15Author's Note: Here's my contribution to the mob boss/his lover/his right hand man trope! This little idea sprang into my head fully formed and I had to get it written down...possibly more to come.
Edited to Add - Warnings: Dub-con, Rough Sex, Infidelity, References to Violence, Bondage, Exhibitionism, Implied Underage
He's dragged inside without another word, the muscled bodyguard hauling him up the stairs and into one of the Hellfire Club's decadent private suites. Erik finds himself shoved roughly towards the bathroom and a garment bag pulled from the closet is tossed on the bed.
"What am I doing here?" He's still reeling from the events outside; his heart racing, the bleeding cut on his forehead making him a little lightheaded.
The other man gives him an indecipherable look before lighting a cigar and taking a puff. "Boss wants to meet you. So go wash the blood off fast and put the suit on."
He does as requested, heading into the bathroom to take off his shirt and scrub his face and hands, giving himself a few moments to think. It hadn't been his intention tonight, to risk his life for Shaw's young boy toy but it might just be the 'in' to Hellfire he's been looking for. Now he just needs to see this through and secure himself a place in Shaw's organization.
Erik opens the door and steps out, unzipping the bag and pulling the dark grey suit off the hanger. "What does he want with me?"
Gruff bodyguard shrugs and throws him a first aid kit, giving him a feral smile in the process. "Says you got potential, boy."
"Is he going to kill me?" Erik slaps a bandage over the cut then pulls on the shirt and pants, buttoning the expensive suit jacket and straightening his tie. "And how did you know what size suit I wear?"
He gets a snort and what sounds like an amused chuckle. "If he was gonna kill you, you'd be dead." The man turns and opens the door, walking out and not even bothering to check and see if Erik follows. "Charles is the one who told me your size. Kid's got a good eye."
They head down a different flight of stairs this time and wind their way along a bunch of non-descript corridors before they're back into the Club proper. Erik spots him immediately, sitting in a private booth in the back, surrounded on all sides by his men.
"Logan! There you are," the crisp, polished accent pulls his attention from Shaw to the brunette at his side, looking gorgeous and unflappable in his navy striped suit, "And you brought our new friend."
Erik – Max Eisenhardt – has been waiting for this moment for years; has dreamed and plotted, bribed and killed for a chance to face his parents' murderer. If Shaw was alone right now, or if he thought for a moment he could pull off a clean shot he wouldn't even hesitate to shoot the smug bastard in the face. Instead, he finds himself dangerously distracted by blue eyes and red lips and the remembered feel of the warm body he touched briefly on the sidewalk outside.
Shaw gives him a smile that is wide and full of good humor. "Tell us your name my dear boy!"
"Erik Lensherr."
"Erik," Shaw gets up and walks towards him, grasping his shoulder in a friendly manner that has him barely holding himself back from ripping the arm off, "Do you know who I am, Erik?"
"Yes, Mr. Shaw." He smiles and swallows the bile in the back of his throat.
"Good, good," Shaw pats him on the back again and then turns to speak to his lover, "What do you think we should do for Erik here, Charles? You should decide; he did save you from that degenerate Cain Marko."
The look that Charles gives him is ice cold and discerning; it makes him feel naked and vulnerable, as though the man is rifling through his mind and reading all of his deepest, darkest secrets. It's markedly different from what he saw in the moments leading up to the ambush – Charles' eyes wide with fear at Marko's sudden approach and then warm with gratitude and relief when he looked at Erik for the first time.
"Thank you for saving my life Mr. Lensherr," he watches as Charles walks over and slides next to Shaw, the older man wrapping his arm around his shoulders and tugging him close, "Tell us what you want and we'll do our best to grant your wish."
He pretends to think for a moment before seizing the opportunity laid out in front of him. "I could use a job."
Charles tilts his head slightly to the side, his gaze never leaving Erik's. "Sebastian. Can you give him a job, darling?" He turns to face Shaw and pulls the man into a lingering kiss. "It would make me happy if you could help Mr. Lensherr out."
"Of course pet, anything you want." Shaw turns his attention to Erik and points to one of the men standing to his right. "Azazel is responsible for our logistics business. You can start with him and we'll see how well you fit in."
"Thank you."
And then he's forgotten, the two men making their way back to the booth, Shaw pouring champagne for his lover and lavishing the younger man with obvious affection.
Erik heads over to the bar and takes a seat, congratulating himself on successfully infiltrating Hellfire while simultaneously berating himself for being distracted by Shaw's pretty young thing.
A tall, imposing man with dark hair and a long, jagged scar on his face joins him, offering his hand to Erik.
"Azazel."
"Erik."
The other man – his new boss - leans over the bar and grabs a bottle of expensive vodka, pouring two shots and then handing one to Erik. He can feel eyes watching him intently, even as he can't stop staring at Shaw and the young man pressed intimately against him.
Azazel shakes his head and pours him another drink. "He's dangerous, comrade. I advise you to be very careful."
Erik can't hide the sneer on his face when he answers, "I know perfectly well how dangerous Sebastian Shaw can be."
"Not him." The other man claps him on the back and then slips away without another word.
