Chapter Text
König doesn't lose his virginity until he’s twenty-two. The delay is from a combination of social anxiety, a cruel prank played on him in secondary school that made him swear off dating, and the fact that he joined the military at the tender age of seventeen. He can admit to himself, in the privacy of his own mind, that he’s more scared of women than he is of enemies on the battlefield—but he craves their gentle touch nonetheless.
So, after years of hearing his army buddies brag about all the girls they've been with, König gives into desperation, and hires a prostitute.
It's a spur of the moment thing, really. He's been out drinking—he wouldn't have the confidence to approach the small group of scantily clad women on the dark street corner without liquid courage running through his veins. Even still, he stutters when he asks the girl who looks closest to his age if she "provides services of an intimate nature."
The girl stares up at him with wide, terrified eyes even as she nods mutely, and König flinches. She's scared of him. Looking at the other two girls, he realizes they're scared of him too. He thinks of seeing that same, frightened expression while he’s inside them, and he nearly vomits. He makes a hasty retreat, mumbling curses at himself the whole time. He is not a good man. He has done terrible, terrible things. But that—
He cannot possibly do that.
He almost doesn't notice the older, equally skimpily-dressed woman that is a little ways away, not until she begins to follow him. He turns around, shoulders drawn up by his ears, sure she's going to yell at him—but instead, she closes the distance between them and places a wrinkled hand on his broad chest.
"M'not afraid of you, big boy," she says, flirtatious but lacking embellishment that would make König think she is lying. "Would be happy ta take care of ya."
And König—
König can feel the heat of her hand through the fabric of his shirt. Though she is much older than him—in her forties at the very least, old enough to be his mutter—König finds himself even more attracted to her because of it.
"Please," he whispers in a broken voice, and she smiles at him, reaching up to pat his cheek. He nearly comes then and there.
That's how he finds himself in a cheap motel room, sobbing against her sagging breasts as she rides him into overstimulation, his long, thick arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace. He suckles on her nipples like a babe seeking milk, and when he comes for the third time, it's with a loud cry of "Mama!"
In the afterglow, he asks her to marry him. He doesn't even know her name, but he's sure he's in love. She chuckles, and kisses him sweetly with another pat on the cheek. He knows it is a rejection, and even though it hurts, he pays her triple the amount they agreed upon.
As he leaves, he swears to himself he’ll never do this again, shame clinging to him like a second skin, filmy and disgusting.
He’s back on her street corner the very next week.
-*-
Time passes, and König is a loyal client.
He doesn’t make love to other prostitutes, and of course, women who don’t have to be paid for their time are out of the question. He stays faithful to Crystal—she had told him that was her name, once, but he knew she was lying—for over a decade. So when she decides to leave be a hooker behind, he… well, he spirals, a little bit.
He begs Crystal not to leave him, not to abandon König like his real mutter had, promises her everything she could ever want, wealth beyond her wildest dreams—but she kisses him softly and says he can’t buy her sobriety. And how can he hate her for trying to get clean? For being brave enough to do what Lia Adler, his own mutter, never could? To choose something other than drugs?
Still… he can’t go back to that lonely, empty life he lived before Crystal, so he trawls the streets late at night, looking for a new Mama like a lost, ugly duckling. But all the girls are far too scared of him to lend him their services, even when he gets desperate and starts trying to negotiate—”Ja, I am serious! A thousand euros just to suck on your beautiful breasts this night, please, Fraulein!”—to the point that a teammate notices.
Nikto must have followed him, because one day, he hands König a sleek, red business card, says in a raspy voice that sounds like it hurts, “for your problem,” and walks away, studiously ignoring König’s confused questions.
When König finally takes the business card back out of his pocket that night when he’s in his room, he has to squint in order to read the small, cursive font.
Cristoph’s Cage
Find the perfect Pet for you
König scoffs—what use has he for a pet? He won’t be able to take care of it, being in the military, and the other man knows this—but Nikto, unlike the rest of their teammates, is not one to engage in pranks, so he finds himself pulling up the web address listed on the back of the card anyway.
