Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was your eighteenth birthday. A day on Lumiere so inconsequential to anyone else, as the only other person who knew it was the paperwork proving you’d been born, but it was a day you’d counted down to for as long as you could remember. By the old laws you were an adult, and that came with a certain particular privilege.

A privilege that had come years in the making. Your den mother of an orphanage keeper had been younger every year and she’d made it very clear: there was no touching boys under any circumstances until you were ready, and sure, and of age.

You woke to the cold morning sun knowing you were all three of those things.

Working as an apprentice under one of the few doctors left on Lumiere had had its advantages. You met most of the people living on the island city and knew them well. You meticulous habit of record keeping and knowledge hoarding had let you meet and know the rest.

The rest was chief among who you were interested in seeing today.

The orphanage could no longer be your home, and The Rest had just had a public and messy breakup over the very thing you were trying to acquire.

Fresh blood with the genetics to stop the end of the world. You had decided quite young that that would be your legacy. The greatest thing you could leave behind were the means to procure a future wherein everyone survived, even if you died before it was realized.

You put on your work clothes, the guise of a researcher always, and went to find Him. He would be working and sulking in that predictable way of his and you would be young and wide-eyed with awe as you pulled off the easiest seduction in the book: Treat Him Like Your God. You made him your savior because he was.

You’d barely said hello to him before you found yourself bent over a tall wooden desk with your skirts shoved up and your tights messily pulled down with his cock sunk deep in your virgin cunt.

You were disgustingly wet for him. He’d growled those words himself into your ear as his throbbing hard-on tore your hymen.

You needed him, you’d said. And it was true, you needed him to seed you – to plant the next generation of genius into your womb before it was too late. You were old and he was older and you’d wanted three kids out of him, but you knew the timeline fate had sent you down would probably only allow for two.

That would be enough. It’d have to be.

You thought about your plans as he rutted harshly into your from behind. His grunts quiet in the packed room. Your moans punctuated appropriately and in short order, five minutes, you thought by the burning of candle under the glass beaker, he’d spilled hot and messy between your legs.

Not the heavy press of him against your cervix that you’d hoped for, but it’d have to do. You pulled your underwear up with your tights surreptitiously as he’d turned his back briefly, embarrassed, to quickly right himself. You smoothed your skirt and were thankful the activity of it all had left you flustered and red-faced too.

He wanted to talk. You knew it from his character, and from the regret that made his eyes shine and his mouth curl.

“Gustave-“ you wanted him to hear you say his name pleading, before his inevitably interrupted you.

“Did I…” he cut himself off to look away, although you could see him force himself to look at you again, “did I just take advantage of you?”

And here you would have to lie, and you would have to mean it. You nodded your head silently and turned your body away from his just so. You’d have to be shy here, but not too shy. You curled one arm around yourself to grab at the other, bit gently on your lip, and turned big doe-eyes to him through your lashes.

It was all utterly ridiculous.

And effective.

“I liked it, though,” you admitted on a whisper.

The shame that had been shown on his face turned quickly through a few other emotions. Hunger, desire, and relief all flashed through him like he was one of your notebooks open only for you to read. Then he seemed to settle on a pleased sort of contentment.

“I liked it too,” he said like he was sharing in your secret.

You opened up your body language to him slightly at the words. You needed him to think he was gaining your trust. “I- could we do it again?” you asked with all the sincere naivety your birthday status demanded.

Gustave laughed. A quiet little chuckle of amusement and exasperation. He looked at you like he was just realizing you were young and naïve. “Maybe another day. When you’re…” and here he pauses, “needful again. You can come find me here and I’ll help you relieve some of that stress.”

You nodded, blushing profusely at the growl undercutting his words, took your things and left.

All you had to do was wait, unfortunately, and live your life. You needed to wait long enough that he was upset you hadn’t come sooner, but not so long that he thought you weren’t interested. It was a delicate line you balanced through news and gossip you received from your master’s clients.

You moved out of the orphanage, got a room with a roommate and a view of the southern sea. You worked and took your notes and stashed them in books secured for your children. You acted in public like a normal person, and waved shyly to Gustave when you passed him in the streets instead of your usual warm greeting and long winding conversations, so he would know that you remembered.

