cherry wine

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at [Link]

Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Category: M/M
Fandom: Formula 1 RPF
Relationship: Charles Leclerc/Max Verstappen
Characters: Charles Leclerc, Max Verstappen, Carlos Sainz Jr
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Forced Marriage, Power Imbalance,
Explicit Sexual Content, Exhibitionism, Vaginal Fingering, Facials, Dirty
Talk, Praise Kink, Porn With Plot, Feminization, chussy, Carlos is a
victim of the author's Lestappen agenda
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2025-04-27 Words: 7,299 Chapters: 1/1
 cherry wine
by NicoleDilona

Summary

“You seem to enjoy looking at my queen, Sainz,” Max says, quiet and dangerous.

Fuck.

Carlos flinches in his chair, his gaze lowering reflexively, a wise move, “Your highness, I
meant no disrespect-“

Possessive arms wrap around Charles’ torso, holding him even more tightly. He grits his teeth
as Max leans forward to hook his chin over his shoulder, trying to ignore his nerves-

“Is that right,” Max asks, his tone going darker with each word, “You should know I do not
take it kindly when someone covets what is mine. Especially when it’s my wife.”
.
.
.
or: King Max Verstappen of Red Bull takes issue with the way Lord Sainz of Ferrari is
staring at Queen Charles. He decides the duke needs a reminder on who the queen belongs to.

And after Max reveals a secret during the confrontation… Charles finds himself rather happy
to help.

Notes

i got an ask from a lovely Tumblr anon that send me on a 7k word smut spiral.

technically a preview/deleted scene of a larger story i’m working on, but it can be read as a
standalone ofc.

please note the tags, i’m fully embracing the dark and toxic here.

title from hozier. many inspirations taken from asoiaf.

enjoy :)

See the end of the work for more notes

They used to call him il predestinato.

The one who was prophesied to return the Kingdom of Ferrari to greatness.

The one who had been touched by a sorceress- blessed with the strength and cunning to
defeat his enemies, cursed with the body to bear children.

He had spent his whole life fighting for his place in the world. Battling the whispers about
him, the preconceived expectations, the limitations everyone had tried to impose. He’d risen
above it all, fighting tooth, nail, and sword to become one of the most influential Lords in the
Ferrari Court, so close to the power to enact real change-

And then he watched as everything he’d built came crumbling down.

No one called Charles Leclerc il predestinato anymore.

Instead they just called him Queen.

They called Max Verstappen The Inevitable .

The one everyone knew would be a threat, even as a boy. His ambition and prowess already a
deadly combination.

The one who had built Red Bull into an empire.

He’d spent the last several years in a war of conquest, taking kingdom after kingdom, leaving
a trail of blood and victories. Rumors and songs spread far and wide about his ruthlessness,
his bloodthirst. Charles heard it all, believed it all, for it matched the memories of the
relentless boy from his youth, the one with sharp words and a piercing gaze that seemed to
follow Charles everywhere.

When Verstappen finally turned his armies towards Ferrari, Charles hadn’t been permitted on
the battlefield, but he’d at least been able to craft strategies that could give them a fighting
chance, maybe enough to broker a peace-

He just hadn’t suspected the Sainz betrayal.

After Red Bull’s soldiers flooded Maranello, King Frederic sat down with their conqueror
and his council and brokered a very different type of peace. One that would leave Ferrari with
more autonomy than any other defeated kingdom… as long as they met Max’s one, very
specific demand…

Charles did not call Max The Inevitable.

Instead, he called him husband.

His marriage makes Charles respect the various people who had told him that he was an
abomination that was damned to hell.

Their words were prophecy, he just hadn’t expected his condemnation to come so soon in the
form of the Red Bull Kingdom.

It is a den of lions and Charles is the prey.

New whispers follow his every move, delighting in his downfall and reminding him time and
time again that he is little more than a war prize, despite the symbolic crown that Max has
graced him with.

The nobles watch him with hungry, cautious eyes, wary of his husband’s deadly jealousy, but
eager to dissect every aspect of their scandalous new queen. The knights look on him with
mistrust after seeing his skill with a sword, spreading a prevalent fear that he will one day
turn the blade on their liege. And the cursed council takes issue with seemingly everything he
does, not the least bit with the fact that there is still no heir, unable to comprehend why their
precious king was so obsessed with a war prize that was turning out to be so defective.

Charles wishes he could scream at them that he does not understand it any more than they do.

Because it’s his husband (his handsome, dangerous, infuriating husband) that torments
Charles most of all.

For though Max’s true motives and feelings on this marriage remain a mystery to him, what
is clear is that he is determined to possess Charles completely, he is utterly captivated by his
new bride.

He has spent months trying to break Charles into his perfect little pet queen. Max has never
laid a violent hand on Charles, but he has other, darker ways of getting him to submit. And,
tragically, Charles soon learns the submission to Max is rather… glorious. Usually resulting
in sweaty tangle of limbs, a clash of lips, teeth, and tongues, and fervent rutting dance
towards the little death.

