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nekosmuseFic: Tessellation (13/?)
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17
Back to chapter 12
"Why is this taking so long?" Magneto asked, letting his irritation bleed into his tone. It wasn't like him, but he'd told Charles a few hours and already it had been three. The incompetence of his followers was mind-boggling. How hard was it to follow a set of blueprints?
"To be fair," Shadowcat said, "this is pretty advanced stuff. We really ought to clear Beast to work on the project--and when they had started calling McCoy Beast, Magneto didn't know.
Magneto frowned. It had been hard enough getting the blueprints from McCoy; he was fairly certain it was going to be impossible to secure his cooperation, at least, not without getting Charles involved, and the last thing Magneto wanted to do was burden Charles with this.
"I don't care how you have to do it: I want a fully operational Cerebro up and running inside of three days."
He would have stormed out of the room at that point--wanted to storm out of the room--but being the leader of the Brotherhood meant his work was never done. As soon as Shadowcat slinked away, Jubilee was there to take her place, requisition forms in hand. One of these days he was going to appoint more signing officers, because God forbid they bring these things to Emma--she might break a nail. He scrawled his signature across three pages without reading any of them and then shooed her away.
The second she was gone Mystique was at his side, delicately maneuvering him by the elbow to a vacant corner of the room. Erik sighed.
"Not you, too," he said. A few hours to himself; was it really too much to ask?
"Don't worry; I'm actually here to relieve you. You're getting all squirrely, which is frankly frightening, because you never get squirrely. Seriously, Erik, what's gotten into you?"
It was a stupid question, mostly because Mystique already knew the answer--and she knew she knew the answer--but also because there was no way in hell Erik was going to find the words necessary to vocalize exactly why he was currently climbing out of his skin. He suspected they started and ended with Charles.
Mystique gave him a knowing look, and then proceeded to shake her head. "I've never seen you like this. It's only been three weeks. How the hell are you already so hung up on this guy?"
It was a fair question, and one Erik asked himself daily. He shrugged. "It feels like longer," was the best he could come up with.
Mystique snorted. "That's only because you've spent the better part of the last decade obsessively following this guy's work."
"You make me sound like a stalker," Erik said, affronted.
Mystique responded by shooting him a pointed look. The traitor.
"Might I remind you that the day I found you I had to rescue you from men with pitchforks?"
"And I can't thank you enough. Now go, I can cover this," she said, gesturing to the newly cleared training room, the cavernous space slowly being converted to accommodate Cerebro's design.
Erik shot her a doubtful look. He could think of at least ten other things that demanded Magneto's attention--and sadly Charles was near the bottom of that list. Unfortunately--or fortunately, depending on how Erik looked at it--Mystique would not be put off.
"Seriously, Erik, you've got a hot professor waiting in your bed. Do you really want to stick around here?"
And when she put it that way, Erik realized that she had a point. There was only one problem.
"How the hell do you know he's in my bed?" Erik asked, glaring. Mystique smirked. Erik shook his head; because of course it had been her, the sneaky, conniving devil. He really ought to have her horsewhipped. Or, you know, send her a fruit basket.
"I also took the liberty of outfitting your room," she said with a sly smile. Erik blanched. He wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know, but Mystique had never been one to guard her tongue. "Don't worry, it's pretty tame--figured you'd want to break him in a bit before you got to the hard stuff. Just some lube, a dildo or two, a couple of butt plugs, oh, and a pair of handcuffs."
She was laughing at him now, openly, and loud enough to draw the attention of the other mutants in the room. Secretly mortified, Erik mustered his best scowl and contemplated sending her to the Brotherhood's Siberian training facility--though knowing his luck she'd have a fantastic time and come home pregnant with Azazel's baby.
"Are you done?" he asked.
"For now," she said, but Erik could tell she was seconds away from dissolving into another fit of laughter. Across the room, Rogue glanced in their direction, a wide grin overtaking her face. Erik sighed.
"I have absolutely no clout left, do I?" Mystique shook her head and that was great, just great. There was really nothing left to do save leave the room, preferably while he still had some of his dignity intact.
"Don't forget your package," Mystique called after him, and so much for his dignity. Erik turned on his heel, walked back across the room, scooped up the paper-wrapped package he had sent Rogue out to pick up, tilted his chin in the air, and then walked purposely from the room.
He spent the walk back to his rooms contemplating how best to explain the items Mystique had left in his room. Certainly he didn't want Charles to think less of him--and really, he was hardly the sort to engage in those sorts of activities. Surely Charles would know that--unless Charles was the sort to engage in those sorts of activities, in which case Erik wasn't exactly sure what he'd say.
By the time he got to his room he was convinced this was all going to blow up in his face. He paused outside the door, uncertain whether to knock--he didn't want to violate Charles' privacy, but it was his room, damn it. In the end he decided on simply waving the door open, which turned out to be the exact right choice, because otherwise he might have missed the sight of Charles Xavier sleeping peacefully in the centre of his bed.
And oh, God, Charles Xavier was in his bed.
It was entirely possible Mystique had a point.
Erik swallowed heavily, stepped over the threshold, put the package he was carrying down on the bureau, and used his power to silently close and lock the door. He stared.
Charles' pale skin stood out in vivid contrast to the red of Erik's sheets. He was wearing a t-shirt--and who knew what under the covers, though oh, God, did Erik hope they were boxer shorts. His case was open on top of the dresser, several things spilling out onto its surface. There was a neat pile of discarded clothing on the floor beside the bed. His chair was parked next to the bed, though pushed aside as if to make room for someone wanting to sit on the edge of the bed. Erik took that as an invitation.
