title: And That Is Why Kings Are Tyrants

rating: hard R

summary: One night off the island, things between two competitors take an interesting turn…

pairing: Benjamin Linus/Charles Widmore, not so subtly implied Ben/Richard and Richard/Widmore

warnings: This piece includes mentions of past!Ben/Widmore sexual encounters taking place when Ben was underage; May/December age differences (Ben is 20, Charles 47); slash (obviously); moderate BDSM; mention of blood; threats and violence.

prompt: Based on the telephone prompt from the livejournal community bens_bookclub.

notes: My apologies if the characters are OOC. Ben at twenty is difficult to write, and Charles slithers away before I can pin him down. Title comes from (surprise, surprise) a quote by the Marquis de Sade. Written for livejournal user mr_henry_gale, whose impatience was most beneficial.

"Lust is to the other passions what the nervous fluid is to life; it supports them all, lends strength to them all…ambition, cruelty, avarice, revenge, are all founded on lust." - the Marquis de Sade

It had been six months since their last encounter, but when Charles heard the jangle of the mobile only Richard ever called, he jerked instantly awake, practically panting. Old habits die hard, and he could already feel the creeping arousal flittering through his mid-section as he sat up in bed with the covers pooled at his waist, and reached for the lamp. His hand hovered over the telephone for a moment, not daring to give away his eagerness, but he had never been very good at that particular game, and his breathless voice betrayed him as he gave in and answered. "Richard?"

The voice on the other end was a profound disappointment. "No, Charles - it's Ben." The young man - the pup, as Charles liked to think of him - did not sound the least bit subordinate. "Richard's preoccupied at the moment. Business."

"What do you want?" Widmore demanded, outraged by his bewilderment. "How did you get this number, and exactly what do you mean by calling me at this ungodly hour of the morning?"

"I'm in the lobby of your hotel," Ben answered smugly. He is a few months shy of twenty years old, but he had left boyhood behind a time long ago, and the fledging control he had begun to exhibit on the island carried across the line. "I hoped you would be good enough to invite me up," he added, pleased to hear nothing but stunned silence from Charles. "We have some things to discuss."

Annoyed, Widmore leaned back against the headboard of his bed and sighed. "Whatever you have to say to me can wait until my return to the island. Perhaps the delay will give you time to formulate some semblance of an explanation for why you are off the island against my orders."

"You've been staying away a great deal."

"And this is your concern?"

Standing in the plush lobby, Ben smirked. "Jacob is concerned, Charles."

"Jacob!"

"Are you going to invite me up or not?"

Cocky little brute, Charles thought, perturbed, but a shiver of fear coaxed him into relenting. He rubbed his eyes, sparing a regretful thought for what might have been if it had been Richard on the phone instead. "Very well, boy," he spoke with contempt. "Give me five minutes to get dressed."

To Ben, used to the drab, militaristic style of the native's campsite and the plain, functional Dharma compound, the hotel oozed extravagance. Even the elevator appeared posh. Jealousy gnawed at him, especially the thought of Widmore enjoying this sort of splendour for the past month while their own people scavenged, enduring routine confrontations with the Dharma Initiative.

He found Widmore waiting for him at the penthouse level. The man looked like royalty, born for all the luxury that surrounded him. His brown, tumbled curls were lined with grey at the temples, but somehow that made him look even more regal. If Charles had lost any hint of the princely good looks he had enjoyed as a younger man, he had undeniably aged well. At forty-seven he looked ten years younger, and the maturity lent him character and made him seem all the more intriguing. His green eyes stared Ben down even as he invited the younger man inside and closed the door, securing the bolt.

"What can I do for you, Benjamin?" Widmore asked with thinly-veiled contempt.

Ben studied him for a moment, unresponsive. Then he smiled, looking at the bar, his eyes emanating the strange possessiveness that had come over him recently, the craving he felt for everything he saw. Anything, every thing, seemed better than what he was used to, and he wanted it all. "Aren't you even going to offer me a drink?"

