It takes Erik four weeks of working with Azazel in 'logistics', guarding Hellfire's drug shipments and weapons deliveries before he's given a raise and a pat on the back by Sebastian Shaw and officially welcomed into the inner circle.
It takes only two weeks before he's fucking Charles Xavier.
And there's no doubt in his mind that his increased responsibilities and unfettered access to Shaw and his lieutenants are due to the behind the scenes manoeuvring by the man's young lover.
The first time it happens, Erik is nursing a beer at the Club's swanky bar, exchanging meaningless pleasantries with the bartender. He looks up to see Charles watching him from Shaw's private booth, alone and taking languid sips from a diamond and crystal martini glass. Though the man appears completely bored, his eyes are cold and sharp and unmistakeably tracking Erik's every move.
"Listen, man. I know it's tempting because fuck, look at him! But I'm telling you, don't do it."
He glances over at Darwin who is mixing another martini as he speaks, wondering just how badly he's hiding his interest if the bartender can see through his carefully cultivated detachment.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't," Darwin pushes the martini his way and sighs. "You take up with Charles and you're going to regret it. Don't say I didn't warn you."
Acknowledging the warning is as good as admitting that the other man is right. That he dreams every night of putting a bullet in Shaw's head and then bending his toy over and fucking him on Shaw's bed. "I didn't order a martini."
"No, Erik. I ordered it for you."
Charles slips into the seat next to him, setting his own glass next to the matching one in front of Erik. He's wearing a light blue button up today, collar open to reveal tantalizing bits of creamy smooth skin. There's an entitled, effortlessly graceful air about him that reminds Erik of old money and an expensive education, a life lived in luxury and comfort that is a marked contrast from the learned politeness of a thug like Shaw.
Not for the first time Erik wonders, what a man like Xavier is doing being arm candy to a mobster.
And not for the first time Erik wonders, what it would feel like to fuck a man like Xavier, make him moan and writhe and beg for his cock with that perfect, pretty mouth panting his name.
"Erik," the voice is soft and seductive; the hand on his arm warm and solid. "Come take a walk with me."
They fuck on Charles' bed, in his lavish suite next to Shaw's, in front of a floor length mirror trimmed in gold. His hands grip the soft, meaty flesh of a perfectly toned ass and he grunts with every hard thrust upwards into the blistering heat. Charles slams himself up and down on Erik's cock, head thrown back in ecstasy, riding the other man to completion with a wild abandon that is utterly breathtaking.
When they're both finished, and Erik is boneless and sated, Charles pulls off gingerly and climbs from the bed. He stands in front of the mirror and traces the trail of white dripping down his thighs, then licks his fingers and smiles at his own reflection.
Erik pushes him forward, a large hand on the back of a slim neck and fucks him again until he shoots his release all over the mirrored surface.
Charles laughs.
Erik knows he's becoming dangerously obsessed.
And it's no longer solely with thoughts of revenge – of tearing Sebastian Shaw limb from limb for shooting his parents in cold blood during a robbery gone wrong.
He still wants it though, craves it down to his bones whenever he catches sight of Shaw; getting out of his limo, in meetings with his men, touching Charles...
Shaw is always touching his Charles.
And he knows he's fucked the moment his mind processes the thought...his Charles.
He belongs to Erik.
And Erik is going to take Charles from Shaw before he kills him.
They fuck almost every day, Charles pulling him into his bedroom whenever Shaw is 'busy' or 'out' or 'just trust me Erik'. It's like an addiction, he realizes – this need to have Xavier, to own him and fuck him and break him into pieces as he writhes and pants and comes with Erik's name spilling from blood red lips.
He wonders how Shaw could be so oblivious; to not know that he's fucking Charles behind his back. Erik is discreet yes; the model employee and new trusted right hand but how could he not know? The way Charles looks at Erik – eyes hungry and predatory and sometimes full of something that's not quite love and possibly hate – is obvious to the others around them.
Logan shakes his head at him and smirks.
Azazel frowns and his lips are pressed in a tight line whenever Charles and Erik are in the same room.