They copulate brutally often, Max dragging him into all manner of sin. Their relationship is
built on a shaky foundation of obsession and carnal congress.

Max is confusing, contradictory mess- one that will threaten to whip a servant in Charles’
place if he doesn’t agree to come to his bed, but one who will then whisper the sweetest
praises against his skin as soon as he gives in.

Charles is fierce in his resistance, but every day he feels that he is losing the battle, losing
more and more of himself to the inevitability that is King Max.

It is Max who introduces the idea of Charles attending council meetings, after listening to
another one of Charles’ rants.
He’d just informed his wife that the council had requested he wear gowns at all official royal
engagements, no more pants and robes, and Charles had exploded.

Mad been laid up naked in bed, sated and amused as he watched Charles pace around the
bedchamber, venting about their discourtesy and general incompetence… and Max’s
smirking sympathy had only served to infuriate him more.

For there was the paradox- Max treated Charles anguish and rage at his new life with great
amusement, yet he was also the only person in the entire kingdom that Charles could truly
speak to about any of this, the only person who was not terrified or suspicious of Charles’
honesty.

He was the storm and the refuge all at once, and Charles despised him for it.

“If you have such strong feelings about the council then why don’t you join it, little mouse?
Speak your mind and make them listen.”

Charles shot his husband an irritated look, “Don’t be a fool. They would never allow me to
join.”

“No,” Max raised his eyebrows, “And, pray tell, who do you think has the final say on who is
allowed on my council?”

Stopping in his tracks, Charles turns to the king slowly, “You want me to join?”

Max shrugged, “I see no reason why not. The meetings can be horribly boring, I would
welcome having your pretty face in there to distract me… and I know you were vital to
Ferrari’s prosperity when you were on their council, yes? Perhaps we will welcome your
insights.”

“You’re serious about this,” Charles asks him, doing his best to hide his hope behind caution,
“You will really allow me to join?”

A slow, lecherous smile spreads across his husband’s face, “Yes… with a few conditions, of
course.”

After multiple meetings, Charles has reluctantly decided the opportunity to attend the council
is worth the caveat that he’s only allowed to be there if he sits on Max’s lap for the duration.

Over time, if pressed, he may even admit that his angry humiliation has eased significantly-
his cheeks no longer bloom a furious red as he sits as far forward as possible on Max’s
knees.

Instead, he now finds himself cooly observing the fellow councilmen, his back settled into
the too familiar curves and plains of his husband’s body, almost lounging as he relishes the
discomfort and irritation of the other men in the room.

Lord Horner looks particularly vexed every time Charles dares to offer his opinion, which of
course only encourages him to speak even more freely.
Well, that and also for the proud looks Lord Vettel will throw his way, or how most of the
intelligent members of the council will reluctantly accept his ideas… but not because of the
way Max will always coo at him, calling him brilliant.

Definitely not.

And today Charles may be feeling particularly combative considering the guest joining their
meeting…

Duke Carlos Sainz finally arrived last night, summoned weeks ago by the council to discuss
discrepancies with the taxes from Ferrari.

His old countryman, a man he once considered a dear friend, is having a rather difficult time.
His eyes drifting to Charles time and time again, lingering over him, staring at his elaborate
gown, his position on his husband’s lap, with disbelief and something Charles wants to think
is guilt.

Good , he thought to himself savagely, as he ruthlessly pressed Carlos for information on why
Ferrari is not providing their new king with more of their famous war stallions. Good. You
betrayed me. Ferrari betrayed me. You will not hide from what you have done.

Carlos’ jaw clenches under Charles relentless questions, his answers tense and brief, with his
gaze flittering over Charles even still.

When Charles manages to berate Carlos into giving up an extra five bands of war horses the
entire council, even Horner, looks impressed. It was more than double what they’d been
hoping for.

Behind him, though, Max has been oddly silent, even as he idly played with Charles’ rings,
their left hands tangled together on the arm of the chair. He’s kept his other hand tucked
around his wife’s hip, and it tightens when Carlos reluctantly agrees to his terms.

Max leaned forward then, placing a soft, lingering kiss on the hinge of his jaw, whispering in
Charles’ ear, “Good work, schatje.”

It is then that Charles realizes he has missed something.

He goes very still, the hairs on the back of his neck rising at the steely note in his husband’s
tone.

From the way the rest of the council has gone uncomfortably tense, with Carlos looking
particularly uneasy, Charles knows Max’s expression must be revealing something he can’t
see.

No sooner has Lord Vettel suggested closing the meeting then Max cuts in sharply,
“Everyone out. Except you, Sainz, stay where you are.”

The room clears quickly, Charles attempts to be amongst them but Max’s hands are suddenly
tight around his hips, yanking him back into his lap, “Not you, sweeting. You stay with me.”
Captain of the Kingsguard, Sir Riccardo, also lingers, though he turns and faces the door,
leaving the three of them with a small degree of privacy.