He crossed the room in three strides, removing his helmet when he reached the foot of the bed. He set it gingerly down on the floor, then stepped around it and sat on the edge of the bed, scant inches from Charles' hip. He wanted so badly to touch. Instead he took several long, lingering moments to simply look; to memorize Charles in his entirety. For the life of him he couldn't figure out how he got to this place. How did a man he'd only just met end up the single most important person in Erik's life? Love at first sight didn't happen. Soul mates didn't exist. And yet here he was. He would accuse Charles of having manipulated him, save that he had already felt this long before he first removed his helmet in Charles' presence.
It really only left one option, which meant he was completely screwed.
The urge to touch had grown so strong by this point that Erik was helpless to resist. He reached a trembling hand--and try as he might, he could not steady it--to Charles' cheek, brushing the pads of his fingertips against the delicate skin he found there. There was something entirely innocent and unassuming about Charles asleep. It was breathtaking--knowing what this man was capable of and yet seeing him so utterly vulnerable. Erik didn't want to contemplate exactly what that said about him, that he was so aroused by the sight.
A second brush of his fingertips brought a muffled moan from Charles' lips. Erik smiled, letting the day's irritations drain from his shoulders; they spilled onto the floor to pool alongside Charles' clothes.
And oh, God, Charles Xavier's clothes were on his floor.
This time a huff of laughter fell from Charles' lips. Erik froze, hand trapped where it was, pressed against Charles' cheek. His breath caught and he waited, seconds seeming to stretch into eternity before bright blue eyes slid open and regarded him with fond amusement.
"My clothes, really?" Charles said, voice thick with sleep. Erik withdrew his hand.
"That's not fair," Erik said, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. Charles Xavier was still in his bed.
Charles laughed a second time, this time bright and happy. It was possibly the best sound Erik had ever heard and he wanted to find ways to make Charles make it again and again and again.
"Good morning," he said instead. "Or rather, evening, as the case may be."
Charles pushed himself up onto his elbows. "Well, in that case, I can't see any reason to get out of bed." He offered an arched eyebrow and mischievous smirk, both of which were a clear invitation. Erik stood.
"You're sure you're not too tired?" he asked, but he was already setting aside his cape.
"I feel quite well rested, actually."
Erik discarded his jacket next and then began working on his shirt buttons. All the while Charles watched him with hooded eyes, flush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. Erik wanted to trace its path with his tongue. Charles' arched eyebrow crept even higher.
"Reading my mind, are you?" Erik said, half reproof, half permission.
"Here? Always." There was so much honesty behind those words it was startling. It was an admission as much as it was a request, and Erik granted it with a simple nod of his head. Here, in this place, there would be nothing between them.
Charles beamed at him. Erik momentarily fumbled with the last of his shirt's buttons, fingers growing heavy and useless at the sight. He managed the last of them, but then paused with his hands on his belt's buckle. He gave Charles a pointed look. Charles swallowed heavily.
"There is a conversation we ought to have, but, yes," he said.
Erik tilted his head, but Charles merely scooted over in the bed, making room, the sight of which must have short-circuited Erik's brain, because the next thing he knew he was in the bed, facing Charles beneath the covers, and he wasn't wearing any pants.
Charles was wearing boxer shorts after all.
"So a conversation," he said, but he couldn't seem to stop staring at Charles' lips. He'd been thinking about kissing them for the better part of three hours, after all. Just to see if he could, he reached out a hand and traced his thumb across Charles' bottom lip. It was as soft as he remembered.
"About expectations," Charles said, but he sounded breathless and his eyes had fallen shut. Erik took the opportunity to close the distance between them, bringing their bodies flush until he could feel the heat of Charles' radiating against his own. Charles groaned.
Charles didn't seem to have anything further to say on the subject of expectations, so Erik pressed their lips together; and this was so much better, being in full contact with Charles, having him in Erik's arms--which he could do now, Erik realized, moving the hand that was cupping Charles' cheek down to lace his arm around Charles' waist. This time it was Erik who groaned.
Charles responded by fisting his hand on Erik's undershirt--and oh, God, why hadn't he taken it off, why hadn't he taken it off? For that matter, why hadn't he taken Charles' shirt off? Erik moved to remedy that right away, the hand around Charles' waist tugging at the back of his hem, pulling steadily up. Charles' fisted hand flattened and pushed against Erik's chest. Reluctantly--and mostly because he needed air--Erik pulled away.
"Expectations," Charles said, sounding intoxicated. He looked debauched--lips swollen red, hair a mess, skin flushed pink and pupils dilated to twice their size.
Abruptly Erik realized where this was going. He shook his head.
"Charles, you're a telepath." Charles blinked at him in confusion. "In my adult life, how many sexual partners have I had?"
Charles' eyes widened. He cleared his throat. "Two," he said after a moment, sounding both startled and a little awed.
"And when was the last one," Erik asked, because it was fairly important that Charles knew Erik wasn't the sort to fall into bed with just anyone. Erik let Charles see all of it; let him know about the girl who had first broken his heart, and then about the one night stand that had left him cold and uninterested in repeating the experiment.
"Um, almost five years ago," Charles said, and this time he sounded pleased.
"Then I think we can safely assume I don't have expectations." And he didn't. Sex had never been about bodies to him. It had always been about the meeting of minds--the one thing Schmidt had never been able to take from him, Erik's mind his own. He could think of no greater gift to give a lover.
Charles was smiling at him, clearly relieved, though Erik didn't need Charles' mutation to know he still felt the need to give his speech. Erik wondered if he had practiced on the way here. A traitorous part of his brain wondered how many others had heard the speech.
Next to him, Charles tutted. "I assure you, I've never had to give the speech. I haven't been intimate with anyone since..."
"Since you were paralysed," Erik finished, because the last thing he wanted was for Charles to feel like they had to tiptoe around the subject. He made sure Charles could hear how delightfully pleased he was to learn that he'd be the first. If the resulting blush was any indication, Charles didn't seem to mind.
