit of desire only growing in the hours and days that followed.

He stripped quickly, before laying Charles on the furs before the great stone fireplace.

The omega was utterly enchanting, and Erik found himself staring fixedly at every inch, flesh unmarked and body limned by the light of the flickering flames. Had there ever been anything so beautiful? Anyone so captivating? So worthy of the attention and the desires of the king?

He slid an arm under Charles’ knee to hold him open, marveling at the stunning view; at the way the omega responded so eagerly to his every touch. Erik’s need only grew more in the seeing, though a sting of envy left a sour taste in his mouth. He did not want to think of his Guard Captain now, or what he must have done with Charles many times; in all the same ways Erik wanted to touch him, and fuck him, and leave indelible marks upon that perfect skin.

It took every ounce of willpower, not to sink his cock straight into that tight heat; to knot a pliant, lust drunk Charles and fill him with seed overflowing. But he knew he could not do so while Charles was still mated, for the shame it would bring to the omega, to carry another alpha’s offspring. That would have to wait until he could devise an appropriate solution; perhaps Frost would have suggestions on how he could – legally, and with great discretion – dissolve Charles’ and Logan’s bond.

“Oh how you bewitch me,” he said, as Charles moaned in his grasp, thighs falling open to welcome Erik’s fingers once more. And it was not just his cunt that responded so enthusiastically to the king, for the way Charles kissed him back was wild and unrestrained; as though he wanted to be consumed, as much as Erik wanted to devour him. “Does this feel good, Charles? Do you dream of me in your bed, as I dream of you in mine?”

He did not think Charles capable of replying with words, though his body shouted loud enough that his answer was clear. Please, Erik heard, from Charles’ keening cry, as his mouth drew milk again from the omega’s teat. Don’t stop, he heard, from the way Charles writhed, as Erik fucked him roughly with his fingers.


He groaned Erik’s name as he stiffened and came, stuttering as he spilled his release all over the soft curve of his stomach. He clenched and gasped as Erik swallowed mouthful after mouthful; as Erik’s fingers continued thrusting as he shivered and quaked. And finally, he reached for Erik and pulled him up from his chest, pressing their mouths in a blistering kiss that made Erik’s knees wobble and his arms shake.

It was impossible after that, to hold back a moment longer.

Quickly, he shifted onto his knees and pressed his length between Charles’ thighs, his thrusts harsh and frantic as he worked himself to his peak. It was maddening, and perfect, and took no more than a dozen strokes—

He came with a shout, splattering his release all over Charles, painting white hot streaks all across his chest and his stomach.

They did not speak though they lay side by side, Erik’s hand slung around Charles’ waist until the fire had died down to its embers. Then he carried Charles into the bedroom and set him onto the bed, and wiped him clean with a towel and water kept warm for washing. He checked on Nina in her crib, and found her still sleeping, her tiny fists clutching at her soft blanket. Satisfied – his body sated now and his mind finally ready for rest – he joined Charles under the covers and pulled him tightly against his chest.

Tomorrow he would do his duty as king, and meet with MacTaggert first, focusing on trade routes and treaties to benefit Genosha and her people…

…and then he would speak with his Chancellor, and come up with a way to remove his faithful Guard Captain permanently from their lives.