"One drink," Charles decided meanly. He poured the house scotch into a glass, topping it off generously with ice, saving the preferred brand for himself. "Now, I'd like some answers. You mentioned Jacob…"

"Yes."

Charles scoffed. "But you've never met Jacob, have you Benjamin?" His smile widened as he saw the ugly look of jealousy that crossed Ben's face. "An audience with Jacob, that is a privilege bestowed only upon the leaders of our people, and that, you will never be. I know what Richard has told you," he continued, glaring. "Forget it. I'll see to it personally that you are never installed as a leader. We both know you're not up to it."

For a moment, Ben looked like his boyish self: hurt and shocked and wanting to please. Then his expression hardened. He drained his drink and poured himself a second over Charles' objections. "You were waiting for Richard?"

"We have an arrangement."

"He never told me," Ben remarked, possessive. Lately, Richard begun telling him everything. It is par for the course in the grooming for leadership, and whatever Charles thought to the contrary, Ben had no intention of being dismissed so easily. All his life, people had told him he was special, that fate had something wonderful in store for him, that good things were waiting just around the corner. He had finally been given an opportunity, and did not anticipate surrendering it, whatever Widmore wanted.

Charles stared him down. "I was not aware that our personal conduct was any of your business, boy. Now, out with it. What are you really doing here, Benjamin?"

"Does Richard know about us?"

Widmore flushed deeply and turned away to hide his embarrassment. Contrary to appearances, he had not forgotten the brief span of time when he had turned to Benjamin to sate his lusts. If his treatment of Ben had been harsh since that point, it had been meant to illustrate to the young man how thoroughly Charles regretted the incidents. It had also served as punishment. He had recognized immediately what Richard's intentions were for the boy, and that had frightened him. Cruelty and abandonment had unfortunately done nothing to deter Ben's interest in becoming one of them, nor had it persuaded Richard that things were better left alone.

"That was over a long time ago."

"He doesn't know," Ben surmised. He studied the tension evident in Widmore's shoulders.

"As I said," Charles declared forcefully, "that is finished. I've forgotten it. You would do well to do the same. Now, it's late, and though it may surprise you, I have work to complete. You've had your drink, and your fun. I suggest you make better usage of the rest of your time."

For a moment, Ben remained perfectly still, concentrating on finding courage within him. The next minute, he crossed the room and went to the older man. One hand brushed against Charles' cheek, not quite tenderly, but close. His blue eyes burned into Charles' startled irises, heated. Charles glared, but Ben kissed him anyway, brushing his lips reverently across his leader's cheek. Whatever their background, he could not help but to admire the older man. Though he had never let on, he had missed those initial encounters. Widmore's confidence suffused everything around him; everything he touched seemed to turn to gold, and Ben had always had a taste for power.

A sharp slap across his cheek jerked Ben from his reverie.

"What -"

"Exactly what do you think you are doing, Benjamin?" Charles demanded. His eyes were dark and lusty as they scanned the younger man. "You aren't ready for this, boy," he continued, deliberately cruel. He watched as Ben's cheeks flushed with colour. "This is why you travelled so many miles? To make some sodding declaration of love?"

Humiliated to the core, Ben pressed a hand to the side of his face. He could feel the warmth of Widmore's hand accompanying the sting. The strength of purpose within him crumbled; this was not going according to plan. "I shouldn't have come."

"No," Charles agreed forcefully, "you shouldn't. You were given a direct order, to remain with the Dharma Initiative and gather information on the new building project they are working on. I count on you," he added, relenting slightly. "You are uniquely positioned to observe their activities and monitor communications. It is thanks to the intelligence you provide that we have managed to maintain this sham truce for so long." As Ben looked up hesitantly, Charles went on. "Don't get ideas above your station, Benjamin. I know that Richard has been filling your head with nonsense. It's a pipe dream, nothing more. Eloise is caring for our son off the island, but soon enough, she will see reason. He was born to lead. You, my boy, are not even one of us."