You went to his office again the night after such an incident when you’d seen the tortured light in his eyes and the stiffness in his body language as he forced himself to keep walking on his way when you didn’t reciprocate his invitation to study with him in his office.

He’d greeted you madly when you knocked on the door. His mouth pressed to yours in such a demanding way it stole your breath and gave you no room to fumble though what was your first kiss. The kiss was long and hot and all too soon broken as he forced you to turn your back to him.

You were grateful for it, you reminded yourself, as your chest heaved, and your blood ran uncomfortably hot.

Gustave hiked your skirt up over your hips and pulled your tights down, and you’d been no more daring this time than the first time, but you thought he might appreciate it if you were should you come and do this again.

He groaned in appreciation as he sunk into you. The gratification of knowing your plan was working made you clench down around him, and you felt the clench of your tight walls take his breath away. He held your hips in a punishing grip as he fucked himself into you. His orgasm coming even sooner than the first time, and this time he did it with his body pressed against yours.

You moaned too. The warm slick felt heavy inside you, and his twitching cock pressed strangely along your insides until for a moment you felt something crest, a beautiful agony that made your muscles contract of their own volition around him, forcing him to pull out from the stimulation, and leaving you to press against the edge of that pleasure for a long moment before it crested and fizzled to sit tightly in your gut.

He was panting above you while you lied, nearly boneless, beneath him trying to come to terms with what you’d just experienced.

“Come again in two days,” he demanded. Then he took something you hadn’t given him as he smacked your ass harshly before he left you in the office to whine and squirm by yourself.

You went to his office again two days later.

This time when he lifted your skirt in your customary position bent over one of the desks, he found the stockings you wore were little more than very tall socks. The path to your wet pussy was completely unobstructed. He rewarded your behavior with an appreciative and weak groan and surprised you by pressing his bulge against your slit with the silky fabric of his pants still between you.

You’d had him inside your twice now, neither time gentle, and it hadn’t really crossed your mind how big he was until the press of him between your thighs split your lips apart in such a tangible way it left you gasping.

His rolled his hips against you once, then, and the feeling made you dizzy enough to press back into him. He moved with you, encouraged you to continue, but you quickly realized you were doing all the work. You were the one chasing, desiring, needing something more than what you’d set out to acquire.

Gustave was useful, you reminded yourself, even as you kept grinding into him. He was going to save the world, through you. You were going to save the world. It had been your dream for as long as you’d had dreams. Your hips moved on their own.

That clenching aching feeling grew from the embers he’d left in your gut into the tight unfamiliar feeling you’d experienced the last time he’d taken you. Your movements became quicker, harsher, and your moans came unbidden and genuine.

Then, just as you felt your muscles begin to shake from the strain of it all, he pulled away and used his hands to force you still.

You whined a complaint, but he was stronger than you and you didn’t know exactly what you were trying to reach. A minute passed, your cunt fluttering and clenching around nothing, before the feeling died and retreated once more.

“Gustave,” your complaint came breathy and devastated. To your own ears it sounded like you were begging for more.

He held you against the table.

“Go home.”

Another demand. He pressed his hands against your skin in warning before letting go.

“What?” you thought to ask, looking over your shoulder at him. His pupils were blown even with the sunlight streaming in through the windows. Desire curled his lips into a nearly feral grin.

He didn’t answer you. Instead, he held his arm in a sweeping gesture toward the door and waited. An expectant curl sat on his brow.

His name left your lips again. You needed him. You needed him to let you continue. You needed his seed in your womb. You needed that feeling to crest and realize and tear you apart as you were certain it would.

His expression changed in an instant to that firm, authoritative visage you were so used to when he was lecturing.

You straightened yourself and left.

It wasn’t until you were home, restless in your bed that night, that you realized he’d once again taken something you hadn’t wanted to give.

You returned again the next day. He wasn’t there.

You went again the day after that.

Gustave opened the door with a cruel little smile. He ushered you inside. He sat you on an ancient stool with a spread of fragile ancient manuscripts and a fresh set of pages and ink. You were here to work.

You shot him a desperate glance that he ignored.

“Start writing,” was all he offered you. You spent the day slowly transcribing. You squirmed in the seat, realizing quickly there was a strange ridge to it that was at once enticing and cursed. You could rub all you want, and Gustave certainly seemed to appreciate that you were, but there was nothing even close to what Gustave had given you a taste of to be found there.

“Distracted?” He asked as the sun began to set. His chest was pressed against your back as he looked over your shoulder at the bare amount of work you’d finished. “You’re usually so dutiful,” he admonished.

“Please,” you whispered so quietly you almost weren’t sure you’d said it.

“You’ll have another chance to finish it tomorrow,” he informed you, moving away. The absence of his warmth sent gooseflesh down your arms and made your heart lurch sickly in your chest.

He forced you out of the office not long after, closing and locking it with the promise for more tomorrow. You stared at him, briefly, in the hallway with wide pleading eyes.

Gustave merely offered a self-satisfied smirk and left.

It took you a moment longer to gather your senses enough to make it home.

The next day was a repeat of the one before it. The after not much different either.

You’d spend insufferable hours squirming and grinding against the accursed chair as you tried not to destroy the history of your city and the knowledge that needed to be preserved for those who came after.

All the while Gustave moved around you, working too, but also staring, touching, growling. He’d give the occasional, “focus,” or chastising call of your name when he felt your pen had stilled for too long.

And you’d leave, more frustrated and unable to think than ever before only to go home to toss in turn in bed eager to get up with the morning sun to do it all again.

Eventually, when the papers dwindled and your books filled, there was a breaking point. You were so constantly on edge you had to opt for long skirts and layers underneath. You spent your days in sharp strain with the repetitive familiar motion of writing and it did something to your mind.

Your need became clear and singular in your mind. Gustave was your future. He was everything. His seed would take you forward. His touch would guide you down the path you’d mapped in your mind. His constant warmth and gentle command would mold you into the perfect thing to cast the city from the past into the future.

Eventually you penned the last piece of punctuation. Eventually the ink dried. Eventually you closed the book and carefully put away the old and worn manuscripts.

When you did, he was there.

“There’s the dedication I remember,” he commented, too close too quickly. He went from murmuring in your ear to pressing against you.

You went limp in the chair. Your arms landed heavily on the desk as you felt like you could melt into a puddle on the floor from the mere prolonged contact.

He clicked his tongue disapprovingly at you. His hands grasped roughly at your sides. “Gunna be hard to give you what you want when you’re like this,” he said, voice already low and gravely with arousal.

You whimpered, but obliged him, tilting your bodyweight forward to rest upon the top of the desk while your legs scraped against the floor shakily. Your clit twitched and jumped in your underwear as you thought about his skin on yours.

He didn’t leave you hanging for long. It’d only been a week, two at most, since he’d last fucked you and the sense memory of him pulling down your stockings made you release a wrecked sob.

He held onto your thigh with one hand and carded his fingers comfortingly through your hair with the other. He hushed you gently, making you wait, until you finally quieted to breathing heavily through your nose.

“I’m going to put a baby in you this time,” he said, and you weren’t sure if his words were a warning or a promise, “and I’m going to fill you up every day until there’s no question that my seed has taken root.”

You moaned in response, tilting your hips in an instinctual act of trying to convince him to finally, finally fuck you.

He pulled his hand from your hair to drag his thumb heavily over one of your labia. It glided smoothly down, pressing in around your clit, and made you shudder and scrabble your hands to the edge of the desk so you might hold yourself upright. Gustave slid his thumb upwards along the same path before circling around the twitching, dripping hole you wanted filled so badly.

He did that for a while, seemingly unaware of your gasping, panicked breaths, and shaking muscles, just teasing the sensitive skin there at your entrance.

Then he pressed in, and you couldn’t help but lose your legs out from under you. Gustave was ready, though, his free hand already holding your thigh tilted up and twisted around to hold you upright against gravity.

He chuckled, low and cruel, behind you. The sound made your vision swim as you closed your eyes. The colors and shapes of the office had become acutely overstimulating.

Then his thumb pressed in, his hand twisted, and the knuckle of one of his fingers rested at the base of your clit. You moaned and writhed and took the punishment of harsh slaps to your ass as he growled at you to stop moving. Eventually your body simply couldn’t move any more and he held you upright from those fingers alone for as long as he’d tortured you with the teasing circling before.

“I know you came here to use me,” he said, removing his hand from your sopping cunt to hold you up by your hips.

You made a vague overwrought sound in question. What did it matter now? Didn’t he have the same goal? Weren’t your values aligned?

“You want me to be your god? Your savior?” he asked, almost derisively, “fine. But do not be surprised when that god must take his tithe by force when no offerings are being left at the altar.”

You whimpered, an apology half formed on your lips, when you felt his cock spear you. It was the same sharp and jerking movements you dreamed about. After weeks of constant arousal and teasing stimulation the nerves alit with pain in place of pleasure.

You screamed. Wordless noise, his name, broken unintelligible prayers for mercy alternating with divine thanks. In a few short minutes your noise lapsed into silence and the occasional grunting breath as you accepted your fate and gave him what he wanted. You were a wet hole, a fertile garden, an object meant for the greatest task of continuing the genius line he carried and so graciously decided to deposit into you.

He did not last any longer than he normally did. You were convinced he didn’t care about your pleasure, that he barely cared about his own. He chased his release with a violence that had him grinding out animal noises in your ear when he finally pressed in deep and pumped his cum against your womb.

You curled against that horrible cramping pleasure. You heard yourself, distantly, thanking him, as he seemed to flex and shudder inside you for longer than he’d taken to fuck you. Your walls clenched inexorably around him, pulling him deeper, milking him farther.

His groans turned to satisfied whimpers before he was finally silent and breathing deeply above you.

Gustave didn’t pull out. He didn’t let you free. His cum stayed warm in your depths even as his cock softened. You wriggled your hips, and he hissed his displeasure in your ear. You were held still once more.

You dozed, stuck underneath his warmth and uncomfortably against the table. You had nothing else you could do, and you were too limp to really to anything else. Your muscles had corded and strained all day only to seize when his heavy thrusting overstimulated nerves desperate for the edging torment to end.

It had only made that crawling, burning hot need grow in polarity. It felt alive inside you, crawling around your abdomen and sending the occasional angry twitch along the muscles of your arms and legs.

You weren’t sure how much time passed before you were being roused. Gustave stirred against you, his hips smearing your arousal as his cock hardened again.

You let out a defeated little sigh, mouth parting to pant little cries as he rocked into you slowly.

The new sensation of slow and gentle was almost as bad as the sensations of hard and fast. Neither did you any favors, beyond the sharp pleasure so overworked it was little more than complex pain.

Gustave fucked you slow and steady until it seemed he was harder than you’d ever taken him. Then it was back to what you knew. The wet sounds of flesh slapping resounded loudly in the room. It filled your head with wicked images and made your hands dance along the edge of the desk were you weren’t hanging on so much as being clamped down.

Your clit throbbed, made its need known, and you didn’t know what to do about it. Gustave was letting you move now, clearly more interested is spilling inside you for a second time. No matter how you angled your hips you couldn’t catch the aching bundle of nerves against the smooth surface of the desk of the slapping pressure of Gustave’s full and heavy balls.

He had to fuck you for long minutes this time. The longest you’d ever taken him inside you. Your walls clenched, cramped, went numb, and ached in the time it took him to empty himself again. Your clit twitched and jumped intermittently, and you wished it would stop because anymore and you would break further than he’d already shattered you.

You never wanted the feeling to end, and you feared it might be the death of you.

It did end, eventually, with Gustave spent and slipping out of you. With his arms wrapped around you as he gently lowered you to the floor. It ended with a whispered, “I’m moving you in with me.” And the warmth and lulling rhythm of being walked somewhere safe and comforting.

You barely felt his fingers brushing, feather light, against your slit, gathering his cum and pushing it back in your hole. You barely felt the curved sphere with the flared base settle inside you to ensure you kept everything he’d given.

You barely heard him whisper your name and tell you goodnight as you curled around cold metal and warm flesh.