Open relationships
Undeserved Ascendance
chapter 30
by
copier
· original author:
an188
Charlie's father chuckled, pouring another finger of whiskey into Danny's glass with deliberate precision. The amber liquid caught the low light as he swirled it, studying Danny's golden-veined hands. "You'll need quite a bit more of this, I imagine," he mused, voice smooth as the drink itself. "Charlie mentioned your metabolism burns through toxins like paper—fascinating, really. Makes one wonder what else your new biology can handle." His eyes flicked up, sharp with unspoken challenge as he pushed the glass closer.
Danny smirked, accepting the drink without hesitation. "Wouldn't say no to testing limits," he drawled, tossing it back with a practiced flick of his wrist. The burn was duller now—his alien physiology already adapting. Danny starting to feel more comfortable around Charlie's father, and suddenly he felt like he could talk to him about anything, even his relationship with Charlie. He leaned back against the leather armchair, golden claws drumming on the crystal. "Charlie and I talked. We're keeping things... flexible. Open relationships."
Mr. Morningstar's eyebrow arched—not quite disapproval, but close. He poured himself another measure, swirling it thoughtfully. "An Open relationships?" He asked.
Danny rolled his shoulders, golden sweat glistening under the chandelier light. "Flexibility. She gets to fuck whoever she wants, I get to fuck whoever I want—no jealousy, no bullshit."
Mr. Morningstar's chuckle was dry as he refilled Danny's glass again, the whiskey bottle now half-empty. "Oh, Daniel," he sighed, shaking his head with amused exasperation. "That's charmingly modern of you, but utterly unnecessary. The Morningstars don't share." His manicured finger tapped the rim of Danny's glass. "And neither do gods."
"Look... Sir, it didn't work last time because we're too jealous of each other. I was ready to kill anyone who even looked at her and Charlie couldn't accept that I had... lovers, she wanted me all to herself!" Danny said, holding out the glass for another serving.
"You can call me Dad," Mr. Morningstar murmured, pouring another generous measure of whiskey into Danny's glass. The bottle was nearly empty now, but he showed no sign of stopping. "And drink up, my boy." His smile was indulgent as Danny knocked back the golden liquid without hesitation, throat working as the heat spread through his veins.
Danny smiled, "You can call me Dad!" He falt good, it warmed him—the way Mr. Morningstar's lips curled around those words like they belonged there, that the man he dream was his real father allowing him to call him Dad. The whiskey burned hotter this time, sliding down his throat like liquid fire, but he welcomed it. His golden claws flexed around the glass, veins pulsing under skin that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Mr. Morningstar chuckled, pouring another generous measure.
"You see, Daniel," Mr. Morningstar began, swirling his whiskey with practiced elegance, "the common rabble may rut freely like barn animals, but beings like us? We are the new aristocracy—no, the new pantheon. And gods do not debase themselves with indiscriminate couplings." He leaned in, eyes glinting like polished onyx. "Power demands exclusivity. Would Zeus have shared Hera? Would Odin have tolerated Freya taking mortal lovers?" His manicured finger tapped Danny’s chest, right over the golden veins. "You are beyond such pettiness now."
Danny opened his mouth, but Mr. Morningstar silenced him with a raised hand. "Consider this," he purred, pacing like a lecturer before a favored student. "Every time you allow Charlie—or yourself—to bed some trembling mortal, you dilute the divine bloodline. Do you want your offspring sired by whimpering college boys who faint at the sight of your true form? Or worse—" his lip curled, "—some simpering human girl whelping a half-breed that can’t even lift a car?" He flicked imaginary dust from his sleeve. "Perfection must be *curated*, Daniel. Not left to chance."
Danny flexed instinctively, golden sweat dripping down his warped musculature as he imagined some fragile human trying to touch him. Mr. Morningstar smirked. "See? You already know. Your body rejects the very thought." He stepped closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And think of the mess. Humans break so easily—one careless flex, one overeager thrust, and suddenly you’re explaining why the dean’s daughter is in three pieces." He tsked, adjusting Danny’s hair like a doting parent. "Is that really how you want to spend your divine patience? Mopping up accidents?"