Not wanting to screw this up, Erik tightened his arm around Charles' waist. He pulled Charles fully against him, nipping lightly at his lips before settling back a comfortable distance--enough so that he could breathe Charles' air but still focus on the blue of Charles' eyes. "Go on," he said.
Charles hesitated. "This is all rather mortifying, you realize," he said, but Erik shook his head and thought loudly of the conversation he'd just had with Mystique. Erik wouldn't have thought it possible, but Charles turned an even brighter shade of pink. "Okay, perhaps not that mortifying. Did she really...? I mean, are there...?" Charles shook his head. Erik laughed.
The mood between them grew serious once more.
Erik watched as Charles took a steadying breath and then slowly exhaled. When he was done, he calmly met Erik's gaze and began speaking. It sounded like he was reading from a text book.
"I have full feeling above my waistline and partial feeling in my pelvis. I have no feeling from my hip joints down. I can achieve an erection," he stumbled on the world erection, which was both distracting and endearing, "though it sometimes isn't hard enough for penetration."
Erik made sure that Charles heard the thought that met that declaration. Penetration was not something Erik enjoyed. His relief was palpable.
Charles offered a shy smile, and then took another deep breath that he slowly released. He had maintained eye contact, so Erik gave him an encouraging smile and let his fingers dip beneath the hem of Charles' shirt, shifting them up past scar tissue that Erik thought belonged to an unskilled surgeon rather than fate. He let them settle just above Charles' waistline. Charles shivered and pressed into the sensation.
"You're making it very hard to..."
"Continue," Erik said, letting Magneto creep into his tone. Charles shot him a dirty look, but he continued.
"I can ejaculate, though the sensation of orgasm is severely diminished from what it once was." Charles swallowed. "Prostate stimulation is still quite good for me, though it requires some notice," here he blushed, "and a good deal of prep work. I won't be able to feel if you tear me. Also, I will likely need to use the restroom immediately afterwards."
While Charles had been talking, Erik had been slowly walking his fingers up Charles' spine. The movement had caused Charles' shirt to ride up and it pooled now beneath his armpit. Erik was momentarily distracted by the sight of so much skin.
"And your telepathy?" Erik asked when it became clear that Charles was done talking. Charles seemed startled by the question.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
With some difficulty, Erik tore his gaze away from Charles' exposed midriff.
"How does your telepathy factor into sex? Can you piggyback on my sensations? Are there any other tricks I don't know about?" The thing about sex that had always intrigued Erik, even when he wasn't having it, was that it all boiled down to neurons firing, and that was something the brain was responsible for--why Homo sapiens still insisted on making it about genitals was beyond him.
Charles must have caught the stray thought, because his entire countenance lit up.
"I've never... I've never had anyone willing to... I mean, there were only two who knew about my telepathy, but they both found the entire thing too invasive." Charles broke out into a wide grin. "Would you be willing?" he finally asked.
It was a silly question, because of course Erik was willing--and oh how he wanted to smack Charles' previous partners--and he suspected Charles' late wife was among them--for ignoring such an integral part of him.
"Whatever you need, Charles. Whatever you want." He punctuated the statements with chaste kisses to the either side of Charles' mouth. When he pulled away, Charles' eyes were once again glazed over. His entire body had grown taut, his hands having come up to settle against Erik's chest.
"Come on, then," Erik said, staring into Charles' eyes. Charles blinked, and then shook himself. A second later, Erik felt the warm, comforting presence of Charles occupying his head.
There was a time in his life when such intimacy would have terrified him; a time when he would have run screaming from even the possibility of allowing a telepath such complete access to his head--he hadn't commissioned his helmet's construction for no reason. It still astounded him, how quickly he had come to trust Charles--how quickly he had come to want Charles nestled in every corner of his life, and that included his mind.
As an experiment, Erik trailed the hand currently resting between Charles' shoulder blades up and over his shoulder, then down his arm until he could take Charles' hand in his. He tugged lightly, Charles letting himself be manipulated, until Erik placed Charles' hand on his hip. For Erik, the point of contact seared bright and hot, the throbbing in his groin becoming a demanding, insistent thing. Charles shuddered.
"You can feel that, then?" Erik asked.
"Yes. Oh, yes. Here," he said, and suddenly Erik was aware of Charles in a way he hadn't been before--in addition to the warm weight in his mind, he was now aware of the chaotic swirl of Charles' emotions. There were no concrete thoughts, only pleasure and delight and excitement and such vibrant happiness that Erik was momentarily overwhelmed.
"Sorry," Charles said, easing back a little.
"No, don't," Erik said, wanting Charles in his entirety.
In an instant Charles flooded back into his mind, filling his senses until he could barely see straight. He could no longer differentiate his body from Charles'; the two merged so seamlessly in his mind that it was like they were one. Erik ran his hand back up Charles' arm and felt echoing fingers ghost along his own arm.
"Oh my God," he said, unable to stop the words from spilling into the tight space between them. His vision had gone crossed, but he was still acutely aware of Charles smiling.
"And this," Charles said, moving the hand on Erik's hip, sliding it down Erik's thigh until he reached the top of Erik's knee. Erik groaned. So did Charles.
And then Charles was moving back up, this time tracing the inside of Erik's thigh, hand slipping beneath the hem of Erik's boxers, Erik's hips bucking involuntarily at the sensation. Charles whimpered.
"I'd forgotten how good that felt," Charles said, moaning loud and low, curving forward to press his forehead into the space between Erik's chin and chest. Erik trailed his hand down Charles' chest to brush against a nipple. They both bucked sharply at the sensation.
In all likelihood, Erik realized, he was going to come just from this, like the teenager he was when Magda had first set her sights on him.
