Fic: another man's vine
Title: another man's vine
Series: Blood Money
Summary: He's got to make an examination of his property, of course.
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Word Count: 2252
Rating/Contents: R, slave AU, mentions of torture, evil!Erik
Pairing: Erik/Charles, Shaw/Charles
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: I(still)DK, this is some stuff that comes before my favorite color is red, because I, in the words of
dizmo, accidentally a verse.
Erik was always going to kill Shaw. Shaw's fate had been sealed ever since Erik was a child; there were so many moments when Shaw could have, should have killed him, but he just ran out of them before Erik ran him down. Erik was perfectly willing to kill him for free, perfectly willing to die in the process, so everything else- Shaw's money, his possessions, his power, his pets- was just a windfall.
Then it was just a matter of cleaning up, which was all sort of boring, really. Quested and Azazel were quietly assassinated; Frost and Salvadore, well, he didn't trust either of them at all, but they'd helped, and Erik believed in the power of positive reinforcement. Shaw's possessions were auctioned; it was astoundingly easy to find a buyer for a luxury submarine, which just didn't seem right to Erik.
That just left his pets, and God, but he had too many of them; it went past showing off and on into insecurity, which surprised Erik not a bit. For the first time, Erik wished he had a secretary, because it was a ridiculous amount of effort to get rid of all of them. He sold a few, gave most of them away, elevated some; one of the oldest ones he turned loose entirely.
Erik pared it all the way down to two; one of them had to stay, because not having one wasn't an option. Erik wasn't exactly known for his adherence to tradition or regard for social norms, but that was a bridge too far. He could have easily afforded the both of them, but it had always seemed like so much unnecessary work to juggle, given the way Erik worked.
He had their files sent up and spread them out across the dining room table, picking one up at random and flipping it open.
SIN 92843723 Level G2. Born at Level G6, assigned to personal services. In service to SIN 23192413, dropped a year ago after- Erik frowned. After too many years of service for it to make sense. Erik took a look at the name attached to the SIN. W. Worthington- now it made sense. Sold to SIN 73227842 S. Shaw eight months ago. Erik snorted when he saw the price; not matter how good the boy was, Shaw had certainly gotten taken. Then Erik read a little farther, and his eyebrows lifted when he read that Shaw had bought him at virgin rate, which meant he'd gotten a hell of a deal. Transferred by right- that was a tidy way to put it- to SIN 62463861 E. Lehnsherr six weeks ago.
There were more pages attached, log sheets, invoices; there were even extensive notes in longhand, for god's sake- if there was one thing Erik could say for Shaw, it was that he kept his sins very well documented. He read through them; Shaw had making regular visits, a week or two apart, right up until Erik caught him. The only problem, though, was that none of the notes said anything interesting. One or two mentions of whippings, and Shaw seemed to have had him beaten at one point, but that was it, nothing sexual at all. Erik suddenly got it; Shaw was saving him, a little present to himself to celebrate a job well done.
Except that Shaw never got done.
And now he was a little present to Erik.
Erik sold the other one sight unseen after only the barest glance at his file; worst case scenario, he could price 92843723 high enough to get whatever he wanted in replacement.
Not bad at all.
It's a few nights later, and he's only just found the time to go down and examine the boy. When Erik gets there, he's kneeling on the mat in the center of the room, dressed in a loose white shirt and a pair of black trousers; he looks up when Erik enters, and he's trembling all over.
Erik picks up a chair from against the wall, moving it over and setting it in front of him, sitting down. "Are you cold?" he asks, and the boy shakes his head. "You'll answer verbally when I ask you questions. Are you cold?"
He swallows. "No, sir," he answers; he's got an accent, which is interesting, unexpected.
"Why are you shaking?"
He waits for a moment, trying to figure Erik out, deciding if this is a trap or not. "I'm frightened," he says finally. He's already interesting to Erik; even though he's cringing away, obviously waiting for something bad to happen to him, he's not running, not begging, still looking Erik in the eye.
"What's your name, boy?" Erik asks.
His face twists. "Mister Shaw didn't give me one."
"He's dead," Erik said flatly; the boy's eyes widen in shock, but it's hard to miss the relief that's mixed in with it. "And that's not what I asked you. Now, what's your real name?"
"Charles," he says, and there's so much weight to it, like he's been waiting so long to say it. "Charles Xavier."