His easy confidence from before entirely vanished, Charles sits tense and wary in Max’s lap,
wondering what could have set the king off this time as a heavy silence settles over the table.

His worries don’t go unanswered for long.

“You seem to enjoy looking at my queen, Sainz,” Max says, quiet and dangerous.

Fuck.

Carlos flinches in his chair, his gaze lowering reflexively, a wise move, “Your highness, I
meant no disrespect-“

Possessive arms wrap around Charles’ torso, holding him even more tightly. He grits his teeth
as Max leans forward to hook his chin over his shoulder, trying to ignore his nerves, to think
and anticipate what the correct move will be-

“Is that right,” Max asks, his tone going darker with each word, “You should know I do not
take it kindly when someone covets what is mine. Especially when it’s my wife.”

“He is not coveting me,” Charles snaps, side-eying his husband as his indignation and anxiety
override the futile attempts to stay calm and rational, “We were having a conversation.
People look at each other when they are speaking to one another.”

Suddenly there is a hand gripping his chin, Max roughly pulling his head round so those icy
blue eyes are boring into his own.

“You do not know everything, little mouse,” Max tells him, deadly serious, “The way he has
been staring at you is only part of the story. Isn’t that right, Sainz?”

Those blue eyes slice over to their guest.

“Your highness I… I do not know what-,” Carlos reaches for the words but Max cuts him off
before he can find an excuse.

“So you’ve forgotten how one of your requests for helping my armies take Ferrari was
Charles’ hand in marriage?”

Shock rips through Charles at the words.

He whips his head to glare at his old friend. His fury, always so close to the surface these
days, rises violent and quick.

Charles hadn’t known the betrayal could sting any sharper.

Mouth agape, Carlos can only stutter for a moment before finally managing, “Lord Vettel
explained your- your interest to us and we immediately adjusted the terms. It was only about
strengthening our house’s claim, n-never about wanting him, your highness.”
Max barks a sharp, cold laugh, “I brought you here to test just that. You failed miserably. You
expect me to believe you have no desire for my wife when your eyes were crawling all over
him for the entire meeting?”

Beads of sweat are visible on Carlos’ forehead, his panic becoming more and more obvious,
“It is only because I am not used to seeing him like- like this. Nothing more. Charles, tell
him, please-“

“Do not speak to me, you wretched rat,” Charles snarls, “You have no right.”

Carlos jerks back as if Charles has slapped him, something like hurt flashing in his eyes. The
sight only stokes Charles’ rage. As does the way Max’s arms tighten around him after his
outburst, pulling him closer as his hips shift purposefully beneath him. It makes a new flush
spread throughout him, one Charles ruthlessly tries to repress. Reminding himself he’s angry,
that now is not the time for his body’s foolish reactions.

“You are not used to seeing him like this?” Max questions, back to speaking softly, his words
dripping like honey. His hands begin running over Charles torso, along his sides, his belly,
before coming up to squeeze at his chest.

“Enough,” Charles hisses at Max, trying to dig an elbow in his stomach to stop the mortifying
display.

“No, sweeting. Let him look, apparently he’s not used to seeing you what look like when
you’re mine.”

There’s a subtle growl in the deceptively sweet voice, one that spells trouble if Charles keeps
resisting. Reluctantly, he heeds the warning and falls into a tense stillness.

Carlos, probably not daring to look away and anger Max even further, stares back at them,
terrified.

But Charles refuses to release his pride, staring down Carlos with clear malice in his eyes
even as Max resumes his heavy petting, one hand slowly creeping up to loosen the laces at
the front of Charles’ gown.

He doesn’t want to think about whatever Max is going to do to him, so he focus all his rage
on Carlos instead.

The man who claimed to be his friend. Who betrayed him and everything Charles loved. Who
tried to marry him, for whatever cursed reason. Who allowed his hunger for power to ruin
everything.

Charles looks at him and he hates.

He tells himself this is why he doesn’t fight when Max makes him tip his head back, his neck
bared for the way his husband begins sucking kisses up his throat. Or why he allows Max to
tilt his chin in order to bring their lips together, even making sure to open his mouth wide
enough so Carlos is sure to see the way their tongues slide together.
If Max is going to punish Carlos, to make him hurt, then Charles will welcome his husband's
attentions.

“His kisses are so sweet, Sainz,” Max murmurs after they break apart with a wet, puckered
sound, “I would be upset, as well, if I’d never gotten to find that out myself.”

One of his hands slips into the front of Charles' loosened bodice, his fingers immediately
creeping towards a nipple. Charles gasps, arching his back as Max thumbs over the little nub.

“Doesn’t he squirm so pretty,” his husband sighs, looking down at him almost tenderly. “It’s
even better when I put my mouth on him here, the sounds he makes…”

Hidden behind the dress fabric, he rolls Charles’ nipple between his thumb and forefinger,
and Charles only barely manages to bite back a whine at the sparking sensation.

