Chapter 61: Champagne Baptism
The last elevator doors whispered shut behind the final departing Titan executives, swallowing the lingering scent of expensive perfume and cigar smoke. Silence descended on the Excelsior's grand lobby, the polished marble floor reflecting the cavernous emptiness and the weary slump of Pete Riverton’s shoulders. He clutched his recovered purple tailcoat suit over his arm like a shield, the fabric still holding the ghost of the evening’s humiliations – the stripping, the projection, the kiss, the lanyard. Karn stood beside him, radiating a controlled calm that felt like the eye of a storm. Pete’s mom beamed, her eyes flicking between the two young men with undisguised delight, while Tarn bounced on the balls of his feet, radiating conspiratorial energy.
"Whew!" Tarn exhaled dramatically, slinging an arm around Mrs. Riverton. "Quite the show tonight, Aunt Jenny! But," he leaned in, lowering his voice to a stage whisper that echoed in the vast space, "we definitely shouldn't disturb these two any longer, right? Cousin Karn and Brother-in-law Pete?" He waggled his eyebrows at Pete, who blinked, utterly lost. "Big night! First night! They need their privacy!"
Mrs. Riverton clapped her hands together, her smile widening impossibly. "Oh, absolutely, Tarn dear! Privacy is essential! Crucial!" She giggled, a warm, bubbling sound that seemed incongruous with the imposing lobby. "Wouldn't dream of cramping their style!"
Pete frowned, the suit bundle slipping slightly in his grasp. "Disturb? Privacy? What are you guys talking about?" He looked from his mother’s amused face to Tarn’s grinning one, then to Karn, who had pressed his palm firmly against his forehead, his shoulders shaking with silent exasperation. "Karn? What's happening?"
Tarn burst out laughing, the sound ricocheting off the marble. "Oh, Pete! Never change!"
Mrs. Riverton just patted Pete’s cheek, her eyes sparkling. "Don't you worry your handsome head about it, sweetheart. Karn will explain everything. Very soon." Her expression softened into something more maternal, though still tinged with amusement, as she turned to Karn. "Now, Karn, dear... be gentle with him tonight, won't you? He's... well, he hasn't exactly had a lot of practice with this sort of thing." She winked.
Karn lowered his hand, his composure snapping back into place, though a faint flush crept up his neck. He met Mrs. Riverton’s gaze directly, his voice low and serious. "Highest level of care, Mrs. Riverton. You have my word."
The way his mother and Karn spoke – the shared understanding, the implication hanging thick in the air – sent fresh waves of confused dread through Pete. Practice? Care? With what? His grip tightened on the suit. Before he could formulate another question, Tarn jumped in.
"Don't worry about us!" he announced cheerfully. Vongola offered us sanctuary! We're crashing at her palace tonight. Apparently," he grinned at Mrs. Riverton, "she and Aunt Jenny go way back?"
"Oh, yes!" Mrs. Riverton confirmed, adjusting her purse. "Victoria and I were thick as thieves back in the day. Lost touch for ages, but reconnected recently. She’s been singing Pete’s praises non-stop after that presentation he did for Nova Forge last month. Said his strategic overhaul for their supply chain was 'startlingly elegant'." Pride warmed her voice. "Practically demanded we stay over to gossip." She glanced towards the entrance where a sleek town car had pulled up. "And look, she's sent her driver already! Told you she'd be waiting. Come along, Tarn!"
With a final, knowing smile directed at the utterly bewildered Pete and a reassuring nod to Karn, Mrs. Riverton linked arms with Tarn. "Have a wonderful night, boys! Be good!" Tarn called over his shoulder, winking outrageously before they disappeared through the revolving doors into the waiting car.
The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime, and Karn stepped out first, his polished shoes clicking against the marble floor of the penthouse. Pete followed, still buzzing from the champagne and the warmth of the celebration, though his steps were less sure, his tie already loosened and hanging askew. Karn glanced over his shoulder, a smirk playing on his lips as he tossed his keys onto the sleek console by the door. “Still can’t believe they let you keep that tie on this long,” he said, his voice teasing but soft, like he was sharing a secret.