Erik takes this moment to really examine him. He looks younger than Erik expected; according to the file he's only four or five years younger than Erik, but birth records for anyone below G10 are notoriously unreliable. He's old enough, which is the key thing, as far as Erik is concerned. He's very handsome, in a pretty way, brown hair, reddish beard that doesn't suit him. Of the parts of him Erik can see, his eyes are his best feature, a piercing blue, made more beautiful by the way they're widened in fright. Erik's going to remember that; when he lets him wear clothes, he's going to make sure to play them up, because it's too good to waste.
"You'll call me sir," Erik tells him. "Mister Lehnsherr, if you need it."
"Yes, sir," Charles says.
"Stand up and take your shirt off," he says, and whatever headway Erik was making is lost. Still, Charles does as he's told, his hands shaking, fumbling as he pulls it over his head. Erik likes what he sees, but he'll have to have a talk with the trainers; Charles needs to be working out. He's also not being fed well enough, but they never feed them well enough.
Charles is shaking again, and now he's avoiding Erik's gaze. Once, as a very small boy, Erik saw his mother lure a songbird, coaxing it gently and kindly until it perched on her finger; it strikes him that this is very similar. It would be so easy to make Charles hate him, to take over what Shaw started, but any idiot could do that. Erik is going to do the exact opposite.
He's going to make Charles like him.
Liking him makes it a little easier to accept what Erik is going to do to him, accepting it makes it a little easier to say yes, saying yes is only a tiny step from asking for it- and that's where the real fun begins. Charles's body is already his to do whatever he likes with, but once he's got him to that point, Erik'll have his mind to play with too. He's already planning the things he'll say, anticipating the devastated look on Charles's face when he calls him a whore, tells him all about how he's brought all this upon himself.
Erik shifts in his chair. He's already starting to get a little hard, but he tries to ignore it. Charles is fidgeting too, waiting for Erik to say something; he keeps reaching up to scratch at his beard, which is just shy of unkempt. "You look like you want a shave," Erik says, and Charles takes his hand away from his face, looking sheepish. "We'll take care of that," he tells him, and he knows how he's going to do it; it's highly possible Charles is not going to like it.
"Thank you," Charles says, relieved.
"Go on and turn around for me," Erik says; it's a little graceless the way he does it, sort of shuffling around, and there's something endearing about it.
Most of what Erik sees, he likes; he's got strong shoulders, covered in freckles- the freckles are a quite nice touch, really. The curve of his back is very appealing, sensual, masculine and soft at the same time. Even through his trousers, Erik can tell he's got a nice ass, which is good, because Erik plans to have a lot of interaction with it in the near future.
There's just one thing that stops it from being ideal. "Did Shaw do that to you?" Erik says tightly, and Charles flinches. There's no pretending that he doesn't know what Erik's talking about; the jagged scar across the left side of his lower back is obvious, to say the least. Erik's not averse to marks, even cuts, but it's an ugly thing, no precision to it, no attempt at all made to heal it properly. Even worse it goes over Charles's kidney; there are so many things wrong with that that Erik doesn't know where to begin. But that's Shaw, leaving a trail of broken toys in his wake.
For not the first time- for not even the first time today- Erik is glad Shaw is dead, replays the look in his eyes when he finally put him down.
"You're going to tell me everything that Shaw did to you," Erik says, deliberately not telling him to move; he suspects this part will be easier if Charles doesn't have to look him in the eyes.
Charles takes a long moment to begin speaking. "He, ah." He swallows. "Hit me. Body blows, mostly, but he broke my nose once. Used the whip twice. Did the last of it with a knife." Erik thinks about Charles's file, the powers section, photographic memory. "I deserved it," he says, as if by rote, as if to reassure Erik.
"I make that decision," Erik says fiercely. "Not you, not Shaw. I don't care what you did. You didn't deserve that."
Charles breathes in sharply, like he's afraid; afraid of what, Erik doesn't know. "Yes, sir," he says.
"From this point on, never speak about him again unless I directly ask you," Erik says, and Charles sighs.
"Thank you, sir," he replies; it's not what he should say and it's exactly the right answer, all at the same time. Erik can see Charles startle when he stands up, even though he gets it under control very quickly. He goes stock-still when Erik steps up behind him; Charles is shorter than Erik thought, and there's something appealing about that. Erik takes Charles into his arms, touching him for the first time; he can feel Charles trying to relax, but it isn't working.
