FIC: Blood Ties (Charles/Nathan, NC-17)
TO: matsunaga
FROM: lemone
Title: Blood Ties
Written for: Matsunaga
Pairing(s)/Character(s): Nathan/Charles
Summary: It’s a very bad idea to call Nathan ‘Tonto’ in front of Charles...
Rating: NC - 17
Beta Reader: Wikdsushi
Warning(s): sex, language
Disclaimer: I do not own Nathan nor Charles and gain no profit from this story.
Author Notes: There’s no defined timeline here, you could probably read this having not even seen all of season one, if you wanted to. So go nuts! No worrying about spoilers here. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it.
One of the coolest things about fucking a guy, Nathan decided, was being able to play-fight as a part of the foreplay.
He couldn’t remember where or how it had started, booze was probably involved, but after a while it had become a regular thing for sex to start with him playfully shoving Charles. Then Charles would get this look on him: not quite smiling, but his eyes would get this gleam to them. Mischievous, predatory.
Nathan thought that look was just about one of the single fucking hottest things on the planet.
Things would quickly escalate, and before long they would be tumbling around like puppies on the floor. Each groping, wriggling, and play-biting, wrestling to be the one who won. Nathan quickly learned that Charles was a lot stronger than he looked, and faster besides. He really had to put his back into it if he didn’t want to get trounced.
He also learned that Charles wasn’t afraid of fighting dirty. For instance, Charles wasn’t above snaking a hand down Nathan’s pants to get a firm, stroking handful of him. Then Charles would somehow twist around him, and he’d be on top, his lips to Nathan’s ear, whispering nasty, inspired things. Half the time, Nathan didn’t even realize he’d lost until it was all over.
When Nathan won, he’d straddle Charles, pinning his hands above his head. Then he’d keep his lips and free hand busy, licking and sucking, biting at Charles’s Adam’s apple just enough to make him buck and moan, groping and stroking until Charles pleaded for Nathan to fuck him.
One of the great things about play-fighting as foreplay: there was no way to really lose.
The one bad thing about it was that sometimes things didn’t exactly go as planned.
Such was the case one night: as Nathan and Charles were going at it, the heel of Nathan’s boot caught on the edge of the carpet and he tumbled backwards. His head smacked the coffee table, and he ended up with a goose egg of a bruise on his temple. Charles was on him before he could even figure out what had happened, smoothing a hand over his forehand, asking him if he was okay, concerned and fussy as ever.
“I’m fine, just fuckin’-” Nathan was going to say ‘embarrassed as fuck,’ but chose to clutch the hurt spot and growl in frustration instead.
Charles leaned forward and kissed the hurt spot. Then he leaned in a bit more and whispered: “Shall I, ah, kiss it better?”
The hand resting between Nathan’s legs made it obvious that he wasn’t talking about his forehead.
Nathan nodded once, and Charles kissed him before repositioning him onto the couch.
It really did make him forget all about the bump on his head.
~The Next Morning~
“So, Na’tan, where’d ya get dat bump on yer nahggin, dere?”
Nathan froze, his eyes darting around the table to Charles, who was gathering up paperwork from their now-finished meeting as if he hadn’t heard anything. Charles, at least, was good at keeping his cool. And the rest of the guys had fucked off as soon as the meeting was over. So, no audience. That was something. Still, Nathan thought he was gonna have a heart attack.
‘Oh fuck. Ohhhh fuck. Think of something, quick, oh fuck...’
“I, uh. Got drunk and fell down?”
Pickles seemed to buy this, or at least was a decent enough guy to pretend to. He leaned over a bit and pulled a pill bottle from his pocket, emptied it out on the table, and began arranging the pills by color. “S’no big deal dere, dude. Happens ta da best of us.”
Nathan breathed a sigh of relief, and beat a hasty retreat so Pickles could spend some quality time with his pills, forget the conversation, and never question it. Ever.
After tooling around his room for a bit, Nathan decided to go to Charles’s office, see what he was up to. Maybe they could go grab lunch together or something. He found Charles standing outside his office, talking to a guy in a suit with a bolo tie and a ten gallon hat. Charles introduced the man as Ray Bates, the CEO of Bates BBQ Sauces, which had bought out the company that made Explosion Sauce.
Nathan frowned. “I didn’t know they got bought out.” He glared at Charles. “Why didn’t you tell me they got bought out?”
“I did. Several times.”
Usually when Charles said that it meant that he had told him, and Nathan had been drunk at the time and forgot or just tuned Charles out, but still. He seriously would’ve remembered that one. “Oh yeah, like when?”