Beneath his chin, Charles laughed. "You know, it's considered impolite to think of ex-lovers in bed," he said.
In response, Erik brought his hand to Charles' chin and tilted his head up for a kiss.
There was something more urgent in this kiss; a growing need that Erik wasn't sure how best to address. There were so many things he wanted, and he let his mind cycle through them all, knowing he was sending Charles countless images of where he wanted them to go. From the chaos, Charles plucked out one image and reflected it back, Erik so startled he whimpered, groaning loudly when the hand inside the leg of his boxers began tugging the material down.
"Fantastic idea," he said when they pulled apart for air.
And now that he knew where this was going, it was easy to take control of it. With a soft nudge, he pushed Charles onto his back. Charles lifted himself onto his elbows to help Erik with his t-shirt. Erik tossed it onto the floor with the rest of Charles' clothes. His own undershirt landed somewhere near the dresser, and when he shucked off his boxers, they were lost to the tangle of sheets.
A niggling tendril of worry stopped his hands at the waistband of Charles' boxers, but Erik merely looked Charles in the eye and conveyed the full force of his desire. Charles relented. Erik slid them down and off, then tossed them onto the floor.
He respected Charles' request not to linger--and they would discuss that another time Erik had already decided--sliding back up to hover over Charles' naked torso. The image they had settled on came back to him them, Erik encouraging Charles' arms above his head, his hands automatically curling around the metal bars of Erik's headboard. Erik wanted desperately to feel what he was doing to Charles, without the distraction of Charles' touch, and Charles seemed inclined to grant Erik's request, so as soon as Charles gave him a firm nod, Erik dipped his head to Charles' chest and licked a stripe from sternum to navel.
"Christ," Charles cried, arching his back. Erik did it a second time, reversing the direction.
It was an amazing thing to see Charles so undone--Erik could recall with vivid detail how flustered and out of sorts Charles had left him in the early days of their acquaintance, and now here he was, flushed scarlet red, a thin sheen of sweat covering his brow, his eyes squeezed shut, head tipped back, and his entire body straining to keep from moving. This was what Erik was doing to him.
With Charles' permission, Erik used the hand not bracing himself to part Charles' thighs. He settled between them. Charles made a strangled sound that Erik felt more than heard. He was acutely aware of Charles' arousal; of his state of mind and how quickly he was losing himself to this thing between them.
Erik was desperately hard. He rocked against Charles' groin, even knowing Charles couldn't entirely feel it, unable to stop himself. Charles felt the sensation through their link and began chanting a string of nonsense words, only a handful of which Erik might mistake for his name.
He did it again, and again, letting his tongue and teeth trace a path alone Charles's chest and neck. Charles' arms were corded with muscles as he hung on, as though for dear life. A quick glance up confirmed Erik's suspicion, Charles' knuckles white from the grip he had on the headboard. Pride and lust and tenderness simultaneously surged in Erik's breast. Charles felt them all, and shuddered.
There was no feasible way Erik was going to last much longer--not this time, with Charles newly in his bed, this thing between them so overpowering. He set himself to the task of completely undoing Charles. He let his tongue taste Charles' skin; his teeth nipping at flesh, his lips pressing against the jut of Charles' collarbone. His fingers traced elaborate patterns across Charles' chest, his stomach, his arms; touching everywhere Erik could reach, everywhere Charles could feel, mapping porcelain-pale skin until he was certain he could discern Charles blindfolded. All the while Charles writhed beneath him, panting and moaning and swearing, while his thoughts cycled through a dazzling array of images; like colourful bursts of fireworks they exploded against Erik's own mind, fanning his own pleasure higher and higher until he was a shaking, breathless mess.
And then Charles' hands were on him, pulling him up to seal their lips together, Charles' tongue sliding neatly into Erik's mouth. Erik rutted against him, feeling Charles' pleasure mount even as Erik chased his own completion. It came--far, far too soon, Erik thought--just as Charles reached a hand between them, fingers sliding down Erik's sweat-slick stomach to curl around his cock. Erik let out a hoarse shout that was muffled by Charles' tongue, and then came messily between them. Even as he fell, he felt Charles shudder beneath him.
For a long moment the world ceased to exist, Erik floating in some netherspace, safely contained within Charles' head as Charles was contained within his. He was aware of steady pulse of Charles' heart--both beneath his breast and echoing in the pounding of his ears--as surely as Charles was aware of his. Emotions and thoughts flickered like ripples across a pond, none formed enough to catch, but Erik was aware of their shades, their colours. Charles was deeply content, amazed and so very, very happy. Erik let his fingertips brush against whispers of peace, which turned out to be Charles' breath, shaky and warm against his cheek.
It physically hurt to feel Charles slowly untangle their thoughts and then drift away completely. Erik mustered enough energy to push his weight up and off Charles, collapsing again on the bed by his side. He stared up at the ceiling, dazed. He couldn't seem to get his heart to stop racing.
Apparently that was sex with a telepath. Or possibly it was just sex after too long an abstinence. Or possibly he was just stupid in love and only just starting to realize it. It was rather hard to tell at the moment.
Beside him Charles groaned and then stretched, arm brushing against Erik's side in the process. Erik 's entire body shuddered with renewed want, spent cock twitching almost painfully. It was somewhat of a relief to realize he was incapable of achieving a second erection.
"God," Charles said beside him. "I had no idea. I am never having sex with anyone else ever again."
Erik sobered instantly.
"You mean before this you thought you might?" he asked. Charles chuckled, a low, lazy sound that warmed Erik even as he fought to hold on to his indignation.
"Careful, Erik, your possessiveness is showing," Charles said--which wasn't an answer at all. Erik sat, body protesting the movement, but he managed to position himself so that he was looming over Charles' prone form.
