Chapter Text
Percival turns the hotel key over in his hands, watching the polished plastic glint in the low light. The only time he ever goes somewhere this fancy is for a client, and he alway marvels just a little at the details; the wall sconces, the marble floors, the crisp uniforms worn by the bellboys. Percival envies them, having a job like that.
He crosses the lobby quickly, denying himself the chance to gawk and trying not to look too obviously out of place. The wait for the elevator is too long, and when it finally arrives he keeps his head down and steps inside quickly. A little sigh of relief blooms in his chest when no one else gets in - the long ride would be intolerable with a stranger, trapped with nowhere for their eyes to fall except on him. He doesn’t want to be noticed here, doesn’t want anybody to remember his face or pay any attention to him at all.
If they looked at him for more than a second, they’d know what he’s here for.
He’s dressed in the clothes Grindelwald requested; tight, dark jeans that sit low on his hips and show off his ass, and a shirt that clings to him and accentuates his slim figure, the open collar hinting at something suggestive. The wool coat he sent makes him look more daring than he is, with a popped collar and epaulettes on the shoulders, right along with his carefully tousled hair. He even sent a necklace, a silver chain with some shiny geometric pendant just barely visible beneath his shirt. Grindelwald had sent no underwear.
The clothes makes him look like exactly what he is.
Really, he’s dressed too casually for this hotel. A room here might just cost more than he does. But Grindelwald gets what he wants, and he wants Percival here and dressed as he is. He just does what he’s told.
The elevator glides to a stop and chimes as the doors slide open. Percival glances down one more time at the room number on the card key, and winds his way towards it through the maze of corridors as checks the time quickly, relieved to find it’s still a minute to eight. He’s right on schedule, just in time to provide Grindelwald’s after-dinner entertainment.
Percival had wanted to refuse Grindelwald this time. There was something about the man that set him on edge the very first time Grindelwald paid for him, and the things he wanted - or rather, the way he wanted them... he’d felt sick by the end. He’d thought about saying no, that he was already booked or couldn’t do it or just no, and saving himself from what’s ahead.
If only Grindelwald weren’t rich. If only Percival hadn’t gotten another notice last week that his rent was late, creeping ever closer to that deadline where his life falls apart.
He allows himself one final, steadying breath in front of Grindelwald’s door. Perhaps this time it won’t be so bad. For all he knows it could be like any usual customer, and he can go home after and pay his rent and everything will be fine.
He’s going to be fine.
He slides the card through the electronic reader, and when the light blinks green he pushes the door open.
The room is lavish, though Percival would not expect Grindelwald to settle for anything less. A suite like this absolutely costs more than he does - it opens into a spacious sitting room complete with an armchair, a sleek sofa, and a flat screen television set above the mantel, the hardwood floor covered by a plush carpet. The opposite wall is entirely glass and opens onto a balcony overlooking the bright New York skyline, though mercifully the sheer, flowing curtains obscure any potential view into the room. All in all the suite is bigger than Percival’s whole apartment. There’s no attempt to save space, and that alone speaks to the luxury and expense.
And of course, Grindelwald. He reclines on the sofa and looks up when the door clicks open, a smile spreading across his face like ink bleeding through paper. His perfect clothes are rumpled with relaxation, his waistcoat already unbuttoned and his tie undone. He holds a glass in his hand which he swirls lazily before draining it and setting it carelessly aside on the low table. He is the very picture of decadence, and Percival is just another one of his luxuries.
He swallows hard.
“Percy,” Grindelwald says warmly, beckoning him into the room. “Guten Abend.”
“Good evening sir.” Percival bites his lip and ducks his head, knowing that Grindelwald likes him submissive. Most men do, but Grindelwald especially. “Thank you for inviting me.” Buying me.
“Of course. How could I make a trip to New York without seeing my favorite whore?”