Across from them, Carlos’ eyes finally dart down and away, what he’s seeing and hearing
apparently too much.

But that’s not what Max wants.

“Look, Sainz,” he orders, “I’m granting you a great gift, giving you a glimpse of what you’ll
never have. Disinterest would be insulting.”

Charles feels his heart rate pick up at that.

Max has been threatening to fuck him in front of other people for months… but would his
jealous husband really go so far? Despite the threat, Charles still shivers and writhes under
Max’s attention, as Carlos dutifully drags his eyes back to them with a clenched jaw and an
anxious gaze.

“My queen is so beautiful when he’s needy, isn’t he,” Max whispers, nuzzling against
Charles’ temple as his fingers continue tormenting his chest, “Let me show you how I take
care of him.”

With that he begins to manhandle Charles so he’s sideways across his lap. Charles goes
easily, despite his racing heart, making himself pliant as Max arranges him to his liking.

But when the king reaches down to search for his ankle underneath his skirt, Charles can’t
contain the anticipatory hitch of his breath.

“Did your father tell you about our wedding night? He was one of the witnesses, yes,” Max
asks Carlos as he works, using a hand on Charles’ leg to guide his way up underneath the
voluminous skirts.

“He did,” Sainz answers tersely.

“And what did he tell you?”

Carlos is out of Charles’ main line of sight, but he can still hear him shuffling in his seat
before he answers, “He told me you put your mouth between his legs. Before you took him.”
There’s a hint of an insult in the response. Charles catches it, his eyes narrowing where he’s
watching Max’s hand slowly creep up his leg under his skirts.

But Max only laughs, “Yes, that moment did seem to stir up the witnesses. Did he tell you
how I made him peak?”

The question gives him a familiar stab of shame. Charles’ eyes dart up to his husband’s face,
who meets his annoyed gaze with a smug smile. Bastard.

“He did,” Carlos finally confirms after an uncomfortable moment.

For god’s sake.

Just like that, Charles’ anger surges back with a vengeance at the thought of the witnesses
discussing his wedding night… how others have undoubtedly heard all the vulgar details.

His marriage truly is a never ending list of insufferable indignities.

But, despite his anger, there is undeniably a different type of heat also running through him,
one centered between his legs.

Max's questing hand brushes over his cunt as he reaches for his undergarments, and though
the feel of him makes Charles’ breath quicken, he still makes no protest. Underneath him, he
can feel where Max’s cock has become stiff and interested, clearly just as affected by his own
teasing.

“Who could blame me, really,” Max pondered aloud, as he slowly slid Charles’
undergarments down his legs, “He’s got the prettiest cunt, Sainz. I needed to taste it as soon
as I had a look.”

Mortifyingly, Max tosses the undergarments into the middle of the table, where Carlos is sure
to see them.

“You will never lay eyes on that part of him, of course,” Max continues sweetly, his hand
slipping right back underneath Charles’ skirt. “But I can give you an idea… show you what
it’s like when I play with him...”

His free arm tightens where he’s got Charles cradled up against him, as if preparing for his
wife to make a move to escape.

But he needn't have worried.

There is a morbid, hateful curiosity growing inside Charles that wants to see how far Max is
willing to take this, what his plans are for Carlos. And if there’s one thing he can trust… it’s
for Max to deluge him with wicked pleasure, no matter how much Charles loathes him for it.

Max’s hand comes to rest between his legs, cupping his cunt, feeling the heated flesh beneath
his palm. A warm blush rises up Charles’ neck, but he still says nothing in protest.
“Doing so good, sweeting,” Max coos down at him, before glancing over at Carlos, “You’ve
no idea how often I imagine touching him here during our council meetings. It’s practically
all I can think about some days.”

The words should be abhorrent, but they only seem to make the ache in his core even
sweeter. Charles frowns up at his husband, squirming against his touch.

“You like that idea, Charlie,” Max begins to gently palm at him, “I could play with you while
they’re blathering on about the budget. Maybe see just how quiet you can be while I make
you peak?”

Carlos blanches, capturing his husband’s attention once more, “B don’t worry, love. I won’t
make you be quiet for Carlos. Let’s see how ready you are, yes?”

His hand slides down the length of him, fingertips gently nudging into the slit. Max’s lips part
in surprise.

“Already wet for me,” Max sounds delighted, “You like showing Carlos how you’re mine?”

Charles' only answer is an impatient noise, his hips twitching down to where Max’s fingertips
are barely resting in his folds. If he’s going to allow this, then Max had best make it good.

His husband heeds his implied demands, fingers gliding through the slick pink of his cunt
until they reach his clit.

And, oh, how Charles hates that he loves when Max touches him here.

He bites his lip, but it’s useless to muffle the wanton little whimper that still escapes him. His
husband begins petting at him, circling his fingers lightly over the nub, the feather soft
touches still sending sparks through his veins.

Squirming again, he can tell he’s getting wetter by the second.