A pop-up asks him for a password, and he looks at the card once more before typing “Pet.” He’s immediately redirected to a new website, and he freezes as dozens of nearly naked women fill his computer screen, his cheeks turning bright red as his cock swells. Arousal and embarrassment mix low in his belly, making his heart race as it jumps into his throat. Nikto knows, how does he know—
Realization washes over him. Nikto knows what König does, knows his shameful secret addiction habit of paying for a woman’s companionship—because he must do the same. Why else would he have this card? Just like König, he cannot get another human being to touch him without bribery—or force.
König doesn’t want to have to use force. At least when he pays, he can pretend that they want him, too.
He scrolls through the website, looking at all the pretty women for one that reminds him of Crystal, but all of these girls are much younger. Crystal had been nearing sixty by the time she left him, if not already there, but there’s not a single girl over twenty-five on this website.
He’s about to give up with a sigh of defeat when he sees her.
At the very bottom of the page is a picture of a girl in flowy, white lingerie. It’s sheer, and he can see the shadow of pink nipples beneath the fabric draped over her small, pert breasts. She’s skinny—too skinny, he thinks with a small frown—but she has big, brown doe eyes with dark bruises smudged beneath them, and a sweet, round face. Her long, auburn hair tumbles across her shoulders in loose curls, and she has one pink, pouty lip caught between her teeth—but it’s not a sultry expression like the other girls on the website. She’s nervous… No. Not nervous. She's frightened.
Angel Lia
19
Like you’re fucking a virgin every. single. time.
König clicks on her profile and inputs his contact information as if in a trance. He doesn't spare a thought for his info being stolen, or that this girl is nothing like Crystal, who is older and far more experienced—he just knows he has to have her. The hair, the name, the small, defeated state of her—she reminds him of his mutter so much that it makes his gut churn and his eyes grow hot. He needs her. He needs his mama! She’s been gone for so long…
A few more clicks, and König has an appointment set up with Angel Lia tomorrow night, at 21:00 on the dot. He chooses a nice hotel over an hour from base—just the thought of meeting her in a seedy motel makes him break out into a cold sweat. He needs to impress her. He needs to make her proud of the man he’s become. He wants her to regret abandoning him, to beg to be let back into his life. He won’t allow it, not right away—she needs to feel at least a little of the suffering and loneliness she’s inflicted on him, all these years—but when he finally does, he’ll never let her go again.
-*-
König is dressed in his best civilian clothes—a light blue button down and tan slacks—sitting anxiously on the edge of the hotel room’s king-sized bed. He can’t stop fidgeting, bouncing his leg and drumming his fingers across his thigh. He’s more nervous than he’s been in a very, very long time. Unable to take it anymore, he fishes his mask out of his pocket and pulls it on. Instantly, he feels like he can breathe again, and the confidence that he always feels on the battlefield rushes through his veins. He settles into it, lets it buoy him as he stands up and goes to check himself over in the full-length mirror once more.
He looks intimidating, even with the stupid civilian outfit, and a part of him feels conflicted over the idea of scaring his mutter—but another part takes a twisted sort of pleasure in it. She’d scared him often as a child, coming home still high, with bruises scattered all over her body, eyes glassy and unseeing. She never wanted to be touched, would always reject his clumsy attempts at seeking affection or giving comfort. So instead, he would climb on the kitchen counters to reach the cabinets with his favorite snacks—animal crackers and juice boxes—and bring her one of each. He remembers the way her eyes would focus, then, when he held them out to her with a quiet, “Here, Mama. For you.” She would look at him, and for just a moment, she would see him—her child, her son, the baby she had brought into the world already addicted to heroin and dangerously underweight—and the awfulness of it all would dawn on her. He didn’t understand then why she would whisper apologies to him until she got distracted by the drugs in her system once again, but he does now. When he closes his eyes, he can still feel the ghost of her lips pressed against his forehead and her hand cupping his cheek, because the only time she could stand to touch him was when she was overwhelmed by guilt.
There’s a knock at the door, and König straightens, some of his nerves returning. Slowly, he approaches, unwinding the darkened leather belt from around his waist as he does. His mutter… she needs to be punished for leaving him. She needs to hurt as he hurts. He doesn’t want to do this. But he has to. He has to make her understand.