Percival barely contains a flinch. He hates that word - whore. Most of his customers don’t want to think about paying him, and that’s fine by Percival. He doesn’t want to think about being paid. He shows them a nice night, they treat him like a sweet young thing they picked up at the bar, and everybody ends up happy.
But Grindelwald - Grindelwald likes that he’s a whore. He likes that Percival wouldn’t be here otherwise, that he has the power to make him do whatever he wants just by promising to pay him enough that he won’t get evicted. Grindelwald could pay his rent for the next six months without noticing the difference, but instead he’ll make Percival beg and debase himself just to make ends meet, and he’ll do it because he enjoys it.
Percival has the awful suspicion that Grindelwald would choose to pay for sex over having it offered freely just because he likes the power. The power, and the ability to treat him like a toy without consequence. Grindelwald talks about him the same way he would a favorite restaurant or a local wine; another piece of entertainment for the evening, an attraction to fill up his time with.
Yet something still stirs deep inside him - Favorite. He’s Grindelwald’s favorite. He hates that the thought brings him any warmth at all.
Grindelwald is watching him, amusement mixed with something unsettling in his expression. His eyes flick down Percival’s body in something disturbingly close to an inspection - perhaps checking that Percival complied with his selection of clothes, or perhaps just picturing the way he’s going to use his toy. Either way, Percival knows better than to keep him waiting. Grindelwald has little time for pleasantries, and Percival isn’t here to talk.
He crosses the room and kneels by the couch so that he can press his lips to Grindelwald’s in a proper greeting, keeping his mouth soft and loose as he flicks his tongue out to tease. He parts his lips invitingly, making a small, needy moan and looking up with wide eyes before ducking his head in again, brushing their lips together and running his tongue over the seam of Grindelwald’s mouth, doing his best to be pliant and eager.
Grindelwald makes him work for it. With a small hum he turns his head away, but Percival knows what he wants. He whines, kissing Grindelwald’s jaw because he can’t reach his mouth and pressing adoring kisses to his skin, licking and gently sucking wherever he can reach. Grindelwald wants him needy and desperate for a kiss, so that’s what Percival is.
As a rule, Percival doesn’t kiss his clients. But after Grindelwald pinned him down and stole a kiss from him that first time, it was easier to just do it than to argue. It doesn't really matter, anyway - it can't be all that more intimate than the rest of what they do, even if it makes his stomach flutter and his heart beat a little quicker.
It's just a kiss.
Eventually he must do well enough. Grindelwald relents, grabbing Percival by the lapels of his wool coat and tugging him in, taking his balance until he falls against Grindelwald’s chest with a small breath of surprise. His tongue swirls over Percival’s lips, insistent and searching as he takes control of the kiss, holding the back of his head and pulling him in at just the right angle so that he can lick deeper into his mouth. It's hot and liquid, better than it should be when Grindelwald sucks on his lip, when he swirls his tongue and bites, gently, spurring a rush of sensation that makes Percival gasp. His mouth goes slack, allowing Grindelwald to open him up and explore him, taste him, claim him.
By the time Grindelwald finishes with his mouth Percival is flushed and dazed, lips parted and shining wetly. Grindelwald’s eyes flick over him, and he smirks.
“Ah, Schatzi. Take off that coat.”
Percival scrambles to obey, shrugging out of it and laying it over the nearby armchair so it stays clean. The moment he turns back Grindelwald kisses him again, wet and hot and messy, before drawing him onto the sofa and pushing him down. Percival goes easily, following Grindelwald’s hands until he’s positioned on his back, arms above his head to expose the line of his chest - Percival rolls his body and is rewarded by Grindelwald’s intake of breath - parting his legs so that Grindelwald can slide a thigh between them and push him down into the cushions.
The warm press of Grindelwald’s body above him makes his eyes slip closed. His weight is firm, his body strong, and the contact is hard not to react to. Or it would be, if Percival bothered to try - instead he spreads his legs a little wider, inviting, rolling his hips up at the same time that he breathes out a sigh. It’s just like being with any other client. No reason to hide his responses, no reason to be shy - clients always want to think they turn him on, and Grindelwald is no different.