“So lovely, isn’t he,” Max sighs, pressing down a little harder and grinning when it makes
Charles arch his back.

But then his eyes flash across the table, where Carlos is dutifully watching them silently,
looking as if he’s swallowed his own tongue as the movements of Max’s arm make it obvious
what he’s doing.

“I said, isn't he?”

“He is,” Carlos croaks, almost pained.

Temporarily satisfied, Max turns his attention back to Charles, who is growing increasingly
restless as the pleasure keeps building. His clit feels like it’s swelling and pulsing as Max
relentlessly teases him, and he can’t keep from moving, his hips shifting, searching for more.
Max pushes up against him in response, so Charles can feel his hard cock against his ass.
“I almost wish you were there to see him on our wedding night,” Max muses, “Heard the
noises he made when I got my mouth on him. He sounds like an angel.”

It’s such an absurd statement to make, to compare Charles to an angel when Max has pushed
him into the throes of sin. So ridiculous he almost wants to laugh. He would, in fact, if he
wasn’t so preoccupied with how Max’s fingers are circling faster, pressing harder, and
Charles is so slick he can hear crude wet sounds as Max plays with him, audible even under
his heavy skirts.

This time, he doesn’t try to stop the wanton mewls that slip from his lips. Letting Carlos see
him and hear him, letting him understand what he and his damned father have done to him.

“Yes, Charles, just like that. Good boy.”

Carlos shifts in his seat across from them, no doubt some type of uncomfortable, and Charles
is gladdened by the thought as the sweet pressure inside him grows.

Max’s fingers slip away from his clit, sliding down through his folds to feel him once more
until the pads of his fingers rest against his entrance. Charles' breath catches, waiting.

“He’s wet,” Max speaks to Carlos, though his gaze is fixed on Charles' expectant face, “He
always gets so wet when you touch him right. Makes it so easy for me to get a finger inside
him. Just like this-”

With that, his middle finger slips inside Charles’ cunt, the slide as smooth as a knife through
butter.

“Oh,” Charles doesn’t stop the shaky exhalation, shuddering as Max’s thick, calloused finger
fills his heat to the knuckle.

Even a single finger always feels so much with his husband.

Max watches him closely, rapture on his face. “God, Charles, you’re so lovely.”

His finger slowly begins circling inside him, gently moving in and out, the most pleasant
shivers racing through Charles as he does so.

It’s only then that his husband deans to glance over at Carlos again, something fervent in his
expression.

“His cunt feels so amazing inside,” Max tells him, hushed, almost awed, as though he hasn’t
known Charles' body countless times already, “So soft and warm. I can never get enough.
And always so tight… but he still opens up so nicely for more…”

A second finger pushes it’s way in, and Charles gives a delicate whine at the wet stretch, the
pressure of Max’s touch inside him so much-

Carlos makes a choked sound.

“I always try to open him up on my fingers first,” Max says, “I’ve got to get his little cunt
ready for my cock, make sure he can take it-”

His fingers slide in and out slowly, crooking, searching. Charles' eyes flutter open and closed
with each movement, his breath huffing at the slick sensation.

“-helps things along when I touch him here.”

The tip of a finger nudges up against that spot, that blessed, damned little spongy spot deep
inside Charles that makes his eyes roll and his lips part with a sharp cry.

“Good God,” Carlos whispers.

Again Max’s hips jerk underneath him, and he leans forward with a soft moan, pressing his
mouth to Charles forehead as his fingers begin fucking him, his thumb coming up to press
down on his clit, fanning the flames inside Charles even higher.

He twists and writhes in Max’s lap, only vaguely aware of the way he can hear Carlos
beginning to breathe heavily, discernible even from the ways across the table. It’s joined by
Charles' own cascade of whimpers and mewls and the filthy, obscene squelches from Max’s
fingers frantically pumping into him, the council room a cacophony of sin.

“So perfect, he’s so perfect,” Max grits out, his lips still pressed to Charles temple, “It’s like
he was made for me, Sainz. Especially his cunt. Whenever I push my cock into him it feels
like I’ve entered heaven. My little angel-”

Charles chokes on a sob, those horrible words making him clutch down on Max’s rough,
wonderful fingers, squeezing against the stretch of them while he thinks of his cock. His
husband keeps brushing against that lovely spot inside him, his thumb still pushing down
against his swollen clit. The pressure inside him grows tighter, hotter-

“Taking it so well, love,” Max whispers to him, so devoted it makes Charles sick.

Max raises his head to look back at Carlos, and through pleasure hazy eyes Charles can see
the flush coloring his husband’s cheeks, the feverish glint in his stare.

“Did you imagine how pure he was, Sainz, when you thought about marrying him? Because
he was… completely untouched, even by his own hand. All of him, every part, was saved for
me. Mine to taste, mine to open, mine to fuck.”