Danny swallowed hard—he’d fantasized about exactly that scenario more than once since the meteorite. His claws twitched at the memory of how Charlie had screamed when he’d first gripped her post-transformation hips, how her indestructible flesh had yielded beneath his strength. "Dad," he rasped, savoring the word like aged whiskey, "it’s not about sharing Charlie. It’s about needing more. You of all people understand—I’ve seen your ‘assistants’ over the years." He smirked as Mr. Morningstar’s eyebrow twitched. "Twenty-three years married, yet I’ve never seen the same blonde twice in your office."
Mr. Morningstar chuckled, swirling his drink. "Oh, Daniel," he sighed, "those were conquests. Meaningless indulgences for a mortal man." His eyes darkened as he stepped closer, fingers brushing the golden veins snaking up Danny’s neck. "You’re no longer mortal. Neither is my Charlie. What need have gods for disposable toys when you can have each other?" Danny shuddered as those manicured nails traced his collarbone.
"I don’t want toys," Danny growled, flexing hard enough to make his golden sweat sizzle against the whiskey glass. "I want worship. And Charlie—" He hesitated, claws twitching. "She’s perfect. But she’s my equal. I need more." Mr. Morningstar’s smirk widened. "Ah. The lion wants a harem." He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "Very well. I’ll arrange it—*if* you prove yourself worthy."
Danny’s eyes flashed molten. "How?" Mr. Morningstar chuckled, adjusting Danny’s chin with one finger like a sculptor perfecting marble. "Simple. You tell Charlie. Man-to-woman. No whining, no apologies—just the truth." His grip tightened. "Make her understand your hunger. If she agrees..." He trailed off, nodding toward the staircase where Charlie’s thunderous footsteps echoed.
Danny exhaled through his nose, flexing his claws. The idea twisted his gut—not fear, never fear—but something sharper: the thrill of risk. He caught his reflection in the whiskey glass, gold-veined and grinning. Worth it. "Fine," he growled. "But when she says yes—"
"Yes about what?" Charlie's voice boomed through the room as she strode in, the floorboards groaning under each step of her towering, cartoonishly muscular frame. The scarlet dress clung to her like a second skin—strapless, shimmering, its high slit revealing slabs of chalky white thigh muscle that flexed with every movement. The gown’s fabric strained audibly across her swollen delts and mountainous trapezius muscles, the seams threatening to burst as she planted one stiletto-clad foot forward. Danny’s breath caught; she looked like a goddess poured into mortal fabric, every curve exaggerated to impossible proportions by her meteorite-enhanced physique.
Danny...
Danny smirked, accepting the drink without hesitation. "Wouldn't say no to testing limits," he drawled, tossing it back with a practiced flick of his wrist. The burn was duller now—his alien physiology already adapting. Danny starting to feel more comfortable around Charlie's father, and suddenly he felt like he could talk to him about anything, even his relationship with Charlie. He leaned back against the leather armchair, golden claws drumming on the crystal. "Charlie and I talked. We're keeping things... flexible. Open relationships."
Mr. Morningstar's eyebrow arched—not quite disapproval, but close. He poured himself another measure, swirling it thoughtfully. "An Open relationships?" He asked.
Danny rolled his shoulders, golden sweat glistening under the chandelier light. "Flexibility. She gets to fuck whoever she wants, I get to fuck whoever I want—no jealousy, no bullshit."
Mr. Morningstar's chuckle was dry as he refilled Danny's glass again, the whiskey bottle now half-empty. "Oh, Daniel," he sighed, shaking his head with amused exasperation. "That's charmingly modern of you, but utterly unnecessary. The Morningstars don't share." His manicured finger tapped the rim of Danny's glass. "And neither do gods."
"Look... Sir, it didn't work last time because we're too jealous of each other. I was ready to kill anyone who even looked at her and Charlie couldn't accept that I had... lovers, she wanted me all to herself!" Danny said, holding out the glass for another serving.
"You can call me Dad," Mr. Morningstar murmured, pouring another generous measure of whiskey into Danny's glass. The bottle was nearly empty now, but he showed no sign of stopping. "And drink up, my boy." His smile was indulgent as Danny knocked back the golden liquid without hesitation, throat working as the heat spread through his veins.
Danny smiled, "You can call me Dad!" He falt good, it warmed him—the way Mr. Morningstar's lips curled around those words like they belonged there, that the man he dream was his real father allowing him to call him Dad. The whiskey burned hotter this time, sliding down his throat like liquid fire, but he welcomed it. His golden claws flexed around the glass, veins pulsing under skin that shimmered faintly in the dim light. Mr. Morningstar chuckled, pouring another generous measure.