God, he looked so utterly despoiled. His entire neck and chest were covered in bright red marks the exact size and shape of Erik's mouth. His pupils were still dilated, his skin still flushed, and his hair was a mass of tangles, spread chaotically across Erik's pillow.
"I think there is something I need to clarify," Erik said. "I don't share." He left off mentioning that he would likely kill anyone who even looked at Charles sideways, let alone anyone who dared to touch.
Charles was slowly coming back to himself and he gave Erik a considering glance. Whatever he was looking for he must have found, because he smiled brightly, pushed up on his elbows and captured Erik's lips in a short but brutal kiss. When he pulled back, Erik had forgotten what they were talking about.
"I think I can do exclusive," Charles said. He glanced down at his stomach then, as if only now becoming aware of the mess Erik had made--and Erik couldn't be certain, but he suspected some of it was Charles'. Charles' lip twisted into a grimace.
"I need to clean up, and then you need to buy me dinner; or order me dinner, or make me dinner--I'm actually not sure how that works around here, but I haven't eaten since the plane and I can't say I ate much on the plane, so I am famished," Charles said, and Erik couldn't help but laugh, feeling everything settle neatly between them.
Go to chapter 14
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17
Back to chapter 12
"Why is this taking so long?" Magneto asked, letting his irritation bleed into his tone. It wasn't like him, but he'd told Charles a few hours and already it had been three. The incompetence of his followers was mind-boggling. How hard was it to follow a set of blueprints?
"To be fair," Shadowcat said, "this is pretty advanced stuff. We really ought to clear Beast to work on the project--and when they had started calling McCoy Beast, Magneto didn't know.
Magneto frowned. It had been hard enough getting the blueprints from McCoy; he was fairly certain it was going to be impossible to secure his cooperation, at least, not without getting Charles involved, and the last thing Magneto wanted to do was burden Charles with this.
"I don't care how you have to do it: I want a fully operational Cerebro up and running inside of three days."
He would have stormed out of the room at that point--wanted to storm out of the room--but being the leader of the Brotherhood meant his work was never done. As soon as Shadowcat slinked away, Jubilee was there to take her place, requisition forms in hand. One of these days he was going to appoint more signing officers, because God forbid they bring these things to Emma--she might break a nail. He scrawled his signature across three pages without reading any of them and then shooed her away.
The second she was gone Mystique was at his side, delicately maneuvering him by the elbow to a vacant corner of the room. Erik sighed.
"Not you, too," he said. A few hours to himself; was it really too much to ask?
"Don't worry; I'm actually here to relieve you. You're getting all squirrely, which is frankly frightening, because you never get squirrely. Seriously, Erik, what's gotten into you?"
It was a stupid question, mostly because Mystique already knew the answer--and she knew she knew the answer--but also because there was no way in hell Erik was going to find the words necessary to vocalize exactly why he was currently climbing out of his skin. He suspected they started and ended with Charles.
Mystique gave him a knowing look, and then proceeded to shake her head. "I've never seen you like this. It's only been three weeks. How the hell are you already so hung up on this guy?"
It was a fair question, and one Erik asked himself daily. He shrugged. "It feels like longer," was the best he could come up with.
Mystique snorted. "That's only because you've spent the better part of the last decade obsessively following this guy's work."
"You make me sound like a stalker," Erik said, affronted.
Mystique responded by shooting him a pointed look. The traitor.
"Might I remind you that the day I found you I had to rescue you from men with pitchforks?"
"And I can't thank you enough. Now go, I can cover this," she said, gesturing to the newly cleared training room, the cavernous space slowly being converted to accommodate Cerebro's design.
Erik shot her a doubtful look. He could think of at least ten other things that demanded Magneto's attention--and sadly Charles was near the bottom of that list. Unfortunately--or fortunately, depending on how Erik looked at it--Mystique would not be put off.
"Seriously, Erik, you've got a hot professor waiting in your bed. Do you really want to stick around here?"
And when she put it that way, Erik realized that she had a point. There was only one problem.
"How the hell do you know he's in my bed?" Erik asked, glaring. Mystique smirked. Erik shook his head; because of course it had been her, the sneaky, conniving devil. He really ought to have her horsewhipped. Or, you know, send her a fruit basket.
"I also took the liberty of outfitting your room," she said with a sly smile. Erik blanched. He wasn't entirely certain he wanted to know, but Mystique had never been one to guard her tongue. "Don't worry, it's pretty tame--figured you'd want to break him in a bit before you got to the hard stuff. Just some lube, a dildo or two, a couple of butt plugs, oh, and a pair of handcuffs."
She was laughing at him now, openly, and loud enough to draw the attention of the other mutants in the room. Secretly mortified, Erik mustered his best scowl and contemplated sending her to the Brotherhood's Siberian training facility--though knowing his luck she'd have a fantastic time and come home pregnant with Azazel's baby.
"Are you done?" he asked.
"For now," she said, but Erik could tell she was seconds away from dissolving into another fit of laughter. Across the room, Rogue glanced in their direction, a wide grin overtaking her face. Erik sighed.
"I have absolutely no clout left, do I?" Mystique shook her head and that was great, just great. There was really nothing left to do save leave the room, preferably while he still had some of his dignity intact.
"Don't forget your package," Mystique called after him, and so much for his dignity. Erik turned on his heel, walked back across the room, scooped up the paper-wrapped package he had sent Rogue out to pick up, tilted his chin in the air, and then walked purposely from the room.
He spent the walk back to his rooms contemplating how best to explain the items Mystique had left in his room. Certainly he didn't want Charles to think less of him--and really, he was hardly the sort to engage in those sorts of activities. Surely Charles would know that--unless Charles was the sort to engage in those sorts of activities, in which case Erik wasn't exactly sure what he'd say.