The grip on his wrists tightens, and Grindelwald grinds down against him as he places a kiss on his forehead.
By the time Percival has recovered from the hot flush incited in him, Grindelwald is dragging his hands ever so slowly over his forearms, his biceps, down to his shoulders. He massages as he goes, squeezing and stroking, until a heavy weight settles into his arms and he has the fleeting thought that he doesn’t ever want to move again.
It’s easy to keep his hands where they were put while Grindelwald touches him. That long, slow stroke continues down to his sides, fingers grazing the bump of each rib before coming to rest on his small waist and squeezing possessively. He makes a little noise of appreciation and rocks his hips beneath Grindelwald’s weight, squirming in eagerness. It’s not a complete lie; it does feel good to be touched, even if it’s just the first stirrings of warmth. Even if he’d rather it not go further, not with this man.
Grindelwald chuckles at his apparent neediness, rubbing his thumbs into the soft dip at his waist and drinking in the way he squirms and presses forward in response. Grindelwald splays one hand on his belly, the better to feel each shuddering breath, while the other travels up the lines of his body; following the gentle curve of his ribs to his sternum, tracing his collarbone before dipping back down to squeeze his pectoral, fingers dancing across his body and leaving him weak.
His other customers don’t bother with this, and why would they? Percival is there to make them feel good, not the other way around. But Grindelwald loves to see him fall apart. He softens him up with pleasure and then digs into him, rending him to his core to expose the most intimate parts of his being so he can play.
It’s going to happen again tonight. Grindelwald will take him apart piece by piece, and Percival will let him. He doesn’t stand a chance, Grindelwald knows just how to make his body react and there’s nothing he can do but make sure to let Grindelwald hear his little gasps each time his fingers find a sensitive spot.
Grindelwald’s fingernail catches on his nipple, and Percival’s body jerks.
“Gefällt es dir?” Grindelwald murmurs, and Percival shivers and pants as Grindelwald flicks his finger back and forth over that sensitive nub. It hardens quickly under the attention, drawing up tight and making a little bump under his shirt. He rolls his head side to side, breathless.
The pleasure sinks into his chest, running hot through his veins. His cock is already starting to stir, twitching with interest as the warm, shivery sensation blooms in him. Percival lets his enjoyment show. It's exactly what Grindelwald wants, it's what he's here for.
He makes a little mewl of protest when Grindelwald stops playing with him, shifting on the sofa to chase the sensation.
“Ah-ah,” Grindelwald reprimands. “Hold still, sweetheart. Don't you dare move. Not an inch.”
Percival stills, but he doesn't understand - this is new, Grindelwald hasn't played this game before. Does he really want him to hold still? Or to act so overcome with need that it's impossible?
If Grindelwald notices Percival’s confusion at all, he gives no indication. With sure fingers he undoes the buttons on Percival’s shirt, slipping them free one by one and gazing down appreciatively at the bare skin it reveals to him. Percival’s chest is smooth, his skin soft, and Grindelwald opens his shirt wide to expose it. One finger runs down the center of his chest, and Percival breathes in deeply as he arches up to meet it -
Grindelwald’s touch vanishes. Percival looks up at him, trying to read his intentions, but his face is a mask of amusement.
“...Sir?” he asks, tentative. He’s trying to give Grindelwald what he wants, he just - he doesn’t know what that is.
“Do as I say, Schatzi,” Grindelwald tells him. He taps Percival’s cheek lightly with his palm - a reminder, and a warning. “Ja?”
Percival nods quickly, eager to please. He forces himself to sink back down onto the sofa, body loose and relaxed for Grindelwald’s pleasure even as confusion buzzes in the back of his mind. It doesn’t seem like it would be very pleasing for him to just lay there, he should be enticing Grindelwald to fuck him or sucking his cock or at least making a show of how much Grindelwald turns him on, not making him do all the work. As certain as Grindelwald seems in his orders, Percival can’t shake how strange it feels to let himself be taken care of by a customer.
