Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Gala: noun. A social occasion with special entertainments or performances.”

You love the word “gala.” It’s different. Sharp. Chic. Fun to say. It just rolls off your tongue so nicely. Gala. Gala. Gala, gala, gala. Galagalagalagalagalagalagala--

If only the event itself were as entertaining as the word.

It’s stuffy. The flutes of champagne --which, admittedly, is divine--are too small to get drunk off of, the hors d'oeuvres are insultingly tiny, the music is some chic, modern orchestral stuff that’s making you sleepy, and the company --a bunch of Xavier’s funders and political friends, because it’s schmoozing season at the Institute--is fucking boring.

Not to mention the gown you’re wearing --which cost enough to have you seeing red and contemplating joining up with Nate and Wade, because holy shit you could feed a family of five for a month with the money you spent on this thing--is royally uncomfortable. It fits you fine (it better, since you also had to put down good money for the tailoring), but you feel awkward in it and you’d much rather be wearing your sweatpants and one of Piotr’s t-shirts.

Speaking of…

It’s the only upside of this event, seeing your boyfriend gussied up like this. He’s wearing a tuxedo, a crisp, pleated white shirt, a dark red bowtie, and leather shoes shined to the point of gleaming like glass. His hair’s gelled and neatly combed, and he looks…

Delicious. Irresistible. Like a snacc.

Sexy.

You wobble in your heels --another atrocity the night’s forced upon you--and swear under your breath as you try to keep from tripping on the carpet in the mansion’s event hall (which is normally used for school assembly, talent shows, and other parties for the students). Normally, you’re a fan of the mansion’s plush carpeting; it feels good under your feet and absorbs a lovely amount of shock whenever you happen to trip and fall flat on your ass, but your stilettos keep sinking into it and throwing you off balance, and you’re just about ready to say “fuck it” and take the damn things off--

Piotr appears at your side and holds out an arm to you. “Are you okay, myshka?”

You heave a sigh of relief and lean against your mountain of a man. “I am now.” You smile at how he glows from your earnest proclamation and give his arm an appreciative squeeze. “Thanks --Spasibo.”

“Konechno, moya lyubov'.” He waits until you’ve regained your balance, then slowly walks you over to one of the vast, floor to ceiling windows where it’s a little quieter. “How are you holding up?”

“I don’t see why I have to be here,” you grumble, fidgeting with one of the straps on your dress. “Nobody’s talking to me, anyway.”

Piotr sighs and dips his head in understanding. “I am sorry, myshka. But, for sake of appearances--”

“Yeah, yeah, play the political gambit and all that, I know,” you mutter.

It’d been Xavier’s idea, actually. He was concerned about how the funders of the Institute would accept Piotr as the future headmaster, so he’d asked you to come along and play the role of the devoted girlfriend.

“It sets… more traditional minds at ease,” the Professor had explained when you’d initially balked. “The mind associates romantic commitment with dependability and longevity --both values that our backers wish to see in the future leader of the school.”

You scoff at the memory; anyone who knows Piotr would know he’s the picture of dependability and longevity (in every applicable sense). Still, you’re happy to play the role of the devoted partner, because you are, but God it’s not fucking worth these shoes.

Piotr chuckles when you tell him as much. “Your sacrifices are appreciated, dorogoy.” He kisses your temple chastely, then shifts his arm around your back so you can lean against him more bodily. “This will be over soon.”

“It better be.”

“Just couple of more hours.”

You groan --quietly, you do have some sense of manners, Scott. “Kill me.”

“I will do no such thing.” Piotr smiles, sympathetic, when you shift from foot to foot to try and ease the pain. “But, when this is done and we are in bed, I will give you back massage. Khorosho?”

You gaze up at him plaintively. “Will you rub my feet and calves, too?”

“Konechno.” He takes your hand in his and kisses your palm, then glances over to where Xavier’s talking to a few men in suits. “Duty calls.”

You smile and squeeze his hand, then watch your boyfriend cross the room to “play politics” some more. Must be convenient, sending mental messages.

Not for the first time tonight, you wish you had telepathic abilities. You can’t be on your phone right now --social faux pas and all that--but if you were a telepath, you’d at least be able to chat with Wade while waiting for this exercise in slow torture to be over. Or, if your brother wasn’t available for boredom alleviation, you could scan the minds of the guests; find weaknesses, bargaining tactics, hidden agendas…

It’d be better than just standing around and being ignored. You scowl slightly, but quickly fix your expression before anyone can notice. You pick up another champagne flute when a server with a tray passes by, then go back to dissociating while pretending to watch the room.

Your mind wanders back to the whole telepathy idea --and then you really wish you had the ability, because holy shit you could torment Piotr with dirty thoughts while waiting for this all to be over.

(It’d only be fair, too, seeing as how he decided to get all dressed up and leave you to deal with the horny side effects.)

You lament not being a telepath all over again… then grin wickedly when you realize that you have an alternative at your disposal.

Piotr catches your Cheshire cat grin from across the room. His brow furrows imperceptibly (likely because he knows that expression means trouble of the highest order, usually for him).

You wave innocently at him, but your devious smile doesn’t lighten in the least. Oh, this is gonna be fun.

You start off small. Tame. Innocuous, even.

You keep close to Piotr, mostly because you don’t want to humiliate him (or yourself). You insinuate yourself in the same circle as him (not too close, because you don’t want him looking down at you and blowing the whole operation, that’s for later, not now), and nod and smile along while he, Xavier, and the various bigwigs talking about funding and Senate policy and mutant acceptance in society.

You wait a few minutes, enough that you can tell Piotr’s reasonably forgotten about your maniacal smiling, then lift your champagne glass to your lips before whispering, “Your ass looks amazing in those pants.”

Piotr’s eyes widen (not enough to catch the attention of the others, but enough for you to know he heard you). He does a quick survey of the group, then looks directly at you when he realizes what’s happening.

You wink at him, biting back a giggle as his ears turn red. Oh, honey, you’re in for it now.

“You look so fucking sexy.”

“I want to suck your cock while you wear that suit.”

“I wish we could sneak away and you could fuck me against a wall somewhere.”

You keep barraging Piotr with dirty comments, suggestions, and observations as the night drags on, courtesy of the “whisper” technique your uncle taught you a few months ago. You have to be careful with how you bend the sound waves of your voice, given that there are so many people around, but the extra effort is worth it.

To your boyfriend’s credit, he’s got an excellent poker face. Save for the redness of his ears and his tighter than usual grip on his champagne glass, there’s no easy way of telling that you’re dirty talking to him in front of the gala attendees.

(Charles knows. Even if he wasn’t a telepath, he’d be able to read you and Piotr both and figure out what’s going on.

The Professor seems none too perturbed by your antics, though --likely because you’re spacing them out enough that you’re not distracting Piotr too badly or impeding his ability to converse with the other guests. In fact, if the amused glint in his eye seems to indicate that he finds what you’re doing somewhat funny.)

Your real opportunity, though, comes when everyone sits down for an orchestra performance halfway through the event. You’re sitting next to Piotr, and with everyone’s eyes on the musicians, no one will even notice the subtle movements of your lips as you tell your lover every dirty, scandalous thing you want to do to him and vice versa.

You wait a few minutes, just to be sure that no one’s paying attention to either of you, then lean against Piotr’s side and get started. “Have I mentioned how fucking sexy you look in that suit?”

Piotr lets out a quiet growl --nothing that gets the attention of the other patrons, no, you’re both safely encapsulated in your soundproof bubble--and curls one hand around yours. “You think yourself very clever, myshka? Hm?”

“Isn’t that why you like me?” You grin when he favors you with a smile (you’re right, after all), then keep going. “I wish we could just leave; I want you to bend me over our bed and fuck me until I scream.”

His grip on your hand tightens --not enough to hurt, not even remotely--but it’s a definite warning.

Behave. Please.

Your answer is an assured, decided no.

“Don’t you want to fuck me, baby?” you murmur, delighting in the way Piotr’s shoulders tense. “Don’t you like how I feel wrapped around your cock?” You duck your head to hide an excited grin when Piotr’s breath leaves him in a heavy rush. “I wanna feel you inside me so bad. You’re so nice and thick, stretch me out so good…”

Piotr’s jaw convulses. He’s staring straight ahead, gaze determinedly locked on the performers --but he slips his hand out of yours and places it on your thigh instead.

A thrill shoots down your spine. You grin, giddy and aroused, and keep whispering to him about all the dirty thoughts on your mind. “I want to suck you off so bad, babe. In this damn suit. You look so incredible, and I want nothing more than to feel your cock down my throat.”

His grip on your thigh tightens.

“Do you even know how wet I am right now?” you tease. “It’s be a miracle if I don’t have a damp spot on this fucking dress when I stand up. You’ll hardly even need to prep me, I’ll be so ready for you.” You core throbs at the thought, and you have to take a calming breath before continuing. “But I know you will anyway because you’re a gentleman, because you care about me, and I honestly can’t decide whether I’d have a better time riding your fingers or your face.” You look up at him, expression serene. “Do you have a preference, baby? You’re so good with both your fingers and your tongue; makes it really hard to choose…”

Piotr doesn’t look at you, doesn’t say anything, but his thumb slowly traces nonsensical designs on your thigh.