Charles opened his mouth to reply, but Ray reached out a hand before he could speak. “Put ‘er there. Lookin’ real forward to workin’ with ya. Call me Ray.”
Nathan, distracted by being interrupted from his argument, stared down at the hand for a bit before taking it. “Uhhhh... Okay?”
“That’s one hell of a bump ya got there, partner, where’d you get it?”
“I, uh, got drunk and fell down,” Nathan mumbled. At least he had a good enough story this time and didn’t have to fumble around for one, even if it wasn’t the most awesome-sounding one in the world.
“So, Tonto dipped into the white man’s fire water a bit too much, huh?” Ray clapped Nathan on the back, laughing uproariously at his own joke.
Nathan didn’t feel much like laughing. He hated being called that. It had been bad enough when people called him that in high school or whatever, but when he found out he was a real Indian, a real fuckin' Yannemango cannibal, it just seemed like people were calling him a red-skinned freak. He didn’t even bother to punch people over it anymore. It only ever got him in trouble with the principal, or his parents, or his boss, or whoever, so why bother? Nobody was ever on his side when he tried to explain, it was always him ‘flying off the handle’ or some shit like that. So he just stood there.
The only thing that made it better was that Charles wasn’t laughing. Nathan figured that maybe it was just his imagination, wanting someone to not like it as much as him, but he thought he saw something icy pass over Charles’s eyes for an instant.
“Y’know I had me some of that sauce ‘a yours on the plane ride over?” Ray continued, oblivious. “Figured I might as well oughta try me some, seein’s how I’m gonna be makin’ money off it. It wasn’t half bad, especially not to be real barbeque sauce. Ain’t no way nobody from Florida could do Carolina barbeque right. But hell, don’t feel bad about it, son. You tried. A for effort.”
Charles checked his watch, then spoke up. “I, ah, have some business to take care of a few floors down. Mr. Bates, if you, ah, wouldn’t mind coming along with me, we could, ah, walk and talk. Turn it into a little tour of sorts.”
Ray grinned. “Sure, I wouldn’t mind having a look around. I been hearin’ all ‘bout this place on the news. Wouldn’t mind seein’ it for myself.”
“Nathan, if you, ah, wanted to see me about something, then you can wait in my office and I’d be happy to give you my full attention when I get back. I, ah, shouldn’t be long.”
Nathan shrugged. Sure, whatever.
Ray clapped a hand on Nathan’s back. “Tell you what! When I get back here, you and me can have us a little powwow ‘bout reformulatin’ that sauce ‘a yours. Maybe take that cilantro shit out. Turn it into somethin’ people will actually wanna have on their table. That sound good to ya, Tonto?”
Charles strode smoothly between them and towards the elevator before Nathan could reply. “If you’ll just come right this way, Mr. Bates.”
Ray followed Charles, and Nathan slunk into Charles office and shut the door behind him, defeated. He slumped in the chair across Charles’s desk. Then, just as quickly, he got back up and stomped towards the door. He so didn’t want to have to see that asshole again.
He would just go hide out in his room and ‘not hear’ his Dethphone going off if they tried to get a hold of him. Later on, he could get Charles to make it so his sauce was produced by some other company. It didn’t matter which one. If the sauce were under contract, then Charles would get them out of it. So long as Nathan didn’t have to do business with Ray Fuckin’ Bates ever-
Nathan opened the door and took two steps out into the hallway.
He spun around, slamming the door shut behind him.
Holy shit.
Holy shit.
Holy fuckin’ shit, did he just see that?
Nathan leaned against the door, his heart thumping, head spinning. No way. He had to have been seeing things. Like, misunderstood somehow. He’d only seen a split-second of what he had thought he saw, after all.
Staggering a little bit, he walked across the room and sank back into the chair across from Charles’s desk. Ray Bates, his eyes wide and terrified. His hands held up, fingers splayed wide in a useless defensive gesture.
A suit-clad arm plunging a knife into his chest.
Blood spreading across Bates’s chest like a flower blossoming as the elevator doors slid shut.
It just- It had to be wrong. It was impossible. Charles wasn’t a murderer, and even if he was, Bates hadn’t done anything. Well, except-
Nathan hid his face in his hands. Wishful thinking. That had to be it. He was mad at Bates, and... and he started hallucinating Charles stabbing the guy to death? Maybe Pickles had slipped him something, and not told him? But that didn’t really make any more sense...
The door opened, and Charles walked in like nothing had ever happened. So, that meant Nathan had to have been seeing things, right? Because nobody would just stab a man to death and not ten minutes later stroll into his office like it wasn’t even a thing. So yeah, he had probably saw something else and thought wrong because he was upset and-
As Charles poured them each a glass of brandy, Nathan noticed a speck of red on the edge of white shirt peeking out from the wrist of his suit jacket.