But in the end it doesn’t matter whether he understands. Grindelwald has bought him for the night and he can do as he likes. So long as he gets what he wants and pays for Percival’s time, that’s what matters tonight.
And despite the strangeness, some corner of his mind feels almost… glad. Relieved. There’s no second guessing, no trying to anticipate what he’s supposed to do when he doesn’t have any way to know. He can focus on what he’s told and do it well, and he just has to trust that Grindelwald knows what he wants.
Grindelwald repeats his long stroke down Percival’s chest, smiling when he trembles but remains still. His hunger as he runs his hands over Percival’s body is palpable, and Percival watches him through fluttering lashes as Grindelwald’s eyes flick between his lips, his nipples, and his cock, drinking in each intimate piece of his body. The urge to squirm twists inside him, to either hide or show off his body on his own terms, but he does neither.
Grindelwald’s fingers find his nipples and he pinches this time, setting off little shocks of pain-pleasure along his nerves. He’s weak for this, weak for having his nipples played with and tugged and milked, and somehow Grindelwald knows. The pleasure is so deep he can feel it in his bones.
He bites his lip and doesn’t move.
Grindelwald is relentless, alternating between squeezing Percival’s nipples and massaging deep into his chest, working his fingers around his areola and rubbing his thumbs into the tense muscle of his pectorals. It’s bliss, and it’s torture; any time Percival shifts or presses forward, Grindelwald stops. He takes his hands away and holds back the warm pleasure his fingers provide, waiting for the guilt and apology to flash across Percival’s face.
It’s hard, harder than he thought it would be, and he starts to understand why Grindelwald would want this from him. All his effort goes into keeping his body still in the face of so much sweet sensation, and god - this isn’t how it should go. It’s not supposed to be about his own pleasure, and he isn’t used to trying to think through the hazy mess it makes of his mind. He has to remind himself constantly to hold his position, repeating it to himself until it becomes a mantra of hold still, hold still, hold still, blocking everything else out of his mind in a desperate attempt at obedience. He trembles under Grindelwald’s hands - between the constant effort and Grindelwald’s slow touches, there’s little room in his head for anything else.
“Shh, there’s a good boy.” Grindelwald’s voice is a low, encouraging murmur. The little praises he whispers shouldn’t matter, Percival is working, but he wants to hear them all the same - he wants the reassurance and the comfort, the validation that he’s being good.
What Grindelwald is doing feels so much more intimate than it has any right to.
“So close, Percy,” Grindelwald breathes in his ear. “Just relax, you can do it. Komm schon.”
Percival doesn't know what he's close to. He doesn't know what Grindelwald wants from him.
Grindelwald doesn’t give him time to wonder, leaning in to flick his tongue across Percival’s lips and make them tingle, wet and good and driving him out of his mind until he parts his lips to silently beg for more.
Grindelwald obliges. His lips are soft against Percival’s, licking into him deep and slow, sending the room spinning and forcing Percival to scrabble for purchase within his own mind, taking every last thought and leaving him dizzy. It’s too much, too much to try to understand, and it’s going to kill him if he keeps trying to survive it. Grindelwald’s current is going to drag him under, and he can’t fight it.
Percival does the only thing he can; he lets himself drop.
The tension seeps from his body on a quiet breath, leaving him limp and malleable to Grindelwald’s desires. He feels buoyant. The pleasure is a golden ocean in which he floats, following the currents and eddies that Grindelwald’s hands create with ease. He feels odd but so, so good - like the very best parts of being drunk, his body singing with contentment. It’s easy. Grindelwald will tell him exactly what to do.
He drifts like that for a while, mind quiet. His nipples are puffy and sore by the time Grindelwald is done playing with them, but any discomfort just bleeds right back into pleasure and he barely notices, too deep in sensation to care.
His touch moves lower, hands sliding down his abdomen to stroke his sides and squeeze his waist, making him feel small and vulnerable under his big, warm hands. Percival sighs, exhaling the last of his tension and melting into the moment, heavy and at peace.
There’s a tug and a clink as Grindelwald undoes his belt buckle, and then the fastens of his pants, revealing smooth skin and the evidence of his enjoyment. His cock is starting to fill, nearly half hard just from Grindelwald’s attentions. He palms it gently and a shiver runs through Percival’s whole body - it’s not enough, not nearly enough, Grindelwald is just holding him. He provides no friction, no pressure, just the warmth of his hand.
Then even that vanishes, leaving Percival’s needy cock to rest against his thigh while Grindelwald rummages for something, and Percival doesn’t understand. He makes an uncertain little noise in his throat before he realizes it, feeling lost without the rhythm of Grindelwald’s touches and words. He has no cadence to follow, nothing to lose himself in, and he wants it back.
“Oh, little darling. I’m not done with you yet, don’t you worry. Look at me.” Percival does, and Grindelwald’s smile is as slow and thick as honey. “There you are.”
There he is. He looks up into Grindelwald’s eyes and he feels safe again, secure and comforted. Grindelwald’s hand returns to pet his hip and Percival lets himself focus on the touch; the little sparks it sends along his nerves, the heat that pools in his belly, the fuzzy static which fills his mind…
His gaze slips downward, over Grindelwald’s open collar, past his rolled up sleeves, to the glint of silver he holds in his hand.
“I want you to wear this for me,” he says, and Percival frowns in confusion. He doesn’t understand what it is - some piece of jewelry? Why hadn’t Grindelwald sent it along with the rest of the clothes? It’s too much to think about and he looks up at Grindelwald for answers, hoping that he doesn’t have to think anything complicated.
Slowly, as though he were revealing something coveted, Grindelwald opens his hand. Percival has to look for a moment before he understands what he’s seeing - solid metal loops which bend downwards, capped off at the tip and attached to a thick ring.
A cock cage.
Percival’s breath stutters. He stares at it wide eyed, suddenly dizzy, his thoughts still slow and muted and struggling to adjust. He’s never done chastity before. His gaze flicks back up to Grindelwald. He doesn’t know what to say. He wants to make Grindelwald happy, but it’s… too much. He wishes Grindelwald had never stopped stroking him. He’d liked that, he’d liked being kissed and petted, it had been easy.
“I…”
Grindelwald must see Percival’s struggle, because he places a hand back on his lower belly and rubs slow, gentle circles into his skin. It calms Percival, helping him settle, and after a moment he can’t help but let out a tense breath and sink down again. He still isn’t sure, he doesn’t quite understand, but thinking is a tricky thing.
“Good boy, that’s it, so good for me. You like being good, don’t you?” he asks. Percival nods, eyes fluttering closed. Grindelwald’s voice is a low purr as he praises him, his words and his hands working in concert to make Percival melt. “That’s right. It’s so easy, ja? An easy decision. Be a good boy for me, and I’ll give you a little bonus. An extra fifty, how does that sound? Just for being good.”
That sounds… really nice. It’s a relief to be guided, the choice practically taken out of his hands. He needs the money, if Grindelwald will pay him extra he can’t say no. And anyway, his pleasure isn’t what matters tonight. He doesn’t usually get off with customers. They rarely care or notice. It’s not all that much to give up; not really, not when he thinks about it.
He nods jerkily, feeling better as the uncertainty lifts. “Atta boy,” Grindelwald says, and the satisfied smile in his words sends chills down Percival’s spine.
He doesn’t have a chance to second guess; Grindelwald lifts his cock and balls and is already closing a cool metal ring around them before Percival’s thoughts manage to catch up. It feels strange to be handled like that - it’s perfunctory, almost clinical. His cheeks flush and he squirms slightly, wishing that Grindelwald had let him put the device on by himself. It would have been less humiliating. Grindelwald adjusts him in the ring, making sure nothing is pinched, and then positions his softening cock to slide the sheath over it.