Pete laughed, a little breathless, running a hand through his hair. “Guess I’m just lucky,” he replied, though his voice wavered slightly as Karn turned to face him fully. The dim light of the penthouse caught the sharp angles of Karn’s face, and for a moment, Pete felt like he was standing on the edge of something he couldn’t quite name. Karn’s eyes lingered on him, dark and unreadable, before he stepped closer, his movements deliberate.
“Luck’s got nothing to do with it,” Karn murmured, his fingers brushing the edge of Pete’s collar. “You earned this, Pete. Every bit of it.” His touch was light, almost casual, but it sent a shiver down Pete’s spine. He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry, as Karn’s hands moved to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one with slow, deliberate precision. The fabric fell away, pooling at Pete’s feet, and he stood there, exposed, his breath hitching as Karn’s gaze swept over him.
Karn stepped back, his eyes never leaving Pete’s, and reached for the bottle of champagne on the table. The cork popped with a soft hiss, and he poured the golden liquid over Pete’s trembling body, the cold making him gasp. Karn’s lips curved into a smile, almost predatory, as he set the bottle down and leaned in, his tongue tracing a slow, deliberate path along Pete’s collarbone. “Every drop belongs to me now,” he murmured, his voice low and husky, sending a jolt of heat through Pete’s veins.
Pete’s hands clenched at his sides, his breath coming in shallow gasps as Karn continued his slow exploration, each touch igniting a fire that burned hotter with every passing second. The penthouse was silent except for the sound of their breathing, the occasional clink of glass, and the soft, desperate moans that escaped Pete’s lips. He felt like he was drowning, caught in the pull of something he couldn’t resist, and he didn’t want to.
Karn’s hands gripped Pete’s hips, steadying him as he leaned in again, his breath hot against Pete’s ear. “You’re mine,” he whispered, the words sending a shiver down Pete’s spine. “You always have been.” Pete’s eyes fluttered shut, his head falling back as Karn’s lips found his neck, his touch both possessive and tender, like he was claiming something he’d waited a lifetime for.
The world outside the penthouse faded away, the city lights blurring into a distant haze as Pete gave himself over to the moment, to the man who had always been his anchor, his guide, his everything. And as the night stretched on, neither of them noticed the first light of dawn creeping over the horizon, too lost in each other to care.
The penthouse air hummed with leftover energy, thick with the scent of spilled champagne and Karn’s expensive cologne. Pete leaned heavily against the cool glass wall overlooking the sleeping city, the panoramic view a dizzying blur beneath his feet. Karn stood close behind him, the warmth radiating from his body a stark contrast to the chilled surface Pete pressed against. Karn’s fingers, deft and unhurried, traced the waistband of Pete’s briefs, the only barrier left after the shirt lay discarded on the floor. "Still clinging to modesty?" Karn murmured, his breath warm against Pete’s ear, a low chuckle vibrating against his skin. "After tonight? After everything?"
Pete shivered, not entirely from the cold glass. His mother’s cheerful command echoed in his skull – Strip. Completely. – mingling with the ghostly applause from the rooftop. Karn’s fingers hooked firmly into the elastic. "Karn..." Pete started, the protest weak, swallowed by the vast silence of the penthouse. He felt the briefs slide down his hips, catching momentarily on his erection before pooling around his ankles. The cool air hit his bare skin everywhere, raising instant goosebumps. He was utterly exposed now, stark naked against the cityscape, the purple silk PROPERTY OF K.T. lanyard a mocking collar against his throat.
Karn stepped back, admiring the view – Pete trembling, vulnerable, fully his. He lifted the half-empty champagne bottle, its neck cool in his grip. Without ceremony, he tilted it. The golden liquid cascaded over Pete’s shoulder blade, a cold shock that made him gasp and flinch. It streamed down the curve of his spine, tracing the dip of his lower back, soaking the cleft of his ass before dripping onto the polished floor. "Every drop," Karn stated, his voice low and absolute, setting the bottle down with a soft clink. "Mine."