‘...and I’d be happy to give you my full attention when I get back. I, ah, shouldn’t be long.’
When I get back. Not we.
“So, uh,” Nathan said. Charles handed Nathan his brandy and sat down on the other side of the desk. “Why didn’t that guy come back with you?”
Charles took a sip before answering. “I’m afraid he had to leave. He, ah, got called away on some business.”
“Did he say what kind?”
Charles shrugged.
“I, uh, really didn’t like that guy.”
A look passed over Charles’s face. Slight and tightly-reined, like all of his expressions, but still there. “I know.”
Nathan knew, too. He knew that a look could speak volumes that words couldn’t, and he knew his manager had murdered a man in cold blood not ten yards from where they now sat, for the crime of daring to insult Nathan.
Nathan looked down at his brandy and took a sip. That was it, then. A man had died in fear and pain, lying in a pool of his own blood thousands of miles from his home. Just now. Nathan tried to imagine what it had been like after the doors had shut. How long did it take for people to die like that? In movies, they usually just sort of went ‘ugh’ and fell over, but Nathan knew that real life wasn’t like that. No, Bates had probably fought for his life and then begged when that didn’t work and then-
He shuddered, then set his brandy on Charles’s desk. Nathan stood up, and in a few quick steps walked around the desk until he stood in front of Charles. Charles frowned, sensing something was amiss, and set his own drink down. “Nathan, is something the-”
Nathan sank down, placing a knee on the edge of Charles’s chair, effectively pinning Charles to his seat. He cradled Charles’s face in his hands, staring into his hazel eyes.
“Nathan-” Distantly, he felt Charles’s hands gripping his biceps, but he was too busy focusing his attention elsewhere to really pay it much mind.
He could admit to himself, here and now, that the reason he liked to play-fight with Charles so much was because it was easier, when faced with a man whose every inch, every move, spoke of education and refinement, to give him a quick shove rather than try to talk to him. It was all about leveling the playing field.
But, there was no need for such things today. Not right now.
Nathan kissed Charles. He felt the hands on his biceps tighten, his own pounding pulse quicken. He opened his mouth, sucking hungrily on Charles’s closed lips in the second it took for him to open his mouth. Nathan’s hands slid back to cup the nape of Charles’s neck, pulling him in closer as he plunged his tongue into Charles’s mouth. He could taste the barest ghost of the brandy they had just been drinking.
He felt Charles’s hands fall down onto his thighs. They ghosted upward, and he heard Charles moan, so soft, underneath him, when one of them found the straining erection Nathan had for him. Charles’s hands slid upward, working their way under Nathan’s T-shirt to stroke Nathan’s stomach and chest lovingly. Nathan imagined they were covered in blood, and they were painting him as they went along, the gore-caked backs of Charles’s hands staining his T-shirt.
Charles pulled back, and one of his hands did as well. Nathan grabbed the other, keeping it where it belonged before it could go any further. Charles was groping about for something underneath his desk, saying something unintelligible. In turning his head to see what he was doing, Charles offered his neck, delicious and tempting, a slender muscle standing out just in front of his pulse. Nathan set upon it, tongue and teeth and lips questing. He spent extra time on the spot behind Charles’s jaw, just below the ear. It made Charles writhe and buck beneath him, pinned in his own office chair. He even rubbed himself on the knee Nathan had between his legs, but just a bit. So tightly leashed, even now.
Well, Nathan would just have to put a stop to all that, wouldn’t he?
Somewhere, in the part of the world that didn’t matter anymore, he thought he heard something clatter to the floor, a soft curse, and then a click as Charles locked the door via remote control. Good. Nathan didn’t want them to be disturbed.
Charles’s lips were on his again. God, but he loved how the man sucked on his tongue like it was his dick. Fuckin’ heaven. Nathan lifted Charles by the arm in one hand as the other worked to loosen Charles’s tie. He had to get to that sexy collarbone of his.
Charles stood and pressed up against him. They rocked into each other, rubbing up against one another like teenagers, hands and mouths roaming freely.
Nathan cupped Charles’s head in his hands, his lips against Charles’s ear. In doing this, one of his hands ended up by Charles’s mouth. Charles took his first and middle fingers into his mouth and sucked as though the world depended on it.
“I need to fuck you,” Nathan said. “Right now.”
