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The hallway looks the same as all others, like a labyrinth of passages. Sleek and dark, made of the highest grade metals. Every few steps, a door is carved into the walls. None open at his attempts to surpass them, each looking the exact same as those before it.
It’s safe to say that Charles has gotten himself lost.
He’s been here for two days. Most of his time has been spent locked away in his temporary quarters located in the guest wing, or preparing for his wedding day. There will be plenty of festivities, most of them violent, or involving copious amounts of drinks, some both. He’ll be happy if he never has to see another slaughter at the arena again, but he knows he won’t have such luck. His husband-to-be, the na-baron, Max Verstappen, is known far and wide as a great warrior. A true fighter.
Charles knows how Max is described by the sisterhood: Intelligent, hungry, cruel, possessive, uncontrollable, a merciless leader. He also knows Max, has since they were barely into their teens, and has loathed him for just as long. Capable of kindness, determined, and above all, fiercely loyal, he knows he does not have to fear Max like he should the baron.
It was the baron who approved of their match. Ferrari had always planned it, for them to be together, for Charles to bear him a daughter, but then he himself had been born a son instead of a daughter. It was considered a disgrace. A damning choice, made by his mother.
But rare as it might be, even as a male, Charles could still bear children, and Ferrari sought to use him in the exact way his mother had tried to prevent, to continue House Verstappen’s bloodline.
He didn’t know his mother’s part in the story until she told him three days ago, on his last night on Monte Carlo, his home planet.
“This area is restricted.” Charles startles at the sound of the voice. He turns around to argue, but finds himself backed into a wall with a blade pressed against his throat instead. He curses himself for getting distracted.
When the blade lifts ever so slightly away from his skin, he presses his lips into a thin line. “I got lost.” He says flatly.
His assailant rolls his eyes. “I’m sure you did.” Max says, mimicking his tone, “You’re supposed to be in your room, princess.”
Charles tries hard not to scowl, but from the twitch in Max’s lip, it seems like he failed to hide his annoyance either way. “I’ve been trying to get there for about an hour. Like I said, I got lost.”
Max huffs. It’s not clear whether he believes him or not. “Roaming these corridors can be dangerous, you never know who you’ll come across,” He glances down at the dress Charles is wearing, pure white, adorned with lace, to show his purity. Max’s eyes are dark when he looks back up again. “Good thing I found you instead.”
He shivers. “Yeah…” Charles clears his throat uncomfortably. “Wouldn’t want your husband-to-be getting hurt…”
“Oh, princess,” He chuckles. “Men wouldn’t have to worry,” Max reaches out with his free hand and brushes his fingers over Charles’ facial hair. The knife is still dangerously close to cutting his skin. “But we both know you’re not going to be considered my husband, you’ll be considered my wife.”
Heat slowly creeps up from his chest to his face, red skin contrasting with white lace. He knows that, but it angers him to hear it being said out loud, to hear Max say it out loud. From the moment he landed on Max’s home planet, he has been treated like a girl, no longer allowed to wear pants, graced with only the most delicate dresses. They’d examined his body in full, to prove his innocence and purity, his virginity, and had bathed him in a milky liquid until not a single body hair remained.
He had to be perfect for his future husband, bare and ripe. Untouched.
It’s humiliating.
“I’m not a girl,” He hisses, jerking his head away from Max’s touch. “And I’m not your consort yet either.”
“Tomorrow you will be,” Max promises. His smile looks mocking, his voice more so, “My pretty little wife, ready to bear me a daughter.”
Charles feels the tips of his ears burn. “I’m not a concubine!” He snaps. “I’m more than just a womb.”
Max snorts. “Are you? Does Ferrari know?” When Charles doesn’t reply, he continues, “Come on, Charlie, don’t deny it. That’s why you’re here, you’re supposed to seduce me,” He presses his upper thigh between Charles’ legs. “You’re supposed to be bred by me.”
Shame curls into his stomach. He doesn’t understand how Max knows all of this when Ferrari’s breeding program is supposed to be a well kept secret. Does Max know because of his half-sister? Or was Ferrari forced to inform the baron so he’d approve their match and he told his son? Max knowing makes him feel exposed, vulnerable.
“Why are you doing this…” He hesitates, “If you know, why are you going along with it?”
He leans forward, his breath tickling against Charles’ jaw. The knife disappears from his skin as Max holsters it, but he keeps Charles pressed against the wall, caged in, trapped. “You’re mine, are you not?”
“I– Oh.” He swallows heavily. Is it really that simple for Max?
Max says nothing as he slowly starts to rub his thigh against Charles’ pussy. He can feel everything, the low pressure building in his gut, his face heating up in humiliation, Max’s smile against his neck. The layers of his dress and panties are simultaneously too thin and too thick.