By the time he got to his room he was convinced this was all going to blow up in his face. He paused outside the door, uncertain whether to knock--he didn't want to violate Charles' privacy, but it was his room, damn it. In the end he decided on simply waving the door open, which turned out to be the exact right choice, because otherwise he might have missed the sight of Charles Xavier sleeping peacefully in the centre of his bed.
And oh, God, Charles Xavier was in his bed.
It was entirely possible Mystique had a point.
Erik swallowed heavily, stepped over the threshold, put the package he was carrying down on the bureau, and used his power to silently close and lock the door. He stared.
Charles' pale skin stood out in vivid contrast to the red of Erik's sheets. He was wearing a t-shirt--and who knew what under the covers, though oh, God, did Erik hope they were boxer shorts. His case was open on top of the dresser, several things spilling out onto its surface. There was a neat pile of discarded clothing on the floor beside the bed. His chair was parked next to the bed, though pushed aside as if to make room for someone wanting to sit on the edge of the bed. Erik took that as an invitation.
He crossed the room in three strides, removing his helmet when he reached the foot of the bed. He set it gingerly down on the floor, then stepped around it and sat on the edge of the bed, scant inches from Charles' hip. He wanted so badly to touch. Instead he took several long, lingering moments to simply look; to memorize Charles in his entirety. For the life of him he couldn't figure out how he got to this place. How did a man he'd only just met end up the single most important person in Erik's life? Love at first sight didn't happen. Soul mates didn't exist. And yet here he was. He would accuse Charles of having manipulated him, save that he had already felt this long before he first removed his helmet in Charles' presence.
It really only left one option, which meant he was completely screwed.
The urge to touch had grown so strong by this point that Erik was helpless to resist. He reached a trembling hand--and try as he might, he could not steady it--to Charles' cheek, brushing the pads of his fingertips against the delicate skin he found there. There was something entirely innocent and unassuming about Charles asleep. It was breathtaking--knowing what this man was capable of and yet seeing him so utterly vulnerable. Erik didn't want to contemplate exactly what that said about him, that he was so aroused by the sight.
A second brush of his fingertips brought a muffled moan from Charles' lips. Erik smiled, letting the day's irritations drain from his shoulders; they spilled onto the floor to pool alongside Charles' clothes.
And oh, God, Charles Xavier's clothes were on his floor.
This time a huff of laughter fell from Charles' lips. Erik froze, hand trapped where it was, pressed against Charles' cheek. His breath caught and he waited, seconds seeming to stretch into eternity before bright blue eyes slid open and regarded him with fond amusement.
"My clothes, really?" Charles said, voice thick with sleep. Erik withdrew his hand.
"That's not fair," Erik said, but he couldn't bring himself to mind. Charles Xavier was still in his bed.
Charles laughed a second time, this time bright and happy. It was possibly the best sound Erik had ever heard and he wanted to find ways to make Charles make it again and again and again.
"Good morning," he said instead. "Or rather, evening, as the case may be."
Charles pushed himself up onto his elbows. "Well, in that case, I can't see any reason to get out of bed." He offered an arched eyebrow and mischievous smirk, both of which were a clear invitation. Erik stood.
"You're sure you're not too tired?" he asked, but he was already setting aside his cape.
"I feel quite well rested, actually."
Erik discarded his jacket next and then began working on his shirt buttons. All the while Charles watched him with hooded eyes, flush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck. Erik wanted to trace its path with his tongue. Charles' arched eyebrow crept even higher.
"Reading my mind, are you?" Erik said, half reproof, half permission.
"Here? Always." There was so much honesty behind those words it was startling. It was an admission as much as it was a request, and Erik granted it with a simple nod of his head. Here, in this place, there would be nothing between them.
Charles beamed at him. Erik momentarily fumbled with the last of his shirt's buttons, fingers growing heavy and useless at the sight. He managed the last of them, but then paused with his hands on his belt's buckle. He gave Charles a pointed look. Charles swallowed heavily.
"There is a conversation we ought to have, but, yes," he said.
Erik tilted his head, but Charles merely scooted over in the bed, making room, the sight of which must have short-circuited Erik's brain, because the next thing he knew he was in the bed, facing Charles beneath the covers, and he wasn't wearing any pants.
Charles was wearing boxer shorts after all.
"So a conversation," he said, but he couldn't seem to stop staring at Charles' lips. He'd been thinking about kissing them for the better part of three hours, after all. Just to see if he could, he reached out a hand and traced his thumb across Charles' bottom lip. It was as soft as he remembered.
"About expectations," Charles said, but he sounded breathless and his eyes had fallen shut. Erik took the opportunity to close the distance between them, bringing their bodies flush until he could feel the heat of Charles' radiating against his own. Charles groaned.
Charles didn't seem to have anything further to say on the subject of expectations, so Erik pressed their lips together; and this was so much better, being in full contact with Charles, having him in Erik's arms--which he could do now, Erik realized, moving the hand that was cupping Charles' cheek down to lace his arm around Charles' waist. This time it was Erik who groaned.
Charles responded by fisting his hand on Erik's undershirt--and oh, God, why hadn't he taken it off, why hadn't he taken it off? For that matter, why hadn't he taken Charles' shirt off? Erik moved to remedy that right away, the hand around Charles' waist tugging at the back of his hem, pulling steadily up. Charles' fisted hand flattened and pushed against Erik's chest. Reluctantly--and mostly because he needed air--Erik pulled away.
"Expectations," Charles said, sounding intoxicated. He looked debauched--lips swollen red, hair a mess, skin flushed pink and pupils dilated to twice their size.
Abruptly Erik realized where this was going. He shook his head.
"Charles, you're a telepath." Charles blinked at him in confusion. "In my adult life, how many sexual partners have I had?"