He moved closer again, his presence enveloping Pete. Karn’s tongue, hot and deliberate, followed the trail of champagne. It lapped slowly down Pete’s spine, savoring the mingled taste of expensive bubbles and Pete’s skin. Pete’s breath hitched, a soft moan escaping him despite the humiliation coiling in his gut. Karn’s hands gripped Pete’s hips, holding him steady against the glass as his tongue dipped lower, tracing the path the champagne had taken over Pete’s buttocks. The intimacy was overwhelming, invasive, yet Pete felt his body responding treacherously, his cock twitching against the cold glass.
Karn’s tongue continued its relentless descent, following the rivulets of champagne down the backs of Pete’s thighs. Pete trembled violently, his knuckles white where he braced himself against the window. The cool air kissed his wet skin, but Karn’s mouth was a brand. He felt Karn’s breath, hot and moist, against the sensitive skin behind his knees, then lower still. Karn nudged Pete’s legs apart slightly with his knee. Pete squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself.
Karn’s tongue swept upwards now, tracing the inner seam of Pete’s thigh, licking the champagne from the tender skin there. Each slow, deliberate stroke sent jolts of unwanted, undeniable pleasure mixed with deep shame straight to Pete’s core. The sensation climbed higher, closer to the epicenter of his trembling. Karn’s tongue reached the base of Pete’s cock, slick with spilled champagne and precome. Pete whimpered, his hips jerking involuntarily. Karn’s grip tightened, holding him immobile. "Steady," Karn murmured against his skin, the vibration making Pete shudder.
Karn’s tongue dragged slowly, torturously, up the length of Pete’s shaft, collecting every drop of champagne and sweat. Pete cried out, the sound sharp and desperate in the quiet penthouse. His head thumped back against Karn’s shoulder. Karn’s lips closed around the head, hot and wet, sucking gently. Pete gasped, his body arching. Then, with a sudden, deep movement that mirrored the decisive bite he’d taken from the fondant cock on the rooftop cake, Karn engulfed him completely. Pete’s cock and balls were swallowed into the wet, sucking heat of Karn’s mouth.
The sensation was blinding – intense pressure, overwhelming heat, a suction that pulled at his very core. Pete shouted Karn’s name, his vision blurring, his legs buckling. Karn held him up effortlessly, his mouth working with ruthless efficiency. Memories of the cake, of Silas’s zoom lens, of his mother’s proud smile as he stood naked – it all collided with the raw, physical reality of Karn’s possession. Karn hummed low in his throat, the vibration traveling straight up Pete’s spine. His tongue swirled expertly, mimicking the motion he’d used on the fondant replica, but infinitely more potent, more real. Pete’s hands flew back, fingers tangling desperately in Karn’s hair, not pushing away, but anchoring himself as the world dissolved into sensation. Karn’s fingers dug into Pete’s hips, holding him captive, his rhythm relentless. "Don't move," Karn commanded, the words muffled but unmistakable, vibrating against Pete’s flesh. Pete froze, obeying instinctively, suspended in the unbearable, exquisite tension.
Karn’s mouth released him with a final, slick sound that echoed in Pete’s ears louder than the city hum far below. Pete gasped, his body sagging against Karn’s solid frame, knees trembling violently. The sudden absence of that consuming heat left him hollowed out and shaking, the cold air shocking against his wet, oversensitized skin. Before Pete could find his balance, Karn’s hands shifted from Pete’s hips to his shoulders.
With a commanding shove, Karn pushed Pete backwards. Pete stumbled, bare feet slipping slightly on the polished marble, and landed hard on the deep, butter-soft leather of the oversized sofa. The impact jarred him, leaving him sprawled awkwardly, legs splayed, staring up at the vaulted ceiling. Karn loomed over him, backlit by the cityscape, his expression unreadable in the low light, the dampness of champagne and Pete on his chin glistening faintly.