Janos, the Spaniard with the cocky grin hands him a hundred year old scotch and whispers, "It's been good knowing you Lensherr."
But Sebastian Shaw just smiles at Erik and pats him on the back. Sends him on Hellfire's most dangerous and important assignments and calls him, "Son."
And Erik continues to fuck his pretty toy every day, always in Charles' room, always in front of the mirror.
Erik laughs.
As far as Erik can tell, Shaw's feelings for Charles are genuine.
In public, he is affectionate and warm, his touch gentle and tone full of adoration and respect. He asks for Charles' opinions, rests his hand on the small of Charles' back when they walk and kisses Charles with no thought to looking weak in front of his own men.
And for all that Charles spends his days fucking Erik, he never pulls away from Shaw's touch, leaning into the man's kisses and holding the man's hand during meals.
Charles is full of contradictions – a man unimpressed by wealth but content to be a mobster's bit on the side; an icy facade of brilliance and etiquette hiding a passionate core full of lust and fire.
Erik wants all of Charles Xavier and he'll do anything it takes to get him.
So Shaw gets to live just a little bit longer, until Erik can find a way to sway Charles to his side.
Things spiral dangerously close to disaster when Erik walks by Shaw's office one day and sees the door slightly ajar, the sounds of sex filtering out into the hallway.
Charles is naked and on his knees, his arms bound tightly behind him with what looks like red silk ropes. Shaw is standing in front of him, completely clothed except for his cock and thrusting brutally hard and fast into Charles' mouth.
"Do you like this, pet?" Shaw is gripping his hair and practically hauling him back and forth as the man chokes and whines. "You love taking my cock in your mouth don't you, you dirty little slut?"
Erik's frozen in his spot by the door, his blood burning and eyes almost blinded with rage at the sight of Charles gagging on Shaw, tears streaming down his cheeks. He watches as Charles get pushed to the ground, ass in the air as Shaw shoves his cock all the way in with one long, rough stroke. He wails and Shaw fucks him so hard and fast that Charles' whole body slides forward with each snap of his hips.
A hand grips his arm like a vice and drags him down the hallway, flinging him inside an empty room before Erik can make a sound.
"Christ Lensherr, what the fuck are you doing?"
"Did you see that? Did you see what Shaw was doing to Charles?" He's fuming and tense and on the knife's edge of violence.
Logan rubs his face and glares at him. "Not my business how Charles and Shaw fuck. I'm his bodyguard not his mother."
Erik snarls and advances on the other man. "You're supposed to protect him! How can you let Shaw...abuse him like that?"
"You think...," Logan looks at him for a long moment and then bursts into laughter. "Fuck Lensherr you're in love with him aren't you, you poor fuck." He wanders over to the bar and pours himself a drink. "Charles can take care of himself."
"Is Shaw paying you to look the other way? Threatening you? I know you like Charles I don't understand how..."
"You think you're the first one he's fucked Lensherr? "Logan pulls out a cigar and lights it, leaning against a wall and taking a long puff. He looks...almost like he feels sorry for Erik. "You think you're the first to fall for those baby blues and that posh accent and all that fuckin' attitude? You're an idiot."
He's completely shocked by Logan's words because...Charles?
"LeBeau thought he was so smart, 'seducing' Charles and then kidnapping him to try and get a big payout from Shaw. Wanna know what happened to him? Shaw gutted him in the middle of the Club and let him bleed out for hours in front of his VIPs."
"What...who..."
"Drake. Drake was even worse the poor son of a bitch. He tried to save Charles from this 'terrible' life; tried to shoot Shaw in the back so they could run away together."
Erik stares at the crystal barware and tries to comprehend exactly what Logan's trying to tell him. "And?"
Logan grins at him but the expression is hard and threatening and filled with warning. "Charles put a bullet in his head."
For once they're not in Charles' room and not fucking, sitting across from one another in the back of Shaw's limo, on the way to a party thrown by Frost Industries.
"Why Shaw?"
"Because I love him."
"Then why me?"
The smile he gets is sharp enough to cut. "You've...got potential, my friend."