Charles let Nathan's fingers slide from his mouth as if he hated to see them go. He sighed, then gasped as Nathan rocked into him. Nathan could feel the breath, hot and moist, on his fingers. Then Charles laughed, soft and low. “I think I can handle that.”
In the tiny reaches of his mind that still cared about the rest of the world, Nathan remembered the brown leather couch on the opposite end of the room. In the past, Charles had used it to entertain CEOs, dignitaries, senators, and generals. Now Charles would be on his back, on the expensive leather, begging Nathan to fuck him harder. Nathan liked that.
No, he loved it.
Nathan gripped Charles’s ass, perfect fucking firm thing that it was, and lifted up, a silent command. A quick jump up, and he was holding Charles up by that same ass, legs wrapped around his hips like a vice, arms curled around his shoulders. He sucked Charles’s finally-exposed collarbone as he carried him over.
He lowered Charles down onto the couch, hands sliding up and away from his ass and up his hips once he was safely deposited there. He looked into Charles’s eyes, which had gone black with thin little rings of hazel, staring up at him, hazy and hungry. A simple shrug of his shoulders and the suit jacket was gone, tossed over Nathan’s shoulder. Nathan saw the way Charles’s pale fingers touched the hem of his shirt and knew what he wanted, but he waited, because he wanted to hear that single, sexy word.
“Please...”
The work of a second and it was gone. Charles placed his hands on Nathan’s jeans, on either side of the zipper. He sighed, once, contented, before his lips began to slowly rove across Nathan’s chest and stomach. Kissing, tasting, and adoring, his hands roaming upwards to grip Nathan’s shoulders as he went up. Nathan imagined that Charles’s hands were still impossibly caked with blood, and that Charles was sitting there, lapping it up, looking like he did, eyes closed and cheeks flushed in bliss. It was almost too much to bear.
Nathan pushed Charles back gently, so that he lay on his back on the couch. Nathan’s fingers, deft with practice, undid the buttons on Charles’s dress shirt, his lips following them downward, kissing Charles’s chest through the fabric of his wife-beater, until he reached the top hem of his dress slacks.
An idea struck him. Nathan stroked a hand downward, gently, across the fabric that held Charles’s straining erection in check. He looked up as Charles bucked, his Adam’s apple in sharp relief as he tipped his head back and moaned. Nathan unzipped him and drew Charles’s cock out, stroking it in that firm, sure way that he knew that Charles liked. After that, it was a simple matter of pulling down and Charles lifted his hips readily.
Next came the fun part.
Nathan dipped his head down, looking up to make sure he could still see Charles through the curtain of his hair, and swirled his tongue around the head of Charles’s cock.
Charles made a choking, stuttering noise above him as his back arched in pleasure. Nathan used one hand to keep Charles’s hips in check as he slowly drew the head between his lips. Charles keened, tossing his head back and forth.
Nathan didn’t go much further than that, he wanted to see Charles come while he was fucking him, but he already knew that he wanted to try this again. It was all about seeing Charles turn to putty in his hands, writhing and bucking, his hand fisted in Nathan’s hair. Saying his name over and over again in desperate delight. Fucking hot. A part of him wondered what Charles would be like if Nathan tried it with Charles tied up and helpless, completely at his mercy.
Next time, maybe.
For now, he pulled himself upwards to feast on that lovely little place behind Charles’s jaw again, chuckling a little bit as Charles called him a fucking bastard, arms curled lovingly around his shoulders.
Soon, he felt Charles’s hands scrabbling at his belt. Nathan let Charles undo the buckle, his own hands being busy at the moment. Charles pushed Nathan’s jeans down to his knees, letting his dick bob free. The air in the office was cool but brief as Charles took him in both hands, moaning in excitement. But Nathan wouldn’t, couldn’t, let Charles keep at it for long if he wanted to finish inside of him. Nathan rescued the condom and lube from his jeans (he hadn’t expected this to happen, but he liked to be prepared) before kicking them off. He let Charles take care of the condom, but he wanted to keep the act of preparation for himself. He wanted it, wanted to feel the tiny twitch of expectation that Charles gave right at the beginning, the arching buck and soft ”oh God” that came with hitting his sweet spot for the first time.
Right now, he wouldn’t miss that for the world.
Nathan nibbled Charles’s kneecap pointlessly, playfully, before he leaned down and Charles drew him inside of him. Nathan slid in to the hilt and waited for a bit, just enough to see what would happen.
“Nathan...”
Nathan laughed; he couldn’t help it. Charles wanted it. Charles had killed for him, without him having to even ask, and now here he was, on his back and so close to begging to be fucked they could both taste it. Nathan loved it.