Ben glared, full of ferocity. "Goodbye, Charles."

A hand on Ben's shoulder stopped him before he could step out the door.

"You mentioned Jacob."

Ben's heart froze in his chest, overwhelmed to be trapped in Widmore's scrutinizing gaze. He was used to being an object of idle curiosity to the man, and a whipping boy. After their last delectable encounter, which Ben scarcely dared to allow himself to think about, Charles had never bothered to speak to him directly again except to give orders. Now, the man stared at him in puzzlement, trying to riddle him out. Ben sighed and gave in. "I was sent to give you a warning. You have been absent far too long. Your purpose is to serve the island, not yourself. Jacob is disappointed."

Flabbergasted, Charles frowned. "And how is it you know anything of Jacob's mind?"

"Richard told me," Ben admitted.

"You spend far too much time with Richard," Charles decided. "Benjamin," he called out as Ben turned to go. "Stay." He drew the other man into his arms and was shocked when he felt Ben shaking. "Did Richard tell you to come here?"

"Yes," Ben admitted. "He'll be here himself, soon. He wanted to speak to you."

"Where are you staying?"

"A hovel," Ben responded with the slightest of smiles. His eyes shone, hopeful.

What am I doing? Charles wondered. He soothed himself with the reassurance that sleeping with the enemy would at least provide him with a temporary pleasure. And it's been too long. He petted Ben's hair. Apart from his understanding with Richard, he had not enjoyed male company for some time, and his previous partners had never been so reverent, nor seemed so masochistic as he knew Ben could be. "It's very late, Benjamin," he remarked casually. "I think you should stay here tonight." Breaking away, he walked to the bar and refreshed Ben's drink, then poured one for himself. "What does the Dharma Initiative make of your absence?"

Ben shrugged. "Who cares?"

"I care. You're putting our people's lives at risk if you vanish from the island suddenly, without warning. Horace will believe we are responsible for your capture. It will make trouble."

"They think I'm taking an entrance exam at the university," Ben admitted, sampling the liquor. "Someday, it won't matter what they want," he added forcefully, his youth on display. "Someday, I'm going to get away from him." He did not bother to identify his father as the object of his tirade, and Charles did not need to be reminded. "When I'm one of you."

Charles nodded. "I should not have teased you, Benjamin. You are one of us." The words came easily, though his mind disputed them. He knew what Richard believed, that the young man was special, that the island chose him for some purpose, that he should one day lead. None of it struck Charles as a good idea, but it was not easy to argue the case when Ben began to nuzzle against his neck, sweet and wanting. "I have a request to make of you," Widmore went on, taking Ben's hand. "Consider it a personal favour." Ben nodded, and Charles smiled. "We will need you now more than ever to be delivering information to us about the Dharma Initiative. I understand they have completed construction on an underwater station. We must know its whereabouts. You can get that for us."

Ben shook his head. "I won't be on the island much longer, not if I stay with them. They are sending me away. Horace contacted some people in Ann Arbor. They're going to create a scholarship for me, so I can study on the mainland, and when I come back, I can work at one of the stations." When he felt Charles stiffen, he bit his lip. "I'll have a higher security clearance. They don't let me go anywhere now. Anything I do will look suspicious. Only the workers can get into the planning areas." After a moment of silence he continued. "It's only for two years."

"Does Richard know?" Charles asked, then immediately frowned as Ben nodded. "Of course he does. Benjamin," he continued, shaking Ben roughly by the shoulders. "You mustn't accept this opportunity. Believe me, there will be other times to enhance your education. Right now, we need you there, among them. Take a job, any job, whatever you qualify for under their hierarchy, the higher up the better. Tell them you wish to postpone a university education for a few years until you've had work experience."