He opens the door. The girl from the website stands before him, seemingly even smaller in person. She’s wearing a skintight red dress, but all he can see is the way her expression turns from nerves to fear when she notices his mask, and then from fear to terror when her big, brown eyes land on the belt in his hand. Her face pales drastically, and König is sure she’s going to try to run, to leave him like she had before, but instead, she speaks, voice high pitched and shaking so badly it’s hard to understand her.
“K-K-Kön-nig?”
He nods, because he cannot do anything else. He feels rooted in place, the confidence his mask lends him rapidly fleeing his body. The girl whimpers, almost too soft to hear, but then slips past him, her small, trembling body brushing against his arm as she enters the room.
That’s all it takes to make him crumble. He falls to his knees and drops the belt, grabbing the girl's wrist and pulling her to him before wrapping his long arms around her waist. He presses his masked face against her breasts as he cries, broad shoulders shaking with big, heaving sobs.
“Mama!” He wails, agony and regret dripping from every syllable. “Mama, es tut mir leid, es tut mir leid, vergib mir, es tut mir leid, Mama, bitte, bitte!”
She shrieks and squirms in his grip at first, trying to escape, and he sobs harder, his begging reaching a fever pitch. He was wrong, he was so wrong, how dare he scare her so terribly? She’s been scared enough. She’s been hurt enough. His mutter doesn’t need to be punished—she needs to be protected.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, her small hands stop battering his head and back, her touch turning gentle. His mama pets his hair over his mask with one hand, the other soothingly rubbing a spot where her fist had just left a bruise. König shudders, hiccuping, and nuzzles her soft breasts. They stay like that for a long while, but eventually, it’s not enough. He lifts the girl up, making her squeak in surprise, and then carries her over to the bed, where he gently lays her down. She’s still frightened, and he wishes he had animal crackers and juice to give her, but he doesn’t. So he takes off his mask instead, hoping he’ll seem a little less monstrous without it. He thinks he sees her relax ever so slightly, and he gives her a shy, nervous smile.
“Ich habe dich vermisst, Mama,” he whispers, tentatively reaching out to touch her. She flinches, but doesn’t push him away like she usually does, so he moves his hand from her thigh to her hip, squeezing it softly. He wonders if she used to carry him on this hip, when he was too small to remember. He tells himself that she must’ve, at least once. It’s too painful to think otherwise.
He splays his other hand across her belly, ignoring that he can feel her hip bones sticking out. No matter what, he knows that she’s carried him in here. For nine whole months, he’d been inside her, nestled just beneath her heart.
He wants to be inside her again.
But he doesn’t deserve such intimacy, not after scaring her so terribly. Not after planning to hurt her. He’s a wretched man, an awful son—no wonder she’d left him.
“Es tut mir leid,” he whispers again, using the hand on her hip to carefully roll her over. She sucks in a sharp breath and goes very still as he fumbles with the zipper of her dress, hands trembling, fingers too big to properly grasp the small piece of metal. It takes several tries, but he finally manages to unzip her dress all the way, revealing an expanse of smooth, pale skin.
“Du bist so schön, Mama,” he breathes, full of awe. She has a beauty mark shaped like a heart at the nape of her neck, and König can’t help but lean over and drop a lingering kiss to it as he slowly pulls her dress down, tossing it onto the floor. He moans as the scent of her shampoo fills his lungs. Peonies… her favorite flower.
She isn’t wearing a bra, and he doesn’t deserve what’s hidden under her lacy panties, so when he rolls her over once more, his gaze is immediately drawn to her breasts. He whimpers, staring at them intensely. They’re perfect—small and soft-looking and gently rounded, with little pink nipples he’s dying to suckle on.
“Mama,” he gasps. “Ich liebe dich, Mama.”
He shifts the bulk of his weight onto the bed next to her, then wraps his lips around her right nipple and begins to suck. His eyes fall shut in bliss, and his arms around her tighten just a little. This is perfect. This is heaven.
And then somehow, it becomes even better. His mama begins to card her fingers through his hair, long nails lightly scratching against his scalp. He hums, content. He can feel that her hand is still shaking, so he flicks his tongue over her nipple in apology, not letting up on the suction for a second. She gasps, and he smiles against her breast, just a little bit. He moves his hand to the other one, gently playing with her free nipple as he continues to nurse.