"Did he touch you?" Erik says softly.
"No, sir," Charles says, sounding nervous. "He said he was going to but-"
"But he ran out of time," Erik finishes. "He ran out of time because I killed him, Charles. I want you to know that, and I don't want you to forget it." Charles nods, swallowing hard. Erik turns him gently, and Charles's eyes are worried, frightened. "Did he kiss you?" Erik murmurs, reaching up to trace his lower lip with a fingertip. "Has anyone ever kissed you, Charles?" Charles shakes his head mutely. "What did I tell you about answering me?" Erik reminds him.
"You said to respond verbally, sir," he says. "The answer to your question is no, sir." Erik can't help but notice how he gets more formal when he gets especially nervous; that's going to be fun.
"Do you want me to kiss you?" Erik asks, close enough to Charles's mouth that it's all but done anyway.
"Yes, sir," Charles says, so quietly that Erik mostly has to read his lips.
Erik smiles, satisfied; this is going to be so much better than he thought. He leans down, pressing their lips together; Charles is very hesitant, but he opens up for Erik, letting him take control. Erik spends a long, slow time on it, soft, wet kisses that go on and on, and Charles is responding now, starting to melt into Erik's arms. Erik keeps it up for a long time, his hands running gently over Charles's skin, soothing him; Charles's fingers clutch at his shirt, trying to keep him as close as he can.
Erik waits until just the right moment, the moment where Charles is ready to give it to him, the moment where Charles would do anything he wanted; when that moment comes, Erik pulls away, smiling softly at him. Charles looks at him in dismay, clearly wondering what he's done wrong, clearly wanting to fix it, and god, it's so hard not to just push him to his knees right now. "I want you to get some rest," Erik tells him, brushing his hair off of his face. "I'm going to see you soon."
Charles looks so disappointed, so eager to please, and there's just a little bit of impatience creeping in underneath it to make it interesting. "Yes, sir."
He kisses Charles on the top of his head. "Until then."
Erik walks out, leaving Charles behind him, scared and devastated and now full of confusion, want.
This is all going to be so good.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/388759.html.
comments over there.
Series: Blood Money
Summary: He's got to make an examination of his property, of course.
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Word Count: 2252
Rating/Contents: R, slave AU, mentions of torture, evil!Erik
Pairing: Erik/Charles, Shaw/Charles
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: I(still)DK, this is some stuff that comes before my favorite color is red, because I, in the words of
dizmo, accidentally a verse.
Erik was always going to kill Shaw. Shaw's fate had been sealed ever since Erik was a child; there were so many moments when Shaw could have, should have killed him, but he just ran out of them before Erik ran him down. Erik was perfectly willing to kill him for free, perfectly willing to die in the process, so everything else- Shaw's money, his possessions, his power, his pets- was just a windfall.
Then it was just a matter of cleaning up, which was all sort of boring, really. Quested and Azazel were quietly assassinated; Frost and Salvadore, well, he didn't trust either of them at all, but they'd helped, and Erik believed in the power of positive reinforcement. Shaw's possessions were auctioned; it was astoundingly easy to find a buyer for a luxury submarine, which just didn't seem right to Erik.
That just left his pets, and God, but he had too many of them; it went past showing off and on into insecurity, which surprised Erik not a bit. For the first time, Erik wished he had a secretary, because it was a ridiculous amount of effort to get rid of all of them. He sold a few, gave most of them away, elevated some; one of the oldest ones he turned loose entirely.
Erik pared it all the way down to two; one of them had to stay, because not having one wasn't an option. Erik wasn't exactly known for his adherence to tradition or regard for social norms, but that was a bridge too far. He could have easily afforded the both of them, but it had always seemed like so much unnecessary work to juggle, given the way Erik worked.
He had their files sent up and spread them out across the dining room table, picking one up at random and flipping it open.
SIN 92843723 Level G2. Born at Level G6, assigned to personal services. In service to SIN 23192413, dropped a year ago after- Erik frowned. After too many years of service for it to make sense. Erik took a look at the name attached to the SIN. W. Worthington- now it made sense. Sold to SIN 73227842 S. Shaw eight months ago. Erik snorted when he saw the price; not matter how good the boy was, Shaw had certainly gotten taken. Then Erik read a little farther, and his eyebrows lifted when he read that Shaw had bought him at virgin rate, which meant he'd gotten a hell of a deal. Transferred by right- that was a tidy way to put it- to SIN 62463861 E. Lehnsherr six weeks ago.