With no warning, even as Max’s first two fingers continue to fuck into him, his small finger
is suddenly at his backside, the pad of it resting against his rim. Charles only has time to suck
in a startled breath before Max is pushing in, the slide smooth from the slickness Charles’
cunt has spread everywhere, until it’s buried inside his ass.

Charles throws his head back with a high cry, clenching around the three fingers tucked up
deep inside him, full and helpless.

“He takes me in all of his pretty holes,” Max says, his voice beginning to sound far away as
his fingers furiously work Charles closer and closer to a little death, “Little angel takes
whatever I give him so beautifully. Made for this, made for me, only for me-”

It’s all becoming more than Charles can bear- Max’s thumb crushing into his clit, his fingers
ruthlessly plundering his cunt and his ass, curling against the clench of him to press into him
harder, Max’s poisonous words in his ear, his hard cock grinding against him, the weight of
Carlos’ eyes on him as he squirms in Max’s arms…

“He’s close. Squeezing down so hard on me. So fucking tight.”

The familiar, aching pressure inside him is ready to snap, yet Charles, as always, finds
himself inexplicably trying to resist, denying himself the pleasure and the sin. He scrunches
his eyes shut, willing himself to hold on, suspended in beautiful agony-

“Let go, sweeting,” Max demands, “Come on my hand. Show us how good I make you feel.”

“Max,” Charles whimpers, his husband’s name ripped from him.

“Come, Charles.”

Charles arches, his entire body pulled taut as an archer’s bow and then…

Bliss.

A shuddering cry tears out of his throat as he peaks, his cunt pulsing around Max’s fingers as
the pleasure crests again and again and again, leaving him gasping and quaking in the king’s
hold.

“That’s it…that’s it, my love…”

So utterly fucking ruined.

There’s a soft, tickling pressure on his cheeks that he distantly recognizes as Max’s lips,
stamping kiss after kiss against his face. Despite himself, Charles can’t help nuzzling into the
affection as he blinks his eyes open.

Max pulls back to look down at him, a feverishly adoring expression on his face.

“You’re the most beautiful thing in the world,” Max whispers into the small space between
them.

The praise, so bewitching and terrible, makes Charles shudder, as does the way Max grinds
his fingers into him one last time.

His legs twitch when his husband finally pulls his hand away from his cunt with a
humiliating slick sound. Max holds his hand up, observing the shine on his fingers for a long
moment, before sticking his index finger into his mouth, humming at the taste.

Charles averts his gaze from Max’s hedonism, allowing himself to focus instead on Carlos.
His former friend stares back at him, deeply unsettled. Charles can see he’s still breathing
heavily, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his face shiny with sweat and a deep blush.

With tired, half-lidded eyes, Charles spares a lazy sneer at such a pathetic sight.

“I’m sure you feel very blessed to have witnessed my wife’s little death, Sainz” Max’s raspy
voice interrupts Charles' judgments, “But I’m afraid we are not yet done.”

His hips buckle up once more, and Charles is abruptly reminded of his husband’s own
arousal.

Max stands, lifting Charles with him as he does so, before placing him back down in the high
chair, yanking it harshly so it’s facing an angle. Wrung out, disheveled, and pliant from his
peak, Charles still makes no protest, sprawling across the chair easily and looking up at his
husband with muted interest.

Max has such an artful way with cruelty, he is quite curious what else he has in store for
Carlos.

He watches as Max’s hands go down to the lacings of his brais, tugging on them until they
loosen enough for him to reach in and withdraw his cock, entirely shameless. He steps closer,
right in front of where Charles is sitting, disgustingly spits in his hand before reaching down
to stroke himself, his eyes fixed on his queen.

Carlos makes another strangled noise.

His sidelong view of the two of them gives him an excellent look at the king’s rather
impressive cock, and he sounds appropriately stunned. If he had his wits about him, Charles
would roll his eyes or maybe snarl that Carlos had no right to behave such when he wasn’t
the one who was expected to take it inside him every day… but he strangely can’t find the
will to care.

He still feels light-headed and warm from his husband’s attentions, and he finds his eyes
drawn to where Max grips himself, the part of his body that he is so… intimately familiar
with.

Unthinkingly, he licks his lips, his mouth beginning to water.

The action draws a stifled chuckle from Max, “My little wife still wants more. I’ve trained
him so well, haven’t I, Sainz?

Stepping closer, his legs brushing against Charles’ skirts, Max reaches out his free hand to
cup his wife's face, his calloused thumb running over Charles’ spit slicked lips. He is still
pumping away at his cock, and Charles watches, dazed, as the dark red tip leaks with his pre-
spend.

“So sweet when you’re all fucked out, angel,” Max tells him, softly. His thumb pushes past
his lips, Charles lets him in easily, rather liking the salty taste on his tongue.
Mindlessly, he purses his lips around the digit and begins to suck, watching with a hazy sort
of satisfaction as Max’s tugs at himself even harder, faster uttering a rough curse.

From across the table, Carlos releases a shaky groan.

“My perfect little love,” Max rasps, staring down at him flushed and unraveling, “Still so
desperate for me to be inside you, you’ll suck on me like this? Want to show Sainz how
lovely your pretty mouth is, let him imagine how perfectly you take my cock down your
throat?”

The words make him whine around his husband’s thumb, and, shamefully, he sucks even
harder, staring up at Max through his lashes.

“Fuck,” he moans, returning Charles’ gaze, the wet sounds of Max’s fist around his cock
growing even more pronounced, “God, look at you, so perfect for me, made for me, only for
me. You’re fucking mine-”

He yanks his thumb away, leaving Charles’ mouth hanging open on a wanton whine. His
hand goes to brace himself on the back of the chair, leaning closer over Charles, his other
hand frantically stroking himself-

Charles’ addled brain manages to realize what’s happening just in time, and he closes his
eyes right as the first hot splash cum hits his face.

He hears Max’s euphoric sigh as he peaks, feels rope and rope of his seed paint his face, until
he must be covered in it.

Shame creeps along his consciousness, always waiting to return to him, his constant
companion, but Charles finds himself too content to indulge it immediately.

Instead he focuses on the pants of his husband’s breath, the wet sensation of the cum on his
face, the way his own cunt still feels fucked open and sated-

When Max cups his chin in hand once more, Charles lets his eyes flutter open.

His husband smiles down at him, before gently turning his face to the side to where Carlos is
still sitting, sweaty and fidgety.

The lord’s eyes latch onto Charles, and his face screws up with a complicated, unpleasant
blend of emotion at what he sees- his old companion dripping with their enemy’s cum.

Charles hopes that he feels guilty.

Look at me he thinks, as he stares down his former friend once again, look at me and see
what fate you’ve resigned me to. Look at and see how he ruins me.

“Do you understand now, Sainz” Max asks, his voice gravelly and satisfied, “Do you
understand what he looks like when he’s mine?”
There is a brief, loaded silence, until Carlos finds his words again, “I do, your Highness. Of
course, I do.”

He sounds distraught and Charles feels a shade of vindication.

“Very well,” Max hums. He tilts Charles back to face him, admiring his wife for a moment
before he begins to swipe up his own cum from his face.

Charles stares back at up him with a furrowed brow, completely disbelieving that is really the
end of this. Max couldn’t possibly be satisfied with that pitiful statement of understanding.

But Max just continues to clean his face, and when he nudges his fingers against Charles'
lips, the queen reluctantly opens his mouth, telling himself he’s too tired to bother making a
scene. He dutifully sucks the seed from his husband’s fingers, glaring at him all the while.

It does nothing to dissuade him, of course, and Max only smiles and leans down for an
indulgent kiss, licking into Charles’ mouth until he’s satisfied.

“I do believe a thank you is in order,” Max says over his shoulder, directing the statement to
Carlos.

“Thank you very much, your highness.”

Max pulls Charles to his feet, and the possessive way he wraps him up in an embrace is not
entirely unwelcome considering the shaky state of his legs. Tucked against his husband’s
chest, Charles watches silently as Carlos slowly stands from his own chair, looking unsteady
himself.

It does not escape his notice how Carlos adjusts his robes below his waist.

“My queen is very exquisite, isn’t he?”

“He is,” Carlos replies solemnly, with the barest hint of wistfulness.

It makes Charles' skin crawl.

“Indeed. I am a very lucky man,” Max tells him, his chest rumbling with a laugh, “Daniel, get
Checo from outside. Lord Sainz will need an escort.”

With a small start, Charles realizes he’d completely forgotten that the Captain of the Guards
had been manning the door the entire time, hearing everything even as his back was turned.
His gaze darts to him as Sir Riccardo fulfills the king’s request. When he turns around, Sir
Perez in tow, Charles sees the familiar devastated expression, wide, empty eyes and tight lips,
the same way he always looks when faced with Max’s affection for Charles.

A small smirk grows on Charles face. At least he could take satisfaction that someone had
truly been reminded of their place today.

Max tightens his embrace, “Lord Sainz, did you enjoy watching our demonstration?”
“Of course, my King. It was an honor.”

“I’m so glad,” Max says softly, almost a purr, and the tone makes Charles tense, his hair
raising once more as he recognizes the hidden sadism, “Watching the queen in such pleasure
is the most beautiful sight, yes?”

“Yes, my King.”

“Then I hope you will understand how lucky you are… that it will be one of the last things
you ever see.”

Charles watches, almost fascinated, as confusion and then dawning horror plays out on
Carlos’ face. He takes a few stumbling steps backwards, but Sir Riccardo and Sir Perez
rapidly restrain him.

“You did not believe I would respond to such a sin by merely making you jealous, did you
Sainz?”

“Your highness,” Carlos panickedly jerks the guards’ hold, “Please, I swear-”

“Lord Sainz,” Max interrupts, his voice now heavy with the authority of the crown, “If you
would allow your sights to lay on my wife so insultingly, it is only right that you lose your
ability to have sight. For the crime of coveting the queen, I hereby sentence you to be
blinded.”

“No! Your highness, I beg you-”

“I pray that the memories of my wife offer you comfort in the darkness,” Max finishes,
merciless.

Carlos continues to plead as Charles watches, disgusted and gratified in equal measures.

Max ignores the begging, instead leaning down to speak to Charles, gathering him closer,
“Let’s retire, little mouse. You must be tired after all this.”

And despite the conflicting emotions raging within him, Charles still finds himself soft and
easy in his husband’s arms. He tells himself he is, indeed, exhausted from the debauched
display, and that is why he still allows himself to be cradled close.

He almost believes it.

“Charles,” Carlos’ cry, so pleading, breaks through his musings, “Charles, please, I’m
begging you. Ask him to spare me, I will do anything. Anything, my friend.”

It is an incredibly dangerous gamble to address him after everything.

In theory, daring to speak to Charles ran a higher risk of Max only increasing the punishment,
but in yet another surprising turn, the king only looks back to his wife, “Well, Charles? Do
you have something you want to say?”
Their eyes lock, and Charles reads the challenge, the test, in husband’s eyes quite easily.

His lip curls back in a sneer. Max matches it with a smirk.

“You,” Charles' eyes slowly drift back to Carlos, panicked and desperate in the guards’ hold,
“You dare ask for my mercy? After you and your damned father betrayed me?”

“My friend-”

“You really think I would debase myself to beg to save your eyes, when you took my life?”

“Charles! I am sorry, I am so sorry. Please-”

“Enough,” Charles snaps, “Remember my face, Sainz, when they burn out your eyes. Know
that this was the answer for your sins.”

Carlos’ face crumbles, and Charles feels nothing but savage vindication.

Max laughs in cruel delight, swooping down for a rough, biting kiss, “My wicked little
queen, so perfect.”

Charles wrenches his face away with a scowl, but makes no complaint when Max scoops him
up in his arms, still soft and malleable for his husband.

“Carry out Lord Sainz’ sentence and then send him on his way,” Max orders his knights as he
carries Charles out of the council room, “The queen and I will be in our chambers. I do not
want to be disturbed.”

Carlos’ shouts and cries echo down the corridor after them as he is led to the dungeons.

Neither of them spare a look back.

“I think you enjoyed that,” Max tells him as they make their way in the opposite direction,
servants and couriers stopping to bow as they pass.

“You would blame me for enjoying retribution against the man who ruined my life,” Charles
snips back, avoiding his husband’s eyes, trying not to think about how debauched he must
look as he’s carried through the castle.

“Ruined your life,” Max snorts, “I made you a queen. Would you rather have been Duchess
Sainz-”

“Do not disgust me,” Charles snaps, stopping Max’s jealousies before they can fester, “The
only fate worse than my reality is the one where that rat is my husband. I would have slit his
throat in his sleep.”

“You speak so sweetly,” Max chuckles, quickly mollified. They arrive at his chambers, a
servant rushing to open the heavy doors as Max carries him across the threshold, “Perhaps I
should call you my little devil instead of little angel.”
“I have long given up trying to control what you call me,” Charles mumbles with an eye roll,
squirming to be set down as they enter. Max ignores him, striding further into the
bedchamber, tossing him onto the bed despite his wife’s indignant huff.

Charles wiggles his way up towards the pillows, settling himself as Max takes off his slippers
for him, toeing off his own boots afterwards.

“I’m tired,” Charles grumbles, as Max climbs up to join him, “I’ve had enough of your
attentions until tonight. Let me nap until dinner.”

He does not try to order Max out of the bed. He tells himself it’s because he knows it would
be pointless, not because he is hopeful that Max will hold him while he rests.

Definitely not.

“As you wish,” Max lays next to him, his arm already slipping around Charles’ waist, pulling
him halfway on top of him so he can rest his head against his chest. Charles’ fights against it,
just to say he did, before surrendering.

His husband’s brutal heart beats a rhythm under his ear, lulling him into a doze as Max cards
his fingers through his hair.

“You know, Charles” Max whispers to him, when he is already half asleep, “I very much
enjoy your wicked side.”

It is only then that Charles realizes that he has not spared a single thought for what is
happening down in the dungeons.

Frowning, Charles thinks about making a biting comment, telling Max this is all his fault,
him and his lion’s den dragging Charles into malice and sin. He thinks about telling him how
he hates what he’s becoming.

But instead, he merely nuzzles further into his husband’s chest and says nothing.
End Notes

thanks for reading! please consider leave a kudos or comment (even just a
me know if you liked it.
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if you enjoyed this fic, keep an eye out for my main medieval au, which i'll start posting
soon. a lot of the things i hinted at in this fic will be expanded on there. if would like to know
more, you can check out my tumblr tag for roar of the fire.

feel free to send me all your unhinged lestappen thoughts! you never know, they might just
inspire me to write another fic :)

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