"Years?" Ben questioned. He knit his brow. "Charles -"

"Listen to me, if you are to be one of us, you must make sacrifices. Benjamin," Charles explained, pressing a kiss to Ben's forehead. "I understand it is not easy, but sometimes we have to forego what we want in order to achieve the greater good. You can understand that, can't you?" When Ben agreed reluctantly, Charles smiled. "Good. Now, put it out of your mind." He kissed Ben deeply, sending shivers up the younger man's spine, and slipped his hands beneath Ben's shirt. He could feel Ben tremble as his hands slid down over the smooth skin. "I know we didn't get off to the right foot when you first came to us. That is entirely my fault." He smiled as Ben's breath quickened, and slipped one hand into Ben's trousers. Young men are so easy to seduce, he thought with amusement, feeling his own arousal grow. Benjamin in particular. He wants too much. "Hopefully, we can put all of that behind us now." Then he kissed Ben, hard.

For all Widmore's imperious attitude, he was surprisingly easy to kiss. Ben wrapped his arms around the other man's neck and pulled him closer, startled to feel Charles' erection pressed against his body. Closing his eyes, he trailed kisses along Charles' cheek, then lets the other man claim his mouth. Arousal made him feel giddy. For once, Ben was happy to be losing control.

"Take these off," Charles urged, running one finger along Ben's belt.

Ben's cheeks reddened. "Now?" he asked, cautious in spite of his eagerness.

Charles lifted his head, leaving off marking kisses across Ben's collarbone, then raised an eyebrow. "You're challenging an order from your leader?

"No, I -"

"That's mutiny, Benjamin," Charles said, unable to hide his smirk as Ben paled. Walking across the room, he retrieved a box from beneath the bed and opened it, withdrawing a favoured object. Normally, he was the recipient of the blows from the whip, but in Richard's absence it was simply not to be; Charles disliked to think what message would be sent by allowing a subordinate so low ranking as Ben to whip him. "Are you refusing a direct order?"

Observing him carefully, mouth pressed into a thin line, Ben watched as Charles circled him slowly, holding out the whip enticingly. His hands shook, but not from fear. Slowly, he undid the top button of his trousers and pushed them down. Stepping out of them, he felt the warm air against his skin, but did not allow it to distract him. Widmore continued to pace, watching him with amusement, and in spite of himself Ben felt himself becoming even more aroused by the game.

"On your knees," Charles instructed. "Not here. There, the bed." He pushed Ben into position and stood back, admiring the subservient position the young man was in. Satisfied, he ran a hand down Ben's bare back, and missed nothing when Ben tensed at the touch of his fingers. There were a few old scars marring Ben's smooth skin, remnants of beatings Charles did not care to ask about and which Ben had no interest in discussing. "This is going to hurt, Benjamin," Charles warned, not sure why he was bothering. Sparing Ben's feelings, physically or emotionally, had never been a priority.

Ben nodded; he had experienced it before. He had no idea why he remained on his knees, hands splayed over the mattress, waiting to be beaten by Charles Widmore. He had no way of explaining the heat that burned in his mid-section, the relentlessly stirring lust he should definitely not have been feeling. "I know that, Charles."

"Very well. You should have obeyed me," Charles said. He brought down the whip gently, teasingly, though it was still painful enough that Ben inhaled sharply against the sting. "When I give you an instruction, you follow it, Benjamin." Again the whip lashed against Ben's skin, leaving a pink brand. "You've been nothing but trouble since Richard brought you to us," Charles remarked. "I hope you understand that. Every day I regret his decision."

Ben turned to gape at him, and the tail end of the whip caught him across the cheek. Charles neither apologized or stopped, and Ben ducked his head down, wincing at the rain of blows against his body. Pain bloomed from the places where the whip bit into his skin, but instead of feeling angry at the agony of it, or disgusted, Ben felt nothing but a stronger lust for Charles Widmore. He closed his eyes, pleasuring himself as discreetly as he could manage, needing to do something to satisfy the roaring desire he feels.