“What are you doing?” He gasps out, alarmed, trembling fingers grasping hold of Max’s shoulders.
“Why wait?” Max licks a stripe up his throat. “What’s an extra day when I could breed you right here, right now.”
His voice goes high pitched, “Here?”
Max chuckles. “Why not? You’re already soaking through your dress, princess.”
Charles blushes. He feels sensitive, every movement stimulating his cunt more and more. It… It feels good, more than he expected. It feels like nothing he’s ever felt before. It makes sense, of course, he’s never touched himself before, and Max would know this, he’d have seen his full examination, would know that Charles is a virgin, that he’s never even played with himself, as was expected of him. Because if he wasn’t perfectly pure, he wasn’t wanted. And if he wasn’t wanted, he wasn’t needed.
Now, he’s not so sure how true that was.
“Good girl,” Max praises, pressing soft kisses against Charles’ heated skin. Charles whimpers when he realises he’s humping against Max’s leg like a common whore. “This is what you want, right? To get off? For me to fuck you, to put a baby girl inside of you?”
“Max..!” He pants– whines. He’s not sure what he’s asking for, but it’s hard to focus when Max rucks up his dress and pulls down his panties, exposing his pussy.
His leg disappears, and Max doesn’t waste any time to slide two fingers right into his cunt. Charles lets out a surprised squeak that turns into a moan when Max starts to fuck his fingers deeper into him. “Look at you,” Max sucks a mark on his neck. “So easy for it. You want this, don’t you? Want me to take you right here, fill you up, make you drip with my come.”
Charles rocks his hips against Max’s hand. “Please,” He whimpers. Fuck. He’s so wet already, his cunt pulsing with desire. “More, s’il vous plaît.”
Max bites down on his jaw. Charles hisses at the pain blooming under his skin, but gets quickly distracted when Max slips his fingers out of him. Before he can whine, Max shoves him further up the wall, forcing Charles to hold on tightly to his shoulders and wrap his legs around Max’s hips. He wants to protest, but his mind shortcuts when he feels Max’s dick rub against his cunt.
He chews on his lips as he looks down between their bodies where Max’s dick slides between his folds, becoming more and more slippery. He could still say no, tell Max that he doesn’t want this, that they should wait until tomorrow, when they’re supposed to consummate their marriage, but he does want this.
To know, to feel, to have the pleasure build up until it snaps.
Charles kisses Max the exact moment the tip of his dick slips inside. He groans into Max’s mouth as he pushes deep inside of Charles, his pussy stretched wide around his cock, his walls going tight around him.
Strong hands hold him up with ease, and Charles moans when the angle changes. Max is unrelenting, his pace rough and fast, making Charles take it like he’s made for it.
It’s easy. His body is easy. His cunt opens up every time Max thrusts back inside of him, forcing noises out of Charles he didn’t even know he was capable of making. His back aches every time he’s fucked into, his thighs strain from trying to keep Max deep inside of him, his eyes watery with pleasure.
Heat burns through his veins, desire like a fire deep inside of his gut. He feels delirious with desire, with want, with need, for Max to keep him filled up and stretched, to give him pain and pleasure in equal measure. It feels primal, to be used like this, to have Max’s cock fuck his cunt open until he’s sloppy and getting closer to tethering on the edge.
Max breaks the kiss and trails his lips down his throat, allowing Charles to breathe, to fill his lungs with air, to blink away the tears from his eyes. Charles moans when he bites down harshly. “Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” Max mumbles. Charles wants to sob. “My beautiful little wife.”
“I’m not–.” Charles gasps out before he’s cut off.
Max lets out a strained laugh, pulling so far back that only the tip of his cock is still inside of Charles. “But you are, aren’t you? You’re a good little girl, the perfect little wife, so willing to give Ferrari our daughter. Unless,” Charles whimpers this time, when Max bites down on his neck, leaving another set of teeth marks on his skin. “Unless you’re a good boy, my perfect husband, willing to give us a son, our son, a baby boy.”
Charles remembers what his mother told him their last night together. The story of his birth. It felt like a warning, to not make the same choices, or, to not make the same mistakes. He’s not sure. He knows what Ferrari wants him to do, what he must do.
He must give Max Verstappen a daughter.
That is his faith.
His destiny.
Charles mewls loudly when Max roughly fucks back into him, his hips aching with the force. Somewhere, a door opens. Charles can’t focus with Max’s cock buried deep inside of him.
“You like this, don’t you?” Max says breathily, lips sliding up the slope of his neck to the shell of his ear. “So desperate for my cock.”
