Chapter Text
Okay, here it goes. A plan that is in every way doomed to fail but here. it. goes.
Chuck took a deep breath for the hundredth time, trying to keep his nerves up, reminding himself for who he was doing this for. Mike. Mikey. It was all his fault, he just couldn’t cut it. He had lost the race against the Duke of Detroit, and also lost Mutt and Stronghorn.
As if losing hadn’t been bad enough, the Duke had to go and rub salt in the wound as well, by driving Mutt off of the racetrack. Chuck had never seen Mike look quite so defeated as he did that night, and he couldn’t forgive himself for it. It was his fault, if he had just stopped running his mouth in front of the Duke then none of this would have happened.
Mike of course told Chuck that he didn’t blame him. He should have never put Chuck on the spot and made the bet. Texas however did nothing but help enforce the feelings of guilt inside him. What sort of guy who was around cars all day every day didn’t know how to drive?
Mike would always tell Texas to lay off of him after that, and that just made the guilt even worse. Their group was in a slump now. They were down two cars now, not to mention his own wasn’t exactly equipped for fighting. So if they did get attacked by Kane they would definitely be at a disadvantage. Texas moped about over the loss of his Stronghorn, even Mike was down for losing Mutt, though he did his best to put on a good face for Chuck.
It wasn’t a good enough though. Chuck needed to do something, he had to make up for failing at the race. Getting an appointment with the Duke of Detroit was easier than he had imagined, surprisingly. Though as he entered the Dukes throne room and saw Mutt and Stronghorn on display he realized that it may have been because the Duke wanted to rub his loss in his face.
“Well now,” The Duke’s voice slithered its way down from the throne and into Chuck’s ears, “to what do I owe this pleasant surprise? Come to admire my new beauties? Or did you come to make another bet?” There was no mistaking the mockery, and it made Chucks nerves stretch to be just a bit closer to snapping. He had had a plan hadn’t he? Crap, why couldn’t he remember his plan? He had had one and everything and now for the life of him he couldn’t remember!
Chuck swallowed, his throat dry. From upon his throne the Duke continued to stare down at him, blatantly amused by how uncomfortable he was. Even the guards, Chuck would swear that they were silently laughing. Taking pleasure in his discomfort from behind their hats.
“Uh, well..you see..Duke-“
“That’s The Duke of Detroit to you.” The older man punctuated the end of his sentence with a beat of his cane against the ground. Several pyrotechnics went off simultaneously for dramatic effect. Always the drama king, always the need to put on a show. The bad part was that it was working, reducing Chuck to a blubbering mess of nerves and words.
“Yes! Duke of Detroit sir! Sorry!” The blonde quickly blurted out and the Duke somehow found a way to look even more amused. Several moments of silence pass between them before the Duke impatiently breaks it.
“Well?” He drawls and Chuck remembers that there’s a reason that he’s in the Duke’s mansion.
“Ah, well you see Mr. Duke..Sir. You see my friends, they sort of need their cars…back…” Chuck’s sentence ends in a squeak. The look that the Duke is giving him is no longer one of simple amusement, but one of predator. It’s penetrative, professional, and so very cold. It does nothing but further remind Chuck of the gap in power between the two, and how the Duke could have him thrown out or worse any second now.
The Duke chooses to do nothing, instead deciding to humor him.
“Do they now? Well that is a problem as I won them fair and square.” The Duke grins and spreads his arms wide to motion at the cars on either side of him. The longer this conversation goes on the more hopeless Chuck is beginning to feel. He opens his mouth but the Duke beats him to it, stepping all over any ideas of he might have with his white gators.
“What? Were you hoping to make an offer for them? Surely you weren’t going to offer up that jalopy that you drove in the race were you? It’d hardly be an equal exchange for your idiot friends car, let alone Mutt. Certainly not worth both of them. “
“I can build things though. Custom parts! Anything you-“
“I’ve already got all the tools needed to make custom parts, and all of the money needed in order to get anything I can’t make. “ The Duke says, cutting through Chucks last desperate attempt to make any ground. Just like that his game plan is gone. He’d be better off running , high-tailing it back to the shop and begging for Mikes forgiveness for the thousandth time.
And the Duke is talking to him.
“What?” Chuck asks dumbly and the Duke gives him an irritated look, his mouth tilting sideways into a frown. Obviously not happy that Chuck didn’t hear what he just said.
“I said come up here.” The Duke beckons him to climb the stairs with a beckoning motion of his finger. Confused and cautious he begins to do so, slowly. Until a sharp beat of the Duke’s cane against the floor and an even sharper “Quickly,” gets him moving faster. In seconds he’s standing in front of the other man who has taken to full on lounging on his thrown. Like Chuck’s reason for being there isn’t serious business at all. It probably isn’t in the Duke’s mind.
With a flick of his wrist the Duke’s can spins upwards towards him, jewel end first, and Chuck flinches preparing for an impact that never comes. Instead he’s surprised to feel the jewel end of the cane part the bangs that eternally hang in front of his face. Confusion quickly solidifies into embarrassment because the Duke.just.keeps.staring.at.him. Taking him apart like he’d take apart the insides of a car. Embarrassment quickly bleeds through to fear though, because this is The Duke of Detroit, and you never know what he’s going to do. Maybe he’ll push Chuck down the stairs behind him, in the hope that Chuck will break a leg or his neck. Or maybe he’ll have his goons send him back to his friends with a few bruised ribs. He’s The Duke of Detroit, and the only thing crazier than him is his temper.
In the hope of seeming as harmless as he can Chuck freezes and allows the Duke to continue to poke and prod him with the end of his cane. By the fourth of fifth poke he stops, either satisfied or bored, and tilts his shades down just enough.
“You really want to get your friends cars back huh?” The Duke’s eyes are dark brown, almost black, but Chuck can hardly notice them through the fear coursing through his system. He’s going to die. The Duke’s going to take payment for the cars out of his body parts. How much is he even worth? An arm for a steering wheel? A leg for a muffler?
“…Yes…sir.” He quickly adds the sir on as an afterthought. If he’s going to die he’d prefer it to be as painless as possible.
“Well then I think we can come to an agreement.”
Hope.
“We can?” Chuck asks bewildered and a faint glimmer of hope begins to shine in the darkness. He’s so caught up in his thoughts that he never even sees the Duke’s cane until he feels it connect with the back of his legs, bringing him to his knees. He looks up in confusion and immediately looks away embarrassed, from his current position his face is at the same level with the Dukes groin. That’s something that he’d rather not look at…or think about…or even be in the same vicinity of someone thinking about the Duke's groin. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to be given the choice however, as the tip of the Dukes cane turns him right back around, forcing him to look at the other man.
“Oh yes.” The sadistic glee in the Dukes voice couldn’t be any more noticeable, the man is practically vibrating with the happiness of someone who is about to do something awful, and enjoy it. “There are lots of ways to pay off things after all, if you know what I mean.”
Chuck doesn’t know what he means, at least he doesn’t until the Dukes hand goes to his belt buckle and undoes it. Then understanding hits him like one of Kane’s giant robots. The Duke wants that?! Why does the Duke want that?! Chuck keeps his eyes on the ground, fear and nausea rolling through his system.
“If I do this, my friends can have their cars back?”
“Of course, mind you, one time isn’t going to be enough to pay off both of the cars. Oh no, I’d say there’d have to be,” and Chuck can hear him grin,”several performances in order for you to earn back your friends cars.”
Several.
Chuck wants to throw up. Want to run screaming from the Duke’s mansion like a little girl. Parts of him wants to be rebellious, and maybe punch the Duke right where it hurts since he’s at such a great angle. But then he thinks back to Mike and Texas. He thinks of how they’ve been down as of lately, and how the teams been off, how vulnerable they are. Most of all he thinks of that guilt that’s been crushing him.
“Okay.” He says and Chuck swears he can feel his world tip over.
“Alright then, it’s a deal.” He blinks at the hand that suddenly in his face. Chuck looks from the hand to the Duke, and then back to the hand that’s extended to him before he realizes that the Duke aims for him to shake it to seal the deal. He’s mocking him, but that doesn’t stop Chuck from extending his own quivering hand and shaking.
“Excellent.” The Duke speaks and yanks Chuck into the space between his legs. Chuck feels his cheeks fill with blood as he finds himself much closer to the Dukes crotch than he’s ever wanted to be. He casts his eyes upward, towards the Dukes face.
“The others don’t find out about this?” He wants it to be a statement, but it’s so weak and frail that it can’t pass as anything else other than a plea. He’s begging the Duke of Detroit, and given his situation, that’s probably not the best thing to be doing. But he just can’t help it, if any of the others find out about this…..
“Of course not.” The Duke assures him before pushing his face back down in a silent order to get on with it. Chuck swallows, fighting the bile that slowly rising in the back of his throat as he reaches and pulls the zipper down and ohdeargodhecanseeitthroughtheboxers.
Now Chuck is about two seconds away from hyperventilating. His head is growing dizzy from all of the blood rushing to his cheeks, and nausea continues to make his stomach roll.
Okay.
Don’t think about the Guards.
Don’t think about the Duke.
Don’t think about what you’re doing.
No….wait. He stops himself. He has to think about what he's doing, he's never done this before. That fact only becomes even more painfully obvious as he continues. He manages to get the Duke’s boxer shorts down far enough without passing out. But once he has “it” out he’s not sure what to do. It feels weird in his grasp and Chuck fights to urge to run and wash his hands. The Duke only takes so much of Chuck’s fondling before becoming impatient and pushing him to the next level, and if it was possible to die of shame Chuck would have. He had no idea what he was doing and it’s difficult to keep his mouth formed properly around the Duke’s cock.
His teeth scrape accidentally and above him he hears the Duke of Detroit let out a hiss before curling his fingers tightly into his hair.
“Watch it now.” He warns and it does nothing but make Chuck even more nervous. He does his best to make sure that his teeth don’t scrape. But in doing so he falls completely out of rhythm. The Duke only gives him so long to try and fix it before he does it himself. Retaking Chuck’s hair in his hand him bob’s the blondes head up and down to a rhythm of his choice. Chuck gags when the Duke pushes too far too fast, but his distressing situation doesn't seem to register with the Duke as the other refuses to slow down.
It’s humiliating, and Chuck can feel tears forming along the edges of his eyes when he’s pulled off. He coughs hard, his throat and mouth sore from the abuse. For a moment Chuck thinks that the Duke is going to have him finish him off with his hands. But then a hand finds his hair again and yanks his head back in time for him to hear the Duke groan above him and for something to splash across his face.
Did he just?
He didn’t.
Ohgodhedid!
“That was downright aweful.” If Chuck wasn’t so glued to the spot he would see the Duke tucking himself back into his pants and redoing his belt. However, he is glued to the spot out of horror and humiliation because the Duke of Detroit just came right across his face.
No number of showers is ever going to make him feel clean again.
“I’d recommend practicing a bit.” Chuck can’t even argue. 'Practice? Practice on what?' He wants to ask, but he can’t, he’s in no position to anymore. He’s made a deal with the Duke after all. He has nothing to wipe his face off with, so he has to settle for his shirt. Hopefully he’ll be able to wash it before anyone sees it. He manages to get most of it off before he’s roughly yanked to his feet and walked down the stairs.
“Now remember what I said about practicing. Oh and don’t worry, I’ll make sure not to do anything to your friends precious cars while they’re in my care. “ Somehow Chuck isn’t reassured, but he hardly gets a chance to protest as the Duke pushes him out of the front door. “We’ll be in touch, just make sure that you’re ready to come running the next time I call. Wouldn’t want your friends to go without their cars for too long now would we?” The Duke of Detroit flashes him one last amused grin and then shuts the door in his face.
For a good long minute Chuck does nothing but stare and then quietly walks to his car. Once he’s inside he finally breaks down, letting his head fall against the steering wheel.
Christ, what has he gotten himself into?