There were more pages attached, log sheets, invoices; there were even extensive notes in longhand, for god's sake- if there was one thing Erik could say for Shaw, it was that he kept his sins very well documented. He read through them; Shaw had making regular visits, a week or two apart, right up until Erik caught him. The only problem, though, was that none of the notes said anything interesting. One or two mentions of whippings, and Shaw seemed to have had him beaten at one point, but that was it, nothing sexual at all. Erik suddenly got it; Shaw was saving him, a little present to himself to celebrate a job well done.
Except that Shaw never got done.
And now he was a little present to Erik.
Erik sold the other one sight unseen after only the barest glance at his file; worst case scenario, he could price 92843723 high enough to get whatever he wanted in replacement.
Not bad at all.
It's a few nights later, and he's only just found the time to go down and examine the boy. When Erik gets there, he's kneeling on the mat in the center of the room, dressed in a loose white shirt and a pair of black trousers; he looks up when Erik enters, and he's trembling all over.
Erik picks up a chair from against the wall, moving it over and setting it in front of him, sitting down. "Are you cold?" he asks, and the boy shakes his head. "You'll answer verbally when I ask you questions. Are you cold?"
He swallows. "No, sir," he answers; he's got an accent, which is interesting, unexpected.
"Why are you shaking?"
He waits for a moment, trying to figure Erik out, deciding if this is a trap or not. "I'm frightened," he says finally. He's already interesting to Erik; even though he's cringing away, obviously waiting for something bad to happen to him, he's not running, not begging, still looking Erik in the eye.
"What's your name, boy?" Erik asks.
His face twists. "Mister Shaw didn't give me one."
"He's dead," Erik said flatly; the boy's eyes widen in shock, but it's hard to miss the relief that's mixed in with it. "And that's not what I asked you. Now, what's your real name?"
"Charles," he says, and there's so much weight to it, like he's been waiting so long to say it. "Charles Xavier."
Erik takes this moment to really examine him. He looks younger than Erik expected; according to the file he's only four or five years younger than Erik, but birth records for anyone below G10 are notoriously unreliable. He's old enough, which is the key thing, as far as Erik is concerned. He's very handsome, in a pretty way, brown hair, reddish beard that doesn't suit him. Of the parts of him Erik can see, his eyes are his best feature, a piercing blue, made more beautiful by the way they're widened in fright. Erik's going to remember that; when he lets him wear clothes, he's going to make sure to play them up, because it's too good to waste.
"You'll call me sir," Erik tells him. "Mister Lehnsherr, if you need it."
"Yes, sir," Charles says.
"Stand up and take your shirt off," he says, and whatever headway Erik was making is lost. Still, Charles does as he's told, his hands shaking, fumbling as he pulls it over his head. Erik likes what he sees, but he'll have to have a talk with the trainers; Charles needs to be working out. He's also not being fed well enough, but they never feed them well enough.
Charles is shaking again, and now he's avoiding Erik's gaze. Once, as a very small boy, Erik saw his mother lure a songbird, coaxing it gently and kindly until it perched on her finger; it strikes him that this is very similar. It would be so easy to make Charles hate him, to take over what Shaw started, but any idiot could do that. Erik is going to do the exact opposite.
He's going to make Charles like him.
Liking him makes it a little easier to accept what Erik is going to do to him, accepting it makes it a little easier to say yes, saying yes is only a tiny step from asking for it- and that's where the real fun begins. Charles's body is already his to do whatever he likes with, but once he's got him to that point, Erik'll have his mind to play with too. He's already planning the things he'll say, anticipating the devastated look on Charles's face when he calls him a whore, tells him all about how he's brought all this upon himself.
Erik shifts in his chair. He's already starting to get a little hard, but he tries to ignore it. Charles is fidgeting too, waiting for Erik to say something; he keeps reaching up to scratch at his beard, which is just shy of unkempt. "You look like you want a shave," Erik says, and Charles takes his hand away from his face, looking sheepish. "We'll take care of that," he tells him, and he knows how he's going to do it; it's highly possible Charles is not going to like it.
"Thank you," Charles says, relieved.
"Go on and turn around for me," Erik says; it's a little graceless the way he does it, sort of shuffling around, and there's something endearing about it.
Most of what Erik sees, he likes; he's got strong shoulders, covered in freckles- the freckles are a quite nice touch, really. The curve of his back is very appealing, sensual, masculine and soft at the same time. Even through his trousers, Erik can tell he's got a nice ass, which is good, because Erik plans to have a lot of interaction with it in the near future.
There's just one thing that stops it from being ideal. "Did Shaw do that to you?" Erik says tightly, and Charles flinches. There's no pretending that he doesn't know what Erik's talking about; the jagged scar across the left side of his lower back is obvious, to say the least. Erik's not averse to marks, even cuts, but it's an ugly thing, no precision to it, no attempt at all made to heal it properly. Even worse it goes over Charles's kidney; there are so many things wrong with that that Erik doesn't know where to begin. But that's Shaw, leaving a trail of broken toys in his wake.
For not the first time- for not even the first time today- Erik is glad Shaw is dead, replays the look in his eyes when he finally put him down.
"You're going to tell me everything that Shaw did to you," Erik says, deliberately not telling him to move; he suspects this part will be easier if Charles doesn't have to look him in the eyes.
Charles takes a long moment to begin speaking. "He, ah." He swallows. "Hit me. Body blows, mostly, but he broke my nose once. Used the whip twice. Did the last of it with a knife." Erik thinks about Charles's file, the powers section, photographic memory. "I deserved it," he says, as if by rote, as if to reassure Erik.
"I make that decision," Erik says fiercely. "Not you, not Shaw. I don't care what you did. You didn't deserve that."
Charles breathes in sharply, like he's afraid; afraid of what, Erik doesn't know. "Yes, sir," he says.
"From this point on, never speak about him again unless I directly ask you," Erik says, and Charles sighs.
"Thank you, sir," he replies; it's not what he should say and it's exactly the right answer, all at the same time. Erik can see Charles startle when he stands up, even though he gets it under control very quickly. He goes stock-still when Erik steps up behind him; Charles is shorter than Erik thought, and there's something appealing about that. Erik takes Charles into his arms, touching him for the first time; he can feel Charles trying to relax, but it isn't working.
"Did he touch you?" Erik says softly.
"No, sir," Charles says, sounding nervous. "He said he was going to but-"
"But he ran out of time," Erik finishes. "He ran out of time because I killed him, Charles. I want you to know that, and I don't want you to forget it." Charles nods, swallowing hard. Erik turns him gently, and Charles's eyes are worried, frightened. "Did he kiss you?" Erik murmurs, reaching up to trace his lower lip with a fingertip. "Has anyone ever kissed you, Charles?" Charles shakes his head mutely. "What did I tell you about answering me?" Erik reminds him.
"You said to respond verbally, sir," he says. "The answer to your question is no, sir." Erik can't help but notice how he gets more formal when he gets especially nervous; that's going to be fun.
"Do you want me to kiss you?" Erik asks, close enough to Charles's mouth that it's all but done anyway.
"Yes, sir," Charles says, so quietly that Erik mostly has to read his lips.
Erik smiles, satisfied; this is going to be so much better than he thought. He leans down, pressing their lips together; Charles is very hesitant, but he opens up for Erik, letting him take control. Erik spends a long, slow time on it, soft, wet kisses that go on and on, and Charles is responding now, starting to melt into Erik's arms. Erik keeps it up for a long time, his hands running gently over Charles's skin, soothing him; Charles's fingers clutch at his shirt, trying to keep him as close as he can.
Erik waits until just the right moment, the moment where Charles is ready to give it to him, the moment where Charles would do anything he wanted; when that moment comes, Erik pulls away, smiling softly at him. Charles looks at him in dismay, clearly wondering what he's done wrong, clearly wanting to fix it, and god, it's so hard not to just push him to his knees right now. "I want you to get some rest," Erik tells him, brushing his hair off of his face. "I'm going to see you soon."
Charles looks so disappointed, so eager to please, and there's just a little bit of impatience creeping in underneath it to make it interesting. "Yes, sir."
He kisses Charles on the top of his head. "Until then."
Erik walks out, leaving Charles behind him, scared and devastated and now full of confusion, want.
This is all going to be so good.
This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/388759.html.
comments over there.