“Please,” He whimpers, his cunt clenching tightly around Max. “I need it, I need you. Please, Max, fuck me– breed me.”
Max’s hips stutters. “Fuck.” His head drops onto Charles’ shoulder. “Say it again.”
He buries his fingers into Max’s hair. “Breed me,” He pants, squeezing his eyes tightly shut. “Fill me up, fuck your come into me, ah–!” Charles lets out a broken moan. Max’s thrusts become more erratic with every passing second. He feels used, his pussy puffy and full, pleasure pulsing deep inside of his core. He feels used, and he feels wanted. Something inside of him snaps, “I’m yours,” Charles lets out a strangled cry. “Max, s’il vous plaît, I’m yours, I'm yours, I’m yours, make me yours–.”
Two becomes three.
Pleasure erupts inside of him, like a thopter making an emergency landing, harsh and thunderous, destructive, but he’s never felt more alive. Colours blur behind his eyelids, and it’s loud, so incredibly loud. His heartbeat pounds in his head, Max’s breathing is laboured next to his ear, his own throat feels abused, like he’d been screaming.
Charles can feel Max’s come spill inside of him, his cunt clenching around Max’s throbbing cock until he stills. Then his dick slips out and Max slowly lets Charles back down onto the ground. His legs feel unstable, still shaking from the force of his orgasm, and Charles grumbles softly, holding onto Max’s neck to keep upright.
“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Max mumbles, delighted, in wonder. He licks over one of the bite marks he left behind on Charles’ throat, sliding three fingers back into his pussy. “Perfect cunt, perfect fuck, perfect wife.”
He shudders, hiding his face against Max’s neck with a sigh. His chest feels warm, glowing hot like embers, making him want to preen. His entire body feels exhausted, but he’s cosy, and he’s sated, his pussy aching but satisfied, come slowly leaking out of him. Everything feels warmer, brighter– happier. He could fall asleep like this, right in Max’s arms.
His head feels fuzzy, in the clouds, and it isn’t until Max pumps his fingers into his cunt a few times, before sliding them out completely, that the fog starts to disappear.
“Look at me, princess,” Max cups his jaw, coaxing his head off of his shoulder. Charles stares at him, still somewhat dazed, Max’s blue eyes keep him captivated. “Open that pretty little mouth of yours.”
Charles parts his lips obediently. Max presses his come-coated fingers onto his tongue, letting Charles clean them up. He moans softly, his pussy clenching around nothing. When Max withdraws his fingers, Charles whines, “Max.”
Max rubs his thumb over Charles’ spit-slick lips. “Such a needy slut,” His cheeks burn at the praise. “Don’t worry, you’ll get more tomorrow.”
Tomorrow… Right, yeah. Charles blinks a few times. They’re getting married tomorrow. That’s when he’s supposed to lose his virginity on their wedding night, when he’s supposed to seduce Max, to have Max lay him down and impregnate him, and to make sure it’s a daughter.
Charles slowly drops one of his hands from Max’s shoulder, letting it rest onto his stomach.
That’s what is supposed to happen.
Max hums, eyes cast down between them. His hands move down Charles’ sides, to his thighs. He hooks his fingers into Charles’ panties and drags them up. Then he moves up and pulls the dress down past his hips. The soaked fabric makes Charles squirm.
“Well then,” Max looks him straight in the eye. Charles can’t look away. They’re gorgeous, mesmerising, a shade of blue so intense it makes Charles forget what he was thinking about. “Did you get what you wanted?”
It was never about what Charles wanted. It was always about what Ferrari wanted. A girl, to continue the Leclerc and Verstappen bloodlines, to combine them and eventually bring forth the Kwisatz Haderach. There is no choice there, Charles doesn’t have a choice there. What he wants is not what matters.
He focuses on the life inside of him.
A life. Alive. No longer alone in his own body. He doesn’t need to say anything, his silence is enough, they both know that Charles is with child, their child. Their baby, a healthy baby, meant to be born nine months from now, like planned, just one day early.
Charles doesn’t even remember the moment he became pregnant.
Max places his hand on top of his. He’s waiting for an answer. Charles has to say it out loud, but saying it out loud makes it real. “Come on, princess, tell me.” Max urges, and he sounds impossibly gentle, encouraging even, like Charles is scared. He’s not, he can’t be scared, that’s not an option.
No, he’s not scared, he’s horrified.
Then, Max smiles at him and Charles feels dizzy with desperate affection. He wants to give Max everything he wants. “It’s,” He swallows. It comes out in a whisper, “It’s a boy.”
Their fingers intertwine on top of his stomach. He thinks about Max and their baby, he thinks about his mother and himself, he thinks about Ferrari.
His faith, his destiny, his purpose.
What has he done?