Charles' eyes widened. He cleared his throat. "Two," he said after a moment, sounding both startled and a little awed.
"And when was the last one," Erik asked, because it was fairly important that Charles knew Erik wasn't the sort to fall into bed with just anyone. Erik let Charles see all of it; let him know about the girl who had first broken his heart, and then about the one night stand that had left him cold and uninterested in repeating the experiment.
"Um, almost five years ago," Charles said, and this time he sounded pleased.
"Then I think we can safely assume I don't have expectations." And he didn't. Sex had never been about bodies to him. It had always been about the meeting of minds--the one thing Schmidt had never been able to take from him, Erik's mind his own. He could think of no greater gift to give a lover.
Charles was smiling at him, clearly relieved, though Erik didn't need Charles' mutation to know he still felt the need to give his speech. Erik wondered if he had practiced on the way here. A traitorous part of his brain wondered how many others had heard the speech.
Next to him, Charles tutted. "I assure you, I've never had to give the speech. I haven't been intimate with anyone since..."
"Since you were paralysed," Erik finished, because the last thing he wanted was for Charles to feel like they had to tiptoe around the subject. He made sure Charles could hear how delightfully pleased he was to learn that he'd be the first. If the resulting blush was any indication, Charles didn't seem to mind.
Not wanting to screw this up, Erik tightened his arm around Charles' waist. He pulled Charles fully against him, nipping lightly at his lips before settling back a comfortable distance--enough so that he could breathe Charles' air but still focus on the blue of Charles' eyes. "Go on," he said.
Charles hesitated. "This is all rather mortifying, you realize," he said, but Erik shook his head and thought loudly of the conversation he'd just had with Mystique. Erik wouldn't have thought it possible, but Charles turned an even brighter shade of pink. "Okay, perhaps not that mortifying. Did she really...? I mean, are there...?" Charles shook his head. Erik laughed.
The mood between them grew serious once more.
Erik watched as Charles took a steadying breath and then slowly exhaled. When he was done, he calmly met Erik's gaze and began speaking. It sounded like he was reading from a text book.
"I have full feeling above my waistline and partial feeling in my pelvis. I have no feeling from my hip joints down. I can achieve an erection," he stumbled on the world erection, which was both distracting and endearing, "though it sometimes isn't hard enough for penetration."
Erik made sure that Charles heard the thought that met that declaration. Penetration was not something Erik enjoyed. His relief was palpable.
Charles offered a shy smile, and then took another deep breath that he slowly released. He had maintained eye contact, so Erik gave him an encouraging smile and let his fingers dip beneath the hem of Charles' shirt, shifting them up past scar tissue that Erik thought belonged to an unskilled surgeon rather than fate. He let them settle just above Charles' waistline. Charles shivered and pressed into the sensation.
"You're making it very hard to..."
"Continue," Erik said, letting Magneto creep into his tone. Charles shot him a dirty look, but he continued.
"I can ejaculate, though the sensation of orgasm is severely diminished from what it once was." Charles swallowed. "Prostate stimulation is still quite good for me, though it requires some notice," here he blushed, "and a good deal of prep work. I won't be able to feel if you tear me. Also, I will likely need to use the restroom immediately afterwards."
While Charles had been talking, Erik had been slowly walking his fingers up Charles' spine. The movement had caused Charles' shirt to ride up and it pooled now beneath his armpit. Erik was momentarily distracted by the sight of so much skin.
"And your telepathy?" Erik asked when it became clear that Charles was done talking. Charles seemed startled by the question.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
With some difficulty, Erik tore his gaze away from Charles' exposed midriff.
"How does your telepathy factor into sex? Can you piggyback on my sensations? Are there any other tricks I don't know about?" The thing about sex that had always intrigued Erik, even when he wasn't having it, was that it all boiled down to neurons firing, and that was something the brain was responsible for--why Homo sapiens still insisted on making it about genitals was beyond him.
Charles must have caught the stray thought, because his entire countenance lit up.
"I've never... I've never had anyone willing to... I mean, there were only two who knew about my telepathy, but they both found the entire thing too invasive." Charles broke out into a wide grin. "Would you be willing?" he finally asked.
It was a silly question, because of course Erik was willing--and oh how he wanted to smack Charles' previous partners--and he suspected Charles' late wife was among them--for ignoring such an integral part of him.
"Whatever you need, Charles. Whatever you want." He punctuated the statements with chaste kisses to the either side of Charles' mouth. When he pulled away, Charles' eyes were once again glazed over. His entire body had grown taut, his hands having come up to settle against Erik's chest.
"Come on, then," Erik said, staring into Charles' eyes. Charles blinked, and then shook himself. A second later, Erik felt the warm, comforting presence of Charles occupying his head.
There was a time in his life when such intimacy would have terrified him; a time when he would have run screaming from even the possibility of allowing a telepath such complete access to his head--he hadn't commissioned his helmet's construction for no reason. It still astounded him, how quickly he had come to trust Charles--how quickly he had come to want Charles nestled in every corner of his life, and that included his mind.
As an experiment, Erik trailed the hand currently resting between Charles' shoulder blades up and over his shoulder, then down his arm until he could take Charles' hand in his. He tugged lightly, Charles letting himself be manipulated, until Erik placed Charles' hand on his hip. For Erik, the point of contact seared bright and hot, the throbbing in his groin becoming a demanding, insistent thing. Charles shuddered.
"You can feel that, then?" Erik asked.
"Yes. Oh, yes. Here," he said, and suddenly Erik was aware of Charles in a way he hadn't been before--in addition to the warm weight in his mind, he was now aware of the chaotic swirl of Charles' emotions. There were no concrete thoughts, only pleasure and delight and excitement and such vibrant happiness that Erik was momentarily overwhelmed.
"Sorry," Charles said, easing back a little.