"You see, Daniel," Mr. Morningstar began, swirling his whiskey with practiced elegance, "the common rabble may rut freely like barn animals, but beings like us? We are the new aristocracy—no, the new pantheon. And gods do not debase themselves with indiscriminate couplings." He leaned in, eyes glinting like polished onyx. "Power demands exclusivity. Would Zeus have shared Hera? Would Odin have tolerated Freya taking mortal lovers?" His manicured finger tapped Danny’s chest, right over the golden veins. "You are beyond such pettiness now."
Danny opened his mouth, but Mr. Morningstar silenced him with a raised hand. "Consider this," he purred, pacing like a lecturer before a favored student. "Every time you allow Charlie—or yourself—to bed some trembling mortal, you dilute the divine bloodline. Do you want your offspring sired by whimpering college boys who faint at the sight of your true form? Or worse—" his lip curled, "—some simpering human girl whelping a half-breed that can’t even lift a car?" He flicked imaginary dust from his sleeve. "Perfection must be *curated*, Daniel. Not left to chance."
Danny flexed instinctively, golden sweat dripping down his warped musculature as he imagined some fragile human trying to touch him. Mr. Morningstar smirked. "See? You already know. Your body rejects the very thought." He stepped closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "And think of the mess. Humans break so easily—one careless flex, one overeager thrust, and suddenly you’re explaining why the dean’s daughter is in three pieces." He tsked, adjusting Danny’s hair like a doting parent. "Is that really how you want to spend your divine patience? Mopping up accidents?"
Danny swallowed hard—he’d fantasized about exactly that scenario more than once since the meteorite. His claws twitched at the memory of how Charlie had screamed when he’d first gripped her post-transformation hips, how her indestructible flesh had yielded beneath his strength. "Dad," he rasped, savoring the word like aged whiskey, "it’s not about sharing Charlie. It’s about needing more. You of all people understand—I’ve seen your ‘assistants’ over the years." He smirked as Mr. Morningstar’s eyebrow twitched. "Twenty-three years married, yet I’ve never seen the same blonde twice in your office."
Mr. Morningstar chuckled, swirling his drink. "Oh, Daniel," he sighed, "those were conquests. Meaningless indulgences for a mortal man." His eyes darkened as he stepped closer, fingers brushing the golden veins snaking up Danny’s neck. "You’re no longer mortal. Neither is my Charlie. What need have gods for disposable toys when you can have each other?" Danny shuddered as those manicured nails traced his collarbone.
"I don’t want toys," Danny growled, flexing hard enough to make his golden sweat sizzle against the whiskey glass. "I want worship. And Charlie—" He hesitated, claws twitching. "She’s perfect. But she’s my equal. I need more." Mr. Morningstar’s smirk widened. "Ah. The lion wants a harem." He leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper. "Very well. I’ll arrange it—*if* you prove yourself worthy."
Danny’s eyes flashed molten. "How?" Mr. Morningstar chuckled, adjusting Danny’s chin with one finger like a sculptor perfecting marble. "Simple. You tell Charlie. Man-to-woman. No whining, no apologies—just the truth." His grip tightened. "Make her understand your hunger. If she agrees..." He trailed off, nodding toward the staircase where Charlie’s thunderous footsteps echoed.
Danny exhaled through his nose, flexing his claws. The idea twisted his gut—not fear, never fear—but something sharper: the thrill of risk. He caught his reflection in the whiskey glass, gold-veined and grinning. Worth it. "Fine," he growled. "But when she says yes—"
"Yes about what?" Charlie's voice boomed through the room as she strode in, the floorboards groaning under each step of her towering, cartoonishly muscular frame. The scarlet dress clung to her like a second skin—strapless, shimmering, its high slit revealing slabs of chalky white thigh muscle that flexed with every movement. The gown’s fabric strained audibly across her swollen delts and mountainous trapezius muscles, the seams threatening to burst as she planted one stiletto-clad foot forward. Danny’s breath caught; she looked like a goddess poured into mortal fabric, every curve exaggerated to impossible proportions by her meteorite-enhanced physique.
Danny...
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June 13
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