He is only allowed an hour with her, this first time, so he makes the most of it, switching to suckle on her other breast halfway through. He makes sure to keep up the gentle pinching and tugging as well. His mama seems to like it, her skin flushed and soft, little sounds falling from her pretty lips.
When she attempts to lightly push his head away, he whines, instinctively latching on with his teeth. It isn't a hard bite, but it still must have hurt, because she jumps and a little “ah!” escapes her. König immediately forces himself to let go, eyes wide and worried and full of guilt.
“Mama! Es tut mir leid— Ich— Ich meinte nicht—” He frantically examines her spit-slicked breasts, searching for teeth marks, but he finds none. “Es tut mir leid, bitte, Mama, verlass mich nicht, bitte—”
She shushes him sweetly, running her fingers through his hair again. He immediately relaxes, leaning into her touch.
“Okay,” she says, pointing to herself. She scrunches up her nose adorably, clearly thinking hard. Then, in utterly butchered German, “I have go. Time is end now.”
“Sprechen Sie kein Deutsch?” König asks, not making any move to let go of her. She stares at him with a helpless look on her face and starts trying to wiggle out of his arms, clearly not following. “Du hast heute Abend nichts von dem verstanden, was ich gesagt habe?”
“I have go. Time is end now,” she just repeats, a little firmer this time. She sounds British—perhaps she speaks English?
“You will come back?” He asks, in English this time. She startles a bit, but then slowly nods. That’s not good enough. She could be lying, he has to— he has to hear her say it. If she says it aloud, he’ll know whether or not she’s speaking the truth. “Say it, please. Say you will let me see you again.”
“I— I’ll let you see me again,” she replies, voice a little shaky but still genuine. König lets out a gusty sigh of relief, laying his head back on her chest and hugging her close.
“Danke, Mama, danke,” he murmurs, pressing grateful kisses to her breasts. “Ich liebe dich, Ich liebe dich so sehr."
Slowly, reluctantly, he lets go of her, taking the rest of his weight off her little body. There’s a wet spot on her leg, and he looks down to see that he’s leaked precome through his trousers. He flushes, embarrassed.
“Let me clean,” he says, gesturing to the spot as she bends down to pick up her dress. She hesitates, but then nods, and he disappears into the bathroom, coming back out a moment later with a warm, wet towel. He wipes her leg first, then her chest. She winces when the towel swipes over her nipples, and he frowns. “You are hurt?”
“N-no, just— sensitive,” she admits, her own cheeks turning pink. She is very pretty, and very sweet. Maybe next time, if he is good, and he deserves it, he will make love to her.
He lets her take over cleaning herself up, watching her carefully wipe his saliva from her breasts. Her nipples are stiff and swollen, and a much darker pink than they were an hour ago.
“Your breasts are perfect,” he blurts out, and immediately wants to beat himself over the head with a frying pan. He has made a terrible impression on her tonight, neither confident nor kind, and now he cannot even come up with a compliment for something other than her body? He clamps his mouth shut tightly. If he opens it again to try and rectify the situation, he has no doubt that whatever he says will only make it worse.
The girl gives him a strained smile as she steps back into her dress, wincing when she pulls it up over her chest. He bites his tongue so hard he tastes blood. He nearly bites through it when she struggles to do up the zipper herself, itching to help her. But she finally manages, and as she slips her feet into her tall, black heels, he goes to collect the cash from the bedside drawer.
“Payment,” he says, holding it out, because surely that, at least, can only help. The fat stack of euros looks comically large in her small hands when she accepts it, carefully counting the bills. 500 for one hour with her, far more expensive than Crystal ever was—but worth every cent.
Besides. KORTAC pays well—certainly better than the Austrian military ever had. He has the money, and very little else to spend it on.
“Thank you,” she says, sliding the cash into her purse. When she looks up at him, she gives him another shy smile. “Contact Christoph again if you wish to set up another appointment. I look forward to it.”
Lie, but now that he knows what she sounds like when she’s deceiving him, he’s only more certain her promise to come back was the truth. After his earlier behavior, that’s all he can ask for.
“Goodbye,” he tells her, and stares at the door, watching her leave. He doesn’t move for a long, long time after she’s gone.