As Charles watched, Ben stroked himself, his shame overcome with wanting. Widmore held the whip, eyeing Ben's back, where the lashes burned. A trickle of blood dripped down Ben's back. "Benjamin?"

There was a deep cut across Ben's cheek where the whip had caught him, but he still looked grateful when Charles held out his hand, permitting him to rise to his feet. He held his breath when Charles deliberately planted a kiss on the wound, but the stinging pain was accompanied with Charles' hands on him again, and Ben almost begged him for more.

"Put these on," Charles suggested, releasing Ben stingily. He took the initiative, snapping the first silver cuff over Ben's right wrist. "Don't be so cautious, Benjamin," he chided as Ben stared at him, full of questions. "Lay down. Not on your back; I'm afraid I haven't finished with you yet." He guided the handcuff chain through one of the bedposts, then snapped the other cuff around Ben's left wrist. "I just want to make sure you won't spoil my fun. Hands off for now," he lectured as Ben looked at him, needful. For just a moment, he teased the younger man, sliding his hands over Ben's body, but before Ben could even express his gratitude, Charles released him and stood up.

The whip hit hard against Ben's already bruised back. He felt the pain ricochet through his body, stronger than before, but even when he twisted around, fighting the hold of the handcuffs, he could not make out the expression on Charles' face. Desperate to read the emotions writ there and assess his predicament, Ben struggled against his bonds, but the whip came down much harder than before in punishment, stilling him. The second blow was even more painful, but it took two more before he whimpered. Ben had an exceptionally high pain tolerance, but Charles surpassed it, wielding the whip as powerfully as he could, so that the thing whistled as it made its deadly arc towards Ben's unprotected skin. Welts crisscrossed Ben's body. He shifted, grinding his hips against the mattress, eyes closed and overcome.

"Do you like that, Benjamin?" Charles asked. For once, he was almost in awe. The young man had taken the whipping like a pro, and Charles could feel his erection straining against his own trousers as he walked around to Ben's side. He brushed back the hair from Ben's eyes, the better to see his expression, then ran his fingertips lightly over the new welts, marvelling at his own handiwork. "Tell me you want it."

Ben made a small sound of protest as Charles touched the wounds. His blood roared through his veins, hot with lust that made it difficult to think. "Charles…"

"I think you are forgetting a very important fact, Benjamin. I am in charge here, not you." Curling his lip, Charles stared down at Ben, his expression predatory. The whip came down hard on Ben's backside, and Charles watched him stifle a shout. Still, Ben's compliance was not all that simple to coax. The beating grew savage, but still controlled, until finally Charles paused, to turned on to delay his pleasure any longer. "I'm going to tell you what I want, every word, and I want you to listen carefully, is that clear?" When Ben did not immediately respond, the lash came down again, sending a bolt of pain through Ben's body. "Benjamin? Do we have an understanding?"

Grimacing, Ben nodded. "Yes."

Charles moved closer, until his body was mere inches from Ben. "Unzip these," he instructed, indicating his own trousers.

Ben's mouth twisted scornfully. "You might have overlooked the fact, Charles, but my hands are literally tied."

"You won't need your hands, Ben." Charles smiled, showing his teeth. He brought down the whip a final time, closing his eyes as he felt the press of Ben's mouth against him. "I'm afraid I'm getting a little impatient," he added, raking his fingers down Ben's back and coaxing a sharp intake of breath from Ben. Discarding his clothing, he climbed onto the bed, slapping a hand against Ben's hip. "I hope for your sake I'm as talented as I used to be," he remarked. "I'm afraid this might become a bit more uncomfortable before the end."

"You're not going to take these off?" Ben asked, rattling the handcuffs.

