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Peter Lukas did not have a happy childhood.
In the Lukas family, it is expected- required- that there is at least one heir per generation. One person with the right temperament to serve the Forsaken, and ensure that the line carried on. This usually causes no issues.
Peter's generation is the exception.
First was Emily, loud and rebellious, sent to live with Nathanial's own exiled sister at the age of 14. Next was Lily, sent to a posh boarding school on the continent at 12. Then Aaron, following after Emily to their aunt's at 10. And Jack, off to Aunt Judith's like Emily and Aaron before him.
Finally, there was Peter. 6-year-old Peter Nathanial Lukas was bright, cheery, happy.
This did not last long. Nathanial Lukas was not a kind man.
It was an insidiously simple plan. Lock the boy in his room. Afford him no human contact. Punish him for speaking. From the age of 6, until the age of 14, Peter did not leave his room.
He did not speak again until he was 24, and a handsome stranger in a bar he didn't remember the name of introduced himself as,
"James. James Wright."
"...Peter. Lukas."
It hurt to speak. He was almost surprised that he still could at all. James flashed him a grin, charming and roguish in a way that seemed perhaps best suited for a younger man.
"Strange that I've never met you before."
"Why so?"
"I thought that I'd met all of the Lukases so far. I'm the new Head of the Magnus Institute."
"I've been at sea," Peter says, and it confuses him to no end that he is speaking for the first time in 18 years. And to a stranger at that, a stranger who has all but declared that he serves the Beholding. it is not a compulsion, this man is no Archivist. But... there is something about him that Peter can't quite resist.
"Ah," James says knowingly. "Yes, that would be a good reason not to know."
There is a comfortable silence that settles over the pair of them, then, as they sit, quietly sipping their respective drinks. The quiet, as much as it suits Peter, also draws his attention to the not inconsiderable amount of times that James glances over at him. It's a hungry look that leaves him barely suppressing shudders.
"So," James says, "Were you even aware that this was a gay bar when you walked in, or are you lost?" There's a teasing lilt to the posh accent, a bit of hidden playfulness underneath the crisp RP.
"I hadn't noticed," Peter admits. "I don't pay much attention to the pubs I wander into when I'm on shore leave."
"Are you straight, then?"
"Not in the slightest."
That makes James chuckle, a low, warm sound that sends a pleasant shiver up Peter's spine.
"Would you object, then, if I offered to show you a good time?"
There's that roguish smile again, something dark and hungry in those beautifully stormy eyes. He can't help but be drawn to them, their complexities and beauty. Peter thinks that he can see a thousand different shades in James's eyes, and dear God, what he wouldn't give to never have to look away. Something tugs in the back of his head, telling him that this is a bad idea, but it's dulled by the warmth of the alcohol and James's gaze.
"Not in the slightest."
They wave a cab down just outside the bar, and it takes every bit of restraint in Peter's body to keep his gaze on the dark, lonely streets of London instead of James.
They pull up to James's flat, which Peter is pulled into quite forcefully- not that he minds. The door is scarcely closed before James has him pinned against it, plush lips pressing insistently against Peter's chapped ones. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he notes that it is quite lovely for his first kiss, but the majority of him is tangled with the man in front of him, hands curling in James's coat, pulling him as close as possible. The kiss is so good, the perfect amount of sweet and hungry, and Peter can't help but part his lips, eager for more. James is just as eager to give it to him, one hand curling around Peter's hip as the other one tangles in his hair, still so full of sea salt from the bow of the Tundra, and gently begins to explore Peter's mouth with his tongue.
He can't stop the quiet moan that the feeling elicits from him, and even as he blushes in shame he can't bear the thought of pulling away just yet. He whines softly when James does it for him, though it only elicits a low chuckle instead of the return that Peter had wanted.
"You're so cute, Peter," he says, and dear God, Peter can feel his blush intensifying. "As eager as we both are, I've no intention of fucking you up against the door. Follow me, darling."
James leads him by the hand to an incredibly impressive bedroom- not that he gets to see much of it at all before he's practically thrown onto the bed, James stradling him in an instant.
"Let's get you out of those clothes, darling.”
Peter is stripped so fast he barely has time to register it before James is on top of him again, and they are devouring each other, bodies moving in a rhythm neither of them have to even try for, running off of pure instinct.
A finger slides inside him and Peter gasps, hips twitching upwards on instinct, pulling a chuckle from James.
“So cute . Lookit you. You’re so pretty ,” James coos, sliding a second finger into Peter, drawing yet another gasp from the younger man. “You’re taking my fingers so well , too, darling, so beautifully,” and Peter can’t help but blush deeply, moaning at the slight burn of the stretch.
Another finger, more moans from Peter, and before he knows it James is slipping his cock into Peter, and it makes his nerves sing . His toes curl involuntarily as he arches upwards, moans spilling out as James fills him completely. He’s never felt so wonderful in his life , heat pooling in his belly and pleasure sparking up his spine. And then James moves, and he sees stars .
It’s overwhelming, this white-hot pleasure, and Peter has started to shake, tears pooling in his eyes as he desperately presses against James like a lifeline. To his credit, James holds him tightly, pressing soft kisses to Peter’s forehead as they rock together, murmuring quiet praise. It’s so good , so good , and it doesn’t take long for Peter to cum with a harsh sob.
James isn’t far behind him, cumming in Peter with a low groan. It takes him a moment to catch his breath but he doesn’t let go of Peter, who’s pressing desperate, shaky kisses of his own to James’s collarbone.
“Are you alright?”
He can’t bear to respond, simply pressing himself tighter against James, an embarrassed flush spreading across his face and down his chest as he continues to cry. James doesn’t pry, simply holding Peter tighter, pressing gentle kisses to the younger man’s tear-stained face.