"Stay," Karn commanded, his voice low and rough. He didn’t wait for acknowledgment. His hands went to the buttons of his own immaculate, plum-colored silk shirt. Each button slipped free with deliberate efficiency, the expensive fabric whispering as it parted to reveal the defined planes of Karn’s chest. The shirt joined Pete’s discarded clothes on the floor. Karn’s belt buckle clinked, the zip rasped down, and his tailored trousers and briefs followed in one smooth motion, pooling around his ankles. He stepped out of them, kicking the fabric aside.
Pete watched, breath catching. Karn stood before him, fully nude, bathed in the ambient glow from the windows. He was all lean muscle and confident posture, a stark contrast to Pete’s own trembling vulnerability sprawled on the couch. Karn’s own arousal was evident, thick and heavy against his thigh. He reached towards the sleek glass coffee table where a discreet bottle of clear lubricant sat beside the champagne bucket. The cap clicked open.
Pete’s gaze followed Karn’s movements, a flush spreading across his chest. Karn slicked his fingers generously, his focus intense. He reached behind himself, his expression shifting to one of concentration mingled with a low hum of pleasure as he worked the lube inside, preparing himself with focused, practiced motions. Pete’s cock, never fully soft after Karn’s attentions, twitched back to full hardness against his stomach, the cool air a sharp counterpoint to the heat building inside him.
Finishing, Karn capped the bottle and stepped directly between Pete’s legs. He leaned down, bracing one hand on the sofa back near Pete’s head. The scent of clean skin, expensive cologne, and the faint tang of lube filled Pete’s senses. Karn’s other hand slid beneath Pete’s chin, fingers firm but not bruising, tilting Pete’s face up to meet his own. Karn’s eyes, dark and fathomless, locked onto Pete’s.
"Whose property?" Karn asked, his voice a low rumble, devoid of its usual polished charm, stripped down to pure possession. The question hung in the air, heavy as the lanyard resting against Pete’s collarbone.
Pete swallowed, the movement visible in his throat. The rooftop humiliation, the champagne, the searing heat of Karn’s mouth – it all condensed into this moment. Fear warred with a desperate, shamed longing. "Yours," he whispered, the word scraping out. He forced his voice stronger, meeting Karn’s intense gaze. "I'm... I'm Karn's. Property of Karn Thorne."
A flicker of satisfaction, primal and deep, crossed Karn’s face. He didn't release Pete’s chin. Instead, he guided Pete’s gaze downwards, towards his own straining erection. "And this?" Karn’s voice dropped even lower, a velvet rasp. "Who owns this cock?"
The directness, the raw ownership in the question, sent a jolt through Pete. He felt pinned, exposed, every inch of him claimed. "Yours," Pete breathed, the word barely audible. He dragged in a shuddering breath, forcing conviction. "Karn's. All of me. Everything... belongs to Karn." He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, then opened them, meeting Karn’s gaze again, laying his utter vulnerability bare.
Karn’s lips curved into a warm, genuine smile. It transformed his face, softening the intensity into something possessive yet profoundly tender. It was the smile Pete had seen on the screen earlier, accepting his confession. "Good boy," Karn murmured, the praise a soft caress. He released Pete’s chin. Keeping his eyes locked with Pete’s, Karn placed one hand on Pete’s hip for balance, the other guiding Pete’s rigid cock. He positioned himself directly over it, the slick head nudging against his prepared entrance.
Pete held his breath. Karn didn’t look away. Slowly, deliberately, he began to lower himself. The initial pressure was immense, a tight, burning stretch that forced a choked gasp from Pete. Karn’s jaw tightened slightly, a soft groan escaping his own lips as he sunk down, inch by excruciating inch, enveloping Pete completely, taking him deep. The heat was overwhelming, a velvet vice that stole Pete’s breath.
Fully seated, Karn paused, letting them both adjust, his inner muscles fluttering around Pete’s cock. He braced his hands on Pete’s chest, fingers splayed over Pete’s pounding heart. Pete stared up, wide-eyed, lost in the impossible heat and the weight of Karn’s body claiming him. Then, Karn began to move. It started as a subtle shift, a testing roll of his hips, the friction drawing a ragged moan from Pete’s throat. Karn’s warm smile returned, a silent promise. He lifted himself slowly, almost withdrawing, then sank back down with deliberate, controlled force.