He supposed, vaguely, that he shouldn’t reduce Charles to that, but oh well. They were both assholes, anyway.
Charles swore and twisted beneath him, but Nathan held him in check. It was a near thing, but it was Charles who broke first.
“Fuck me, you bastard.”
Nathan obliged him, moving at a hard, fast pace. Charles showed his appreciation for it by joining the four words with his name and turning it into a ecstatic mantra in Nathan’s ear. He felt Charles’s nails, neatly cropped and groomed to perfection, dig into his shoulders and imagined him drawing blood; and that the blood on Charles’s hands, the blood of their enemies, was mingling with his own, making him stronger.
It only spurred him to move harder, faster, and Charles loved it.
It was a short, exhilarating ride. Charles was first, but only just. Nathan felt as every muscle in Charles’s body tensed, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. Come painted their chests and stomachs. Nathan even felt a little bit hit his chin.
There was something about the display that Charles put on when he came, so different from the tightly-reined suit that Nathan was used to: so wanton, so happy to be alive, that it always drove Nathan over the edge. He sank his teeth into Charles’s shoulder as he came, groaning his release into Charles’s flesh. The walls to this place were sound-proofed, but not that sound-proofed.
He drew back just long enough to see his handiwork before flopping down to rest, face down against Charles’s chest. An unmistakable (to him at least) ring of little blossoming bruises in the shape of his teeth adorned Charles’s left shoulder. A memento of the occasion. Nathan found he liked it; he wanted something concrete to remind himself that this had actually happened.
They stayed there for a bit, limbs tangled, the air thick with sweat and musk. Nathan wrapped his arms around Charles, contented and possessive. He was just drifting off for a nap when Charles spoke up.
“So, what brought this on?”
Nathan frowned, trying to pull his brain out of its post-orgasm haze enough to answer. Even half-awake, he knew better than to tell the truth. Charles might be mad that he knew, or grossed out that it had turned Nathan on like it had. Besides, Nathan liked the idea that nobody knew but him. His little secret. So he shrugged.
“Just felt like it.”
Charles grunted, tilting his head to give a little peck to the ridge of Nathan’s ear. “Is that why you came?”
“To see you?”
“Mm.”
Nathan spoke against Charles’s collar bone, feeling too tired to lift his head. “Nah, I just felt like seein’ you. Thought we could eat lunch together.”
There was a pause. Nathan knew that neither of them wanted to move, but he also knew that too soon the phone would start ringin’, and people would start knockin’ on the door, and Charles’s responsibilities would take him away again.
“You think we could still...?” Nathan said.
Charles turned his head and kissed Nathan’s cheek. “I’d like that.”
They ended up ordering Thai. Nathan cleaned himself up and waited, lounging on the couch, as Charles gathered up their discarded clothes and went into the attached room that Nathan knew to be his bedroom. He emerged a few minutes later in a fresh suit, carrying a clean T-shirt and pair of jeans.
Nathan couldn’t help but stare. Did Charles just keep an extra set of clothes around in case Nathan decided to jump his bones? Still, he felt a little grateful as he took them. It would be good to not leave his manager’s office reeking of sex.
Lunch was good. They ate it together, alone. Nathan got the spicy noodles with shrimp. Charles got the green curry. It was peaceful, quiet. Nathan liked it, and thought of it as part of the afterglow.
Afterwards, Nathan decided to go ahead and leave before Charles could get too antsy over his work. (He already was a little. Nathan caught him stealing glances at his computer when he thought Nathan wasn’t looking.) He hugged Charles from behind, and pecked him on the cheek.
“See you tonight?”
Charles tensed in his grasp for a split second, then relaxed. “Tonight,” he agreed.
~*****~
A couple of days later, Ray Bates’s obituary appeared in the Raleigh News & Observer. It took quite a bit of Googling on Nathan’s part to find it, because it was a fairly common name, and people died at Mordhaus all the time. He gave it a cursory read-through. He was born and raised in Cary, North Carolina, where the main office of his company was located. Preceded in death by his parents, survived by a wife and two kids, mourners encouraged to send memorials to some church way out in his hick hometown. Nothing special, really, as far as obituaries went.
Nathan squinted and leaned into the screen until he found what he was looking for: a tiny little icon of a printer. He clicked on it, and in a few seconds he had a copy of Ray Bates’s obituary.
It was too big to go in his wallet, so Nathan used a pair of scissors to cut away the parts he didn’t need, then folded what was left into a square small enough to fit. You couldn’t really tell what it was until you took it out and unfolded it, but still, Nathan liked having it there.
It was way more brutal than just stickin’ a picture of Charles in there, anyway.
~End~