Charles smirked, carefully tucking the key into the pocket of his abandoned trousers. "I think it's a good look for you," he commented, touching the welts. "And no, I'm afraid not. You're far too stubborn, Ben. You always were. I don't want you to forget who is in charge." He raised his eyebrow in response to a predatory look from Ben. "Now move over."

The sex was good. Ben, whipped into submission and aroused to the breaking point by it, was uncharacteristically pliant. Charles found himself falling easily back in stride. They traded no endearments, but Charles was generous all the same, pleasuring Ben with his hands, and kissing his neck deeply, leaving bruises as his passion peaked.

When he was spent, Charles rolled onto his back, shivering with the aftershocks of the encounter. He waited until Ben's breathing slowed, slightly soured on that point. His intention had been to leave Ben unsatisfied, but the younger man had been surprisingly easy to tip over the edge. Nonetheless, Charles reflected, the experience had been worthwhile. Finally, he turned onto his side and supported himself with his elbow, trying to read Ben's thoughts in his flashing blue eyes. "You look preoccupied."

Ben nodded, then feigned a smile. He thought of Richard, the real reason he had drifted so far from home, and how far awry everything had gone since the moment he had first stepped foot on the island. Richard would know, of course. There was no putting anything past the man. Wincing at the thought of Richard's judgement, Ben ducked his head, face pressed against the pillow to hide the burn that lit his cheeks, wondering how he would explain his deviation from the plan. There would be explaining to do, that much was certain. Richard was far more thorough in his lovemaking, gentler. He was also devoted; he was sure to notice the wounds.

As if reading Ben's thoughts, Charles narrowed his eyes. "Are you going to tell me what you and Richard have been planning, or do I need to beat it out of you?"

Startled by this turn of events, Ben turned over as best he could with his hands still bound to the headboard. The handcuffs had worn deep cuts into the delicate flesh of his wrists, but he ignored it as best he could. "What?" he questioned, feeling abruptly very out of control and off-filter.

"Don't play with me, boy. He came to see me, shortly after he first encountered you in the jungle, babbling about strange visions, how special you were. He wants you to lead our people, surely you feel the same. Richard never makes a move without having every step along the way planned, so tell me, what is it he is having you do?" Charles demanded, rising. "Tell me, or I promise you, Benjamin, I will make life on the island very difficult for you once we both return."

"I don't know what you're -"

The punch across Ben's face silenced the feint. He gaped at Charles in shock, but the surprise quickly turned to anger, and his eyes shone, deadly. Dimly, through the pain, he recognized the sensation of a broken nose. Somehow, neither it nor the fear he felt could completely chase away the lingering remnants of pleasure that still coursed through his body. "That hurt," Ben remarked icily.

Charles glared down at him, hastily dressing. "Consider it a warning. You don't have any idea what you're in for should you try to cross me. I tell you now, I will not go down without a fight. You don't have what it takes, Benjamin to replace me. Nor does Richard. He never had the stomach for what a leader must do."

"I don't have any idea what you're talking about," Ben spat. There was blood on his lips. He pulled roughly at the handcuffs, hating the sensation of being pinned down, completely at Widmore's control. The lash of the whip cut deeper now, as Charles wielded it carelessly, meting out punishment. "There's nothing going on -"

The words were silence by a second blow, one that knocked Ben unconscious. The lies, the deep desires - all were tossed abruptly aside. His head hit the mattress as he fell silent.

"You are not going to win this," Charles spoke as he stood over the still figure. Mercilessly, he removed the key to the handcuffs from his trouser pocket and tossed it far out of Ben's reach on the carpet. "Destiny means nothing. The island never chose you." He pictured Ben as the young man had appeared on the day of their first meeting: wounded, pale, desperate never to leave, but he brushed aside any lingering sympathy. You should have left him for dead, Richard, he thought brusquely. Then he collected his belongings, sparing one more glance at Ben, who slumbered deeply. "Goodbye, Benjamin," he said dismissively, then stepped out and shut the door.