"No, don't," Erik said, wanting Charles in his entirety.
In an instant Charles flooded back into his mind, filling his senses until he could barely see straight. He could no longer differentiate his body from Charles'; the two merged so seamlessly in his mind that it was like they were one. Erik ran his hand back up Charles' arm and felt echoing fingers ghost along his own arm.
"Oh my God," he said, unable to stop the words from spilling into the tight space between them. His vision had gone crossed, but he was still acutely aware of Charles smiling.
"And this," Charles said, moving the hand on Erik's hip, sliding it down Erik's thigh until he reached the top of Erik's knee. Erik groaned. So did Charles.
And then Charles was moving back up, this time tracing the inside of Erik's thigh, hand slipping beneath the hem of Erik's boxers, Erik's hips bucking involuntarily at the sensation. Charles whimpered.
"I'd forgotten how good that felt," Charles said, moaning loud and low, curving forward to press his forehead into the space between Erik's chin and chest. Erik trailed his hand down Charles' chest to brush against a nipple. They both bucked sharply at the sensation.
In all likelihood, Erik realized, he was going to come just from this, like the teenager he was when Magda had first set her sights on him.
Beneath his chin, Charles laughed. "You know, it's considered impolite to think of ex-lovers in bed," he said.
In response, Erik brought his hand to Charles' chin and tilted his head up for a kiss.
There was something more urgent in this kiss; a growing need that Erik wasn't sure how best to address. There were so many things he wanted, and he let his mind cycle through them all, knowing he was sending Charles countless images of where he wanted them to go. From the chaos, Charles plucked out one image and reflected it back, Erik so startled he whimpered, groaning loudly when the hand inside the leg of his boxers began tugging the material down.
"Fantastic idea," he said when they pulled apart for air.
And now that he knew where this was going, it was easy to take control of it. With a soft nudge, he pushed Charles onto his back. Charles lifted himself onto his elbows to help Erik with his t-shirt. Erik tossed it onto the floor with the rest of Charles' clothes. His own undershirt landed somewhere near the dresser, and when he shucked off his boxers, they were lost to the tangle of sheets.
A niggling tendril of worry stopped his hands at the waistband of Charles' boxers, but Erik merely looked Charles in the eye and conveyed the full force of his desire. Charles relented. Erik slid them down and off, then tossed them onto the floor.
He respected Charles' request not to linger--and they would discuss that another time Erik had already decided--sliding back up to hover over Charles' naked torso. The image they had settled on came back to him them, Erik encouraging Charles' arms above his head, his hands automatically curling around the metal bars of Erik's headboard. Erik wanted desperately to feel what he was doing to Charles, without the distraction of Charles' touch, and Charles seemed inclined to grant Erik's request, so as soon as Charles gave him a firm nod, Erik dipped his head to Charles' chest and licked a stripe from sternum to navel.
"Christ," Charles cried, arching his back. Erik did it a second time, reversing the direction.
It was an amazing thing to see Charles so undone--Erik could recall with vivid detail how flustered and out of sorts Charles had left him in the early days of their acquaintance, and now here he was, flushed scarlet red, a thin sheen of sweat covering his brow, his eyes squeezed shut, head tipped back, and his entire body straining to keep from moving. This was what Erik was doing to him.
With Charles' permission, Erik used the hand not bracing himself to part Charles' thighs. He settled between them. Charles made a strangled sound that Erik felt more than heard. He was acutely aware of Charles' arousal; of his state of mind and how quickly he was losing himself to this thing between them.
Erik was desperately hard. He rocked against Charles' groin, even knowing Charles couldn't entirely feel it, unable to stop himself. Charles felt the sensation through their link and began chanting a string of nonsense words, only a handful of which Erik might mistake for his name.
He did it again, and again, letting his tongue and teeth trace a path alone Charles's chest and neck. Charles' arms were corded with muscles as he hung on, as though for dear life. A quick glance up confirmed Erik's suspicion, Charles' knuckles white from the grip he had on the headboard. Pride and lust and tenderness simultaneously surged in Erik's breast. Charles felt them all, and shuddered.
There was no feasible way Erik was going to last much longer--not this time, with Charles newly in his bed, this thing between them so overpowering. He set himself to the task of completely undoing Charles. He let his tongue taste Charles' skin; his teeth nipping at flesh, his lips pressing against the jut of Charles' collarbone. His fingers traced elaborate patterns across Charles' chest, his stomach, his arms; touching everywhere Erik could reach, everywhere Charles could feel, mapping porcelain-pale skin until he was certain he could discern Charles blindfolded. All the while Charles writhed beneath him, panting and moaning and swearing, while his thoughts cycled through a dazzling array of images; like colourful bursts of fireworks they exploded against Erik's own mind, fanning his own pleasure higher and higher until he was a shaking, breathless mess.
And then Charles' hands were on him, pulling him up to seal their lips together, Charles' tongue sliding neatly into Erik's mouth. Erik rutted against him, feeling Charles' pleasure mount even as Erik chased his own completion. It came--far, far too soon, Erik thought--just as Charles reached a hand between them, fingers sliding down Erik's sweat-slick stomach to curl around his cock. Erik let out a hoarse shout that was muffled by Charles' tongue, and then came messily between them. Even as he fell, he felt Charles shudder beneath him.
For a long moment the world ceased to exist, Erik floating in some netherspace, safely contained within Charles' head as Charles was contained within his. He was aware of steady pulse of Charles' heart--both beneath his breast and echoing in the pounding of his ears--as surely as Charles was aware of his. Emotions and thoughts flickered like ripples across a pond, none formed enough to catch, but Erik was aware of their shades, their colours. Charles was deeply content, amazed and so very, very happy. Erik let his fingertips brush against whispers of peace, which turned out to be Charