Chapter Text
Logan
The palace ballroom is bustling with music and laughter tonight, packed almost wall to wall with foreign dignitaries and the Genoshan ruling elite. It is the twentieth anniversary of the founding of the mutant nation, a glorious occasion for celebration, as well as a chance for some of the island’s inhabitants to get a rare glimpse of royalty.
Magneto is holding court at one end of the vast hall, flanked by his closest advisors. The Lady Frost is resplendent in a flowing gown of sparkling white, with matching gloves that cover her arms to her elbows, a diamond tiara in her perfectly coiffed hair. Duke Azazel is in his full Naval dress uniform, the silver buttons on his dark blue jacket gleaming under the flickering lights of a hundred oil lamps.
The King himself is dressed all in black, with epaulets, cuffs and collar trimmed in gold. He wears a long fur lined cape and a blue sash across his chest, adorned with various medals for his service to Genosha during the Liberation Wars. At forty three his dark brown hair is just beginning to streak silver around his temples, adding to the already distinguished air of one of the country’s most powerfully Gifted.
But Logan’s eyes are drawn solely to the fourth member of that party, to the still newly crowned Prince Consort standing arm in arm with the King. More than two decades his junior, Charles Xavier’s arranged marriage to Erik Lehnsherr is both negotiation tactic and peace treaty; a gesture of goodwill from the British Empire to the people of Genosha. In another overt attempt to promote their union Charles has been dressed almost exactly the same way as Lehnsherr, though in lieu of black he is wearing a jacket in deep sapphire blue. Rakishly handsome with brown curls and red lips, Xavier exudes a youthful exuberance and warmth of spirit, cutting a markedly different figure from his stoic husband.
From across the crowded ballroom their eyes meet, and Charles’ lips curve even higher into a devilish grin. Logan only just manages to keep his expression neutral, suppressing the urge to roll his own eyes at the heated promise in that smile. It has been four days since they last had time alone together, and Logan is anxious to make the most of what’s to come.
Patience darling, Charles whispers, an imagined caress against his ear, sending a naked shiver down his spine. A few more minutes here and I’ll join you in the cellar.
Logan takes a sip of his wine then, to hide his grin. I’m not very good at being patient, Charles.
No, the voice answers, amused and indulgent. But you do have many other admirable traits.
He proceeds to send many images of what constitutes as Logan’s admirable traits, images of Logan and Charles in various compromising positions and state of undress. They have been lovers now for over three years, ever since Lord Brian Xavier, Duke of York and Admiral of His Majesty’s Royal Navy hired him to be companion and bodyguard to his sole son and heir.
That Logan would follow Charles to Genosha after his marriage to Magneto was never a question, though the Duke likely thought money and freedom from the trappings of an English Court to be key motivators. Smart the man may be but the Duke clearly underestimates Charles’ captivating personality and effect on others; Logan is not the only one – mutant or not – to follow him across the ocean to a new life.
“You are being quite obvious,” Raven chides, smirk undeniable as she glances between Logan and her adoptive brother at Erik’s side. “He might tolerate your close friendship with Charles but I doubt he would allow you within ten feet of him if he knew it was…more.”
Logan does not doubt the truth of her words; though Magneto may feel little more than grudging respect and keen admiration for Charles and his Gift, he is sure that a man so prideful and used to his way would not appreciate being cuckolded by his much younger husband.
“We are discreet,” he replies, turning his back to King and Consort, “and I trust Charles to know his limits.”
Raven – lovely in a pale cream gown contrasting beautifully with her natural blue form – takes his arm and leads them onto the dance floor, where the two glide slowly amidst a vibrant sea of color. He is too anxious right now to enjoy Raven’s pleasant company, eager as he is with both lust and longing for his lover.
“My brother is quite brilliant,” she acknowledges, pointedly but with a sense of enduring fondness, “and quite powerful indeed. But for all his ability to read a man’s thoughts he can be blind to their heart’s true nature, and I think he has misjudged Erik to a great degree. He wants more from the marriage than Charles believes.”
“They sleep together, Raven,” Logan scoffs, and he does his best to ignore the twinge in his gut at the reminder. “He is here, thousands of miles from his childhood home, warming Lehnsherr’s bed. Playing host and diplomat and doting husband for the masses. What else does he expect?”
Raven shakes her head, and gives him a sad, sympathetic smile. “You are being equally obtuse, Logan. Erik wants Charles to love him, as much as he’s grown to love my brother.”
He takes a step away then, as the dance draws to a close, bowing stiffly to hide the anger on his face. “I think Charles has given enough of himself to Magneto,” he snaps, “and I have a claim to his heart that won’t be so easily replaced.”
x
Charles
Charles can’t help but track Logan and Raven onto the dance floor, as he pretends to listen to the sycophantic ramblings of yet another well-meaning noble, eager to pay homage to the royal couple. His body is already tingling with excitement over their planned rendezvous; the thought of Logan’s hands and lips on his skin making his blood surge and his pants tent with anticipation.
He can feel the tenor of Erik’s thoughts at his side, as bored and uninterested as his expression is a mask of careful politeness. An agreement upon his arrival in Genosha had Charles promising to stay out of Erik’s mind, one he was glad to make at the time. Though he was used to hearing all manner of thoughts - both pleasant and not - he found it easier on his pride not to know the exact details of his new husband’s regard for him.
Then again, the man’s actions soon made things abundantly clear to Charles.
When he sees Logan exit the ballroom after the end of the dance, shoulders hunched over with tension, it’s all Charles can do to not run after him. Though he doubts that Erik would concern himself over Charles’ affairs – love or otherwise – he is not so reckless as to endanger the image they are meant to project. Their marriage after all is both a grand union and a symbol of hard won peace; it is Charles’ duty to help sell their story as a happy one to the rest of Genosha.
He catches Lady Frost watching him with her keen eyes and a knowing grin, and nudges her sharply with his Gift. She does not give him the satisfaction of an outward wince in reply, though her expression does turn icy when he gives her a faint nod and a wry smile.
“Would you like another drink,” Erik asks, as they retreat behind the curtains to a side chamber away from the waiting line, taking a break from the monotony of meaningless prattle with hundreds of eager guests. Charles is perfectly suited to his role as the charming Consort, though he is too distracted now to give much more than his share of half-hearted smiles.
“No thank you,” he answers, and slips his hand from Erik’s arm, putting a more comfortable distance between the two of them as he adjusts his jacket and sleeves. “I think I’d rather like to find my sister now. And perhaps freshen up a bit. I shall be back in time for your speech of course. Do you mind?”
He expects a curt nod from Erik; perhaps even a small note of appreciation for time he does not have to spend in Charles’ company. Instead, his husband takes his hand, a gesture so out of character that Charles involuntarily stiffens at the touch.
“If you go out into the crowd, you’ll be swamped with more well-wishers,” and the snide way in which Erik emphasizes the word brings an unbidden smile to Charles’ lips. “I can ask someone to bring Raven here, and you can spend some time alone with her in the antechamber.”
The thoughtfulness is unexpected – and not entirely welcome now of all times, as Charles is anxious to put as much distance as he can between himself and the King. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary. I am quite capable of diverting unwanted attention away, as you well know. And I would very much like to dance with my sister before the evening is over.”
Erik’s lips press into a thin line and his eyes narrow, and for a moment, he looks genuinely angry at Charles’ response. But before Charles can find the appropriate words to placate him his husband’s expression softens, and he moves to pull him close, hands sliding gently from Charles’ shoulders to grip his arms.
“Do not be long,” Erik urges, surprising Charles with something more akin to a plea than a command. “I wish to have you by my side when I give my speech—”
“Yes Erik, I told you I’ll be there--”
“—and I would also like to dance with my Consort.”
Charles’ indignation all but dissipates at Erik’s words. “You would?”
“Yes.” Erik tips his chin up, forcing Charles to stare into his eyes, and presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “I would.”
He is vaguely aware, how close the two of them are standing, sharing an intimacy they’ve only previously experienced in the privacy of their chambers. But Erik’s eyes are intent on him now in the way he has always gazed upon Charles’ nude body; with a hunger that demands to be sated, no matter the trifling distance that separates them from the crowd outside.
“Erik,” he says, schooling his voice, hiding his visceral reaction to the unspoken promise, “I’ll be back soon.”
“Good,” Erik answers, but what appeared to be an almost hopeful expression on the King’s face quickly shutters, and his voice turns icy cold with disdain. “Remember your place, Charles, as Prince Consort, and do not be late. I won’t have any reckless behavior mar such a historic day.”
“Yes, of course,” Charles agrees through gritted teeth, and promptly turns away, all but fleeing from the suddenly harsh and stifling tension. He plasters a smile on his face when he steps around the curtain again, choosing to ignore the curious looks from Duke Azazel and the Lady Frost. Diverting attention away as he exits the ballroom takes much of Charles’ energy and concentration, and by the time he exits into the near empty hallways, Erik – and their unpleasant encounter - have already been dismissed and easily forgotten.
x
“Charles,” Logan whispers, his name falling like a prayer from his lover’s lips. “Charles, I’m going to come.”
He’s on his knees on the hard stone floor, surrounded by the palace’s extensive stock of fine wine and barrels of Genoshan ale; a far cry from silk sheets and a warm bed, and the days when he and Logan had the luxury of time. But there is no place he’d rather be than here, letting Logan fuck his mouth as he strokes him to completion with deft hands, relishing the taste when he comes in hot spurts, and licking his lips to savor every last drop.
“Mm,” he teases, as Logan slumps to the ground, pulling Charles onto his lap with a grunt. “You taste good.”
Logan huffs, a smile on his lips. “Better than the roasted beef at tonight’s banquet?”
Charles grins. “Better than all the dishes put together. Better than anything.”
Here, in the bowels of the palace overlooking Hammer Bay, Charles can let the façade of the Prince Consort fall away, if only for a few stolen moments. Can forget about the hundreds of guests above them in the ballroom, eager to see Genosha’s royal couple together in their first official engagement. Can forget his sister’s admonishments to be careful and his father’s weary resignation; Emma’s constant attempts to pry into his affairs and Moira’s new and problematic appointment as Ambassador from England.
He can even forget that he is married now, to a king; to a man who finds him naïve at best and frivolous at worse, having shown no interest in Charles beyond the might of his Gift and his talents in bed. This is his life now, and will be for the foreseeable future – to be a pretty bauble for his husband to show off and occasionally fuck, and to be content with nothing more than furtive glances and irregular trysts with the man he actually loves.
“Hey,” Logan teases, jostling him slightly. “Come back inside that big brain of yours.”
Charles smiles and leans close for a kiss, licking Logan’s lips open with a press of his tongue. “I was just thinking, about how much I love you.”
“Charles,” his lover answers, and the expression on Logan’s face grows solemn even as he gently strokes Charles’ cheek. “I love you. I will always love you. No matter what happens. It’s you and me.”
This is not how Charles wants to spend the little time he can scrounge with Logan, the two of them mourning their freedom and the choices they’ve had to make. They have already exchanged the words that truly matter – promises of love, and devotion if not fidelity – the night before his wedding to Erik.
“You have done a poor job loving me,” Charles taunts, rubbing his straining erection against Logan’s hard stomach. “Do I have to satisfy myself tonight? Stroking my own cock as I lay in my bed, with the taste of you still on my lips?”
Logan’s response is to tuck himself back inside his trousers, before lifting Charles off his lap with a growl, and pressing him against the wall. Charles’ cape is already laying on the ground from when he first entered the cellar, and now Logan proceeds to strip him quickly and efficiently, until the bottom half of him is entirely bare.
He watches Logan slick his fingers from a vial in his pocket, his legs almost shaking with anticipation. When he feels the wet slide of a finger pushing in, he moans, and Logan chuckles against his ear.
“Look at you,” he breathes, and Charles whines, clenching at the feel of Logan’s finger as he starts to move. “So perfect, so beautiful. Coming apart for me. Wishing it was my cock doing this to you instead.”
He does, more than anything; wants to feel the weight of it, thick and hard, pushing inside of him. But they both know that time is limited, especially tonight of all nights, and Charles will have to be satisfied being fucked by Logan’s fingers.
“More,” he moans, and his lover complies, slipping a second finger in with the first, rubbing against his spot with an accuracy borne from years of familiarity. He rides Logan’s fingers eagerly as Logan kisses and mouths his neck, losing himself in the heat of arousal as the pleasure builds with every new thrust.
He spares a moment to imagine the indecent picture he makes, hiding in the cellar with Logan’s fingers up his arse. Imagines the look on Erik’s face if he knew that Charles was here, getting fucked, instead of dancing and laughing with his sister. The petty satisfaction sends an unexpected spike of lust to his groin, and that, combined with Logan stroking him is enough to send Charles over the edge with a gasp, pulsing all over his lover’s hand with a shuddering sigh.
x
Erik
Emma slips behind the curtain to join him, not long after Charles’ abrupt departure back into the crowd. Her expression is oddly sympathetic tonight, something Erik would normally reject with vehemence, but he is too tired to do much more than turn away with a grunt, reaching to pour himself another drink.
“He’s very good,” she murmurs, and he doesn’t have to ask to know that Emma is referring to his husband. “Standing next to him all night I couldn’t parse a single thought from that pretty little head. And now he’s all but disappeared; I can’t locate him at all, though I know he hasn’t left the palace.”
“He hasn’t,” Erik agrees, because Charles is good at many things, not the least of which is maintaining appearances. “He’ll be back for the speech, and play dutiful husband by my side.”
Emma scoffs, though the usual scorn is missing from her jab. “Isn’t that why you picked him? Because he was smart enough to play the game?”
Erik scrubs his face tiredly and takes a long sip from his crystal goblet. “I picked him because he’s an Xavier, and I wanted to punish his father by taking his only son. I picked him because he’s a mutant, and young, and easy to ignore. And because he’s pretty enough to be a pleasurable fuck.”
“But something’s changed since then, hasn’t it? I can almost taste your anger leaking all over this room.”
He can’t find the words to convey everything he’s feeling at the moment, so he sends Emma permission to look, letting her piece together all of his fragmented and contradictory thoughts.
“Oh Erik,” she sighs, “this is unexpected. Falling in love with your own husband? How quaint.”
“Isn’t it?” he chuckles, the sound ringing hollow to his own ears. “He’s in the cellar.”
She doesn’t understand at first, not for a few long moments, and then suddenly Emma’s eyes narrow and her nostrils flare. “And he’s not alone.”
“No,” he agrees. “Most definitely, not alone.”
He should be grateful for this show of support from Emma, her indignation on his behalf that Charles has the audacity to take a lover right under Erik’s nose. Instead, he sends a wave of annoyance at her reaction, and says, “I haven’t been a very good husband.”
Emma rolls her eyes. “That’s hardly an excuse for adultery. And I can’t believe you’re defending him!”
He shrugs. “I’m not; only speaking the truth. I married him with no intention of ever caring for him, with the expectation that he would play his role dutifully in public and spend his nights in my bed. He has performed his end of the bargain admirably…I can hardly fault him for finding love elsewhere.”
“So you’ll allow him to carry on like this? You’re not going to put a stop to this…thing he has with Howlett?”
Of course Erik has considered putting a stop to Charles’ affair with Logan; had known before tonight that the two shared much more than a simple friendship. His thoughts have strayed more than once to the idea of driving a metal spike through Howlett’s heart, to see if his touted healing power could withstand the full weight of Erik’s wrath.
“If I kill him, I’ll lose Charles.”
He has little doubt, with things as they are, that Charles’ affections for Logan supersede any perceived loyalty he might feel for Erik or their marriage; had watched with growing dissatisfaction throughout the entire evening, as Charles’ eyes darted frequently out to the crowded ballroom, attention drifting ever towards his lover. And though his young husband could shield his thoughts easily from Emma and others like her, Charles’ excitement and anticipation were almost palpable to Erik, who could see his intent clear as day.
“You don’t have to kill him,” Emma reasons, “just get rid of him. Send him back to England. It’s not as though Charles needs a bodyguard here.”
Erik shakes his head. “Charles will not let him go easily and Howlett will simply refuse. Loathe as I am to have him here I can’t make a move against him without cause.”
“Do you hear yourself? The Great Magneto, afraid to act?” she jeers, raising an elegant eyebrow at his words. “He is sleeping with your husband, Erik. That’s grounds enough to execute him.”
“And then the world will know that Charles has breached our marriage vows. He will be sent home in disgrace, to suffer the displeasure of his father and the censure of the English king. They will send me another spouse to secure our peace treaty, and I will have to live with someone I despise, instead of someone I cherish who does not love me back.”
It had been a difficult thing, watching Charles pull away from him, feeling the wedding band Erik crafted moving farther and farther away. The metal on Charles’ finger calls to him like a siren’s song, letting him track his wayward husband easily through the ballroom and the passageways, through the cellar doors and down the stairs; lets him feel the back and forth movement of Charles’ hand as he pleasures his lover while wearing Erik’s ring.
“Will you do nothing then,” Emma asks, and the disapproval is clear in her tone. “Allow them to make a fool of you behind your back and risk your reputation and Genosha’s if their affair is exposed?”
Erik finishes his drink, and grins, baring his teeth with a sharp and confident smile. “What I will do, is win my husband’s affections,” he says. “It is only a matter of time. And time, my dear Emma, is on my side.”
x
Charles
When Charles returns Erik is waiting in almost the exact same spot, nursing his drink and staring at a painting of his inauguration hanging on the far wall. He adjusts his collar and cape discretely before moving closer, and tries not to squirm when Erik turns to greet him, raking his observant eyes over Charles from head to toe.
“You look flushed,” Erik muses, reaching to run a finger along his cheek, his eyes boring holes into Charles’ skin. “And your hair is a bit…wind-blown. Did you and Raven go outside?”
“Yes,” he lies, letting Erik smooth his tousled curls with an easy smile. “It’s a nice night for a walk in the gardens.”
His husband answers with a soft hum, circling him like a wolf on the hunt before brushing his thumb gently against Charles’ bottom lip. “You look quite lovely like this, all awash with…contentment. I want you to join me in my chambers tonight.”
The request is unexpected, and not entirely welcome; he had counted on Erik being too tired with the evening’s festivities to want Charles in his bed. “You want…what?”
“I wish to have you,” Erik whispers, his hands moving to pull Charles close, sliding slowly down his back before coming to rest on the swell of his buttocks. “I wish to kiss your puffy, red lips and taste your skin and fuck you until you scream my name.”
He has to bite back a wince when Erik presses his finger against Charles’ entrance, still sensitive from his earlier love-making with Logan. “Yes, of course,” he agrees, because he cannot afford to raise Erik’s suspicions, or his ire. “I’ll join you after a quick bath.”
“Excellent,” his husband answers, and then he’s kissing Charles softly, wrapping an arm around his waist in a bewildering show of intimacy and affection. “Come, Charles,” Erik says, looking both amused and determined, “time to put on a good show.”