You quickly hide your cheeky grin when the orchestra finishes and the players stand to bow. You applaud, then stand with a helping hand from Piotr --but when you meet his gaze you have to choke back a gasp.

His sky blue eyes are dark, stormy with lust. He stares down at you, lips parted slightly and cheeks flushed. His gaze rakes over your body, lingering on your chest and hips before meeting your eyes once more.

You shiver when he presses a warm, firm kiss against your knuckles, then stare after him as he strides off to speak with a group of politicians that happen to be “personal friends” of Charles’s. You lick your lips and try to breathe normally as your heart races in your chest.

Oh, you’re in for it now.

By the time the gala wraps up, it’s past midnight. Countless sleek, dark colored sedans and sports cars parade down the drive, glinting under the city lights before disappearing from view.

The rest of the X-Men in attendance disperse --you and Piotr included.

“Thank fuck that’s over.” You groan in relief when you kick your heels off and curl your toes against the hallway carpet. “Ugh, I’ve been waiting all night to do that.”

“Congratulations, myshka.” Piotr smiles while you take your earrings off, then places a hand on the small of your back as the two of you walk towards the stairs. “You did very good job tonight.”

“At what? Drinking as much champagne as humanly possible without getting trashed, dissociating, or, ah…” You grin and waggle your eyebrows at him. “Keeping you entertained?”

Piotr huffs and lets his hand dip lower to your hip. “Da, you are very good at that, too. However, I meant that you did good job handling guests. You were very composed.”

You stop climbing the stairs to squint up at your boyfriend. “Where is this going? Where did this even come from?”

“You used to be very nervous around strangers,” Piotr explains. He smiles softly and strokes the swell of your cheek with his thumb. “You have worked very hard and grown so much, moya lyubov’. I am so proud of you.”

You blink rapidly as a lump rises in your throat. “Well, this is not how I’d planned on crying off my make up tonight--” you grin when Piotr scoffs, then take off both your earrings to give your ears a break “--but it’s appreciated all the same. Uh. Wow. Thank you, Piotr.”

“Konechno.” He dips his head to kiss you, sweet and tender, then smiles at you when the kiss ends a few moments later. “Ya tebya lyublyu.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.” You kiss him again, then reach down and tug on his belt. “So… are you going to fuck me, or…”

Piotr smirks and rolls his eyes --then sweeps you up into his arms and captures your lips in a deep, passionate kiss.

You let out a startled moan. Your eyes flutter shut, and you wrap your legs around his waist as he finishes carrying you the rest of the way upstairs.

His hands cup your ass, squeezing --which makes you squeak--as he steps off the last step and into the hall of the mansion’s third floor. He strides, long and fast, to your bedroom’s door, opens it with one hand, then steps inside and kicks it closed before whirling and pressing you against the door.

You arch against your boyfriend as he starts sucking on your neck. Exhilaration and arousal surges through your veins, clouding out every other thought save for him and his hands and his dick and-- You blink when you feel your earrings clack against each other in your hand. “Shit. Hey, wait. I need to put my earrings away.”

Piotr --who’d already stopped the second you said “wait”--sets you down and kisses the top of your head. “Khorosho.”

You drop your shoes and dart across the room, to the shelf where you keep your jewelry box (that Piotr made and painted for you no less). You tuck your earrings inside, then turn back to your boyfriend. “Thanks. Those are my favorite pair; I didn’t want to lose them.”

Piotr hums, then takes your hand in his and kisses your knuckles --and then drags you over to the bed, spins you around, and bends you over against the bed.

You gasp. Your cunt throbs with anticipation and need. You whimper when he grinds against you, and your fingers curl into the bedspread. “Piotr--”

“I believe,” he murmurs, voice husky and accent thicker from his own arousal, “that this was one of your ideas, da? For me to…” He places his hands on your hips, squeezing gently. “...bend you over our bed and fuck you until you scream, da?”

“Yes.” You’re panting, pressing back against his crotch (and you can feel how hard he his through his slacks, fuck). “Yes, Piotr, please --fuck me. Please, please fuck me.”

He growls, then tugs you upright. “In due course.” His hands traverse your body, caressing you through the silken fabric of your dress. “First things first… I believe this will be easier if we are undressed.”

You all but fling your arms behind you and start groping around for the zipper. “Where the fuck is that fucking zipper!”

Piotr laughs, then gently bats your hands away. “Here, dorogoya moya. I can do this for you.”

“Thanks, baby.” You go still for him, sighing, then shiver when he presses his lips against your neck. “Piotr…”

“Part of me does not wish to see you out of this,” he murmurs against your skin. He gently pulls the zipper down, then brushes his lips against your shoulder. “You are very beautiful tonight, myshka.”

“Really?” you ask, slightly incredulous and indescribably pleased.

“Really,” Piotr assures you as he guides the dress down your body. He kisses your neck again, then gently nips at your skin. “Krasivaya. Always.”

You whimper as a wave of lust threatens to have your knees out. You whine when Piotr steps away from you --without the warmth he radiates, you’re cold--then gasp and whirl around. “Wait. Before you get naked, there’s something I want to do.”

Piotr pauses in undoing his tie and gives you a quizzical stare. Then, his eyes widen in remembrance. His cheeks flush, and he grins. “Ah. Konechno. If you wish.”

“Oh, I wish.” You walk him over to his desk chair, then sink to your knees on the floor while he sits in the chair. “I’ve been thinking about sucking your cock while you wear this suit all night, sweetheart. I’m not about to forgo it now.”

He sucks a breath through his teeth, then lifts his hips once you’ve undone his belt buckle and fly so you can tug his pants and briefs down for better access. He groans when you take his stiff cock in one hand, head tipping back as you slowly pump your hand up and down. “Myshka…”

“Feel free to be loud for me.” You wink at him when he sputters, flustered. “It’s incredibly sexy.”

And then you flatten your tongue against his shaft and lick him from root to tip.

Piotr sighs your name as you lick him up and down. One of his hands settles on your head, gently holding your hair away from your face. He groans when you close your lips around the tip of his cock, hips twitching towards you. “Myshka…”

You slowly bob your head, taking your time to enjoy the way his dick feels in your mouth. You curl your hand around the base of his shaft and gently squeeze and stroke him in tandem with your sucking. You moan when Piotr’s grip on your hair tightens, then start working him deeper into your mouth. You keep going --occasionally pausing to simply jerk him off to give your jaw a break--until he’s panting and his hips are rocking up towards you--

“Zhdat'. Myshka, zhdat’--” He gently lifts your head off his dick, cradling your face in his massive hands. His cheeks are flushed, and his lips are parted as he gasps and pants. “I…” He lets out a breathless laugh. “That was very nice, but I… it would be best if you stopped now.”

You roll your jaw, then smirk up at him. “One of these days, babe. One of these days, you won’t want me to stop.”

He blanches. “Unlikely.”

“Are you saying my blowjob skills are subpar?”

Piotr sighs, rolls his eyes, then lifts you into his lap. “Podoydi syuda.”

You eagerly wind your arms around his neck and kiss him deeply. You whine when his tongue slips into your mouth and grind against his lap.

His hands rove over your body. He gropes at your ass, squeezing and caressing while you squirm against him. Then, his hands slide up your back, gently stroking your skin and making you shiver.

You tremble when another shudder zips down your spine, then break the kiss so you can undo the clasp on your bra and toss it to the side. You grab your boyfriend’s hands and bring them to your chest with a needy moan. “Here --please.”

He groans, then begins kneading your breasts with his hands. His head dips to your neck, lips and tongue trailing over your skin until you’re gasping. He sucks a breath through his teeth when your nails dig into his shoulders, then lets go of one breast so he can slip his fingers past the elastic band on your underwear and between your legs.

You both groan in unison as his fingers graze your slick folds.

“Piotr--” You clutch at him and let out a moan when he presses his fingers into your cunt and curls in. You jerk your hips against his hand, riding him as he slowly stretches you open. “Piotr --Piotr, please, please fuck me, I need you to fuck me--”

He moans your name, then withdraws his fingers from your pussy and starts shucking off his tuxedo jacket.

The two of you make quick work of undressing him, aside from the occasional pause to kiss or otherwise tease one another.

You tug his boxers down once he’s out of his slacks, then quickly yank your underwear off before kissing him once more. You cling to him as he walks both of you towards the bed; your head’s swimming with lust and endorphins, and the only thing keeping you upright at the moment is Piotr’s solid grip on your waist.

He spins you around --chuckling when you gasp--and presses you against the bed on your stomach, with your feet barely grazing the floor. “One moment, myshka.” He kisses the back of your neck (which makes you shiver), then steps away to find a condom and the bottle of lube he keeps in his nightstand.

You whine at the loss of his touch, his presence. Your core throbs, and you clench your thighs together to try and alleviate some of the ache.

There’s a quiet ripping noise as Piotr tears open the condom packet, followed by some barely audible crinkling as he rolls the condom over his erection. The pop of the cap lid on the lube bottle opening follows next, which is then followed by a wet squelch as he squeezes some onto his fingers.

“That’s what good mac and cheese sounds like,” you joke.

Piotr sighs --soft, fond, faintly exasperated--then steps behind you once more.

Anticipation thrums through your veins. You arch your hips towards him, then inhale sharply when you feel the head of his cock brush against your folds. “Please, Piotr, please--”

He latches onto your hips and lifts you slightly, just so that your hips line up better with his. He lines himself up with your core, then slowly presses in and--

Fuck.

You groan as his cock slowly slides inside your cunt. The stretch is unreal --as always, they don’t call him ‘Colossus’ for nothing--and the satisfaction of him filling you is like nothing else.

Piotr keeps going until his hips are flush with yours. He waits for a moment, lets you adjust, then slowly pulls back a few inches before pushing back in.

You whimper against the bed as he keeps going, slow and gentle. You’re aching for him to go harder, faster, but you know the routine of your sex life all too well by now: Piotr always starts slow, always takes his time to make sure you’re comfortable and that he’s not hitting anything wrong before properly fucking you.

(It’s not the worst thing. You’ve heard horror stories about men not caring about their female partner’s comfort, let alone pleasure. When it comes down to it, you’ll take your overly cautious boyfriend any day of the week.)

It’s worth the wait. Once Piotr’s satisfied that you’re comfortable and he’s not stabbing you in the cervix, he tightens his grip on your hips and starts thrusting in earnest.

“Ohshit.” You melt against the bed, eyes rolling into the back of your head before squeezing shut. You moan, and your fingers curl into the bedspread as pleasure licks through your pussy. “Yes, yes --Piotr, yes--”

He utters a low groan of your name. His fingers dig harder into your hips.

The bed creaks and sways under the force of his thrusts; you’re probably going to get some irritated looks from whoever’s in the room under yours tomorrow morning.

You let out a frustrated grunt --you love your boyfriend, but he’s not going fast enough to get you off and likely won’t out of some chivalrous fear of hurting you (which is sweet, but you want to cum). You prop yourself up on your elbows so you can thrust back against him and try and get the pace you need--

Piotr growls, then plants one hand against your back and shoves you back down against the bed.

Arousal shoots through your body, strong enough to nearly make you climax then and there; it’s like someone flipped a switch in your brain, and now you’re so turned on you can scarcely breathe right. You moan, then start babbling as Piotr fucks you faster. “Yes! Fuck me, Piotr --fuck me, fuck me, pleasepleasepleaseplease--”

He let out a thunderous moan of your name --and, as you’ve so nicely requested, rails you into the mattress.

You squeal. Your knuckles have gone white from how tight you’re clutching the bedspread. Your toes curl tight enough to risk cramping, but you don’t care. You’re vaguely aware of what’s going on around you --the groan of the bed frame, the sound of skin slapping against skin, the way Piotr’s moaning your name--but all you can really focus on is his cock inside you, how good he feels against your walls, how’re you're so fucking close to orgasming, you’re almost there, and you’re going to… going to…

You climax with a scream. Bliss and relief flow through your body, numbing your mind and rendering your limbs useless and limp. You melt against the bed, moaning as your walls clench around your boyfriend’s cock.

Piotr lets out a broken moan of your name, accompanied by bits of Russian you don’t understand --and then a few erratic, rough thrusts of his hips later he climaxes with a strangled gasp.

You whimper as his cock pulses inside of you.

For a few moments, neither of you move. You’re both too busy catching your breath and riding out your highs.

Eventually, though, Piotr does pull out of you (and the loss of that exquisite fullness has you groaning). He takes off the condom and ties it off before tossing it in a nearby wastebasket, then retreats to the bathroom to clean up before returning to you. He lifts you the rest of the way onto the bed, then lies down next to you. “Come here, myshka.”

You wriggle across the mattress until you’re nestled against his chest. You sigh, content, and bask in his warmth and the safety you always feel when you’re with him as you drift into the afterglow.

Piotr kisses the top of your head, then gently begins running his fingers through your hair to untangle the loose locks.

Your world falls into silence, save for the silent thrum of the mansion’s air conditioning unit, the soft sound of Piotr’s breathing, and the muffled chirps of the crickets outside.

It’s the most perfect sanctum you can imagine.