It’s cold, but it goes on quickly. His cock curves down to follow the shape of it, his burgeoning erecting halted, and then there’s a little click and Grindelwald sits back with a tiny, gleaming key between his fingers.
Percival looks at him, and he feels as though all the air were being let out of his lungs. He hadn’t thought about the lock. He’d forgotten that this was a chastity cage, and Grindelwald is the only one who holds the key.
Fuck - fuck. What has he done?
Grindelwald slips that precious key into his pocket without taking his eyes off Percival’s helpless dick, and his lips spread into a slow, hungry smile.
Percival turns his face away to hide in the sofa cushions. He feels small and trapped, like a prey animal cornered and being toyed with before the kill. Grindelwald owns him tonight, and he knows it.
“Look at me, Schatzi.”
Percival does, because he has to. Grindelwald’s eyes are treacherous pools of ice, but his gaze isn’t cold; he looks like a man ready to enjoy himself, surveying the indulgence laid out in front of him before diving in whole heartedly. And for a moment - just a moment - there’s something in his gaze which makes Percival want to run.
It’s gone just as fast. Grindelwald brushes his thumb over Percival’s lower lip, gripping his chin and turning his head so he can lean down and kiss the side of his neck, his jaw, making his way upwards to mouth over Percival’s earlobe and leaving tingles in his wake.
Percival blinks slowly, making a questioning noise in his throat. He doesn’t understand how Grindelwald can make him feel hunted and relaxed at the same time, and how even that sparks something warm in his belly. His head is spinning. He can feel himself slipping down again and he doesn’t know whether he should fight it or embrace it. He doesn’t want to make that decision.
“Sweetheart, you’re lovely like this,” Grindelwald breathes, gaze roaming over him appreciatively.
Percival wriggles, his cheeks heated with a blush. “Wanna look good for you,” he mumbles. His mind is hazy around the edges, his pulse slowing as he settles back into the comfortable daze Grindelwald seems so good at instilling.
“Go wait in the bedroom for me.”
The order jars him slightly; he doesn’t want to go anywhere, he’d much rather stay here and be kissed and petted and praised. The haze is so comfortable and makes him so sleepy that moving seems impossible. A tiny, questioning noise forms in his throat as he snuggles down deeper, hoping Grindelwald doesn’t mean it.
But Grindelwald is insistent, squeezing his balls warningly when he doesn’t do as he was told. Percival whimpers, flushing pink at being corrected like that - so intimately, yet impersonally. He struggles to prop himself up, clumsy enough that Grindelwald wraps a secure arm around his torso and pulls him in, steadying him against his own body.
There is no room left for disobedience. Percival looks up at Grindelwald, his eyes cloudy and his tone hopeful as he asks, “Will you come soon? I wanna be with you sir, please.” The words slur together, sounding strange to his own ears, but he’s more concerned with staying safe under Grindelwald’s authority than enunciating his speech.
Grindelwald chuckles. “Eager little thing. Go.”
Percival does. With effort he rises from the sofa, the haze clinging to him and pulling him deeper even when he loses Grindelwald’s touch. He misses the contact - part of him wants to turn right around and fall into Grindelwald’s arms - but it feels too good to obey, knowing that Grindelwald will be so pleased with him if he does as he’s told.
With unsteady steps he makes his way to the bedroom, already trying to decide how best to present himself for Grindelwald. He doesn’t want to think too much, but he knows how to make a good image. This is what he’s used to. This is a routine, and he settles into it easily. There’s no questions, no uncertainty, just making himself pleasing for the man buying his time.
With any luck Grindelwald will follow him soon, and Percival can spend the rest of the night in a cloud of bliss while Grindelwald holds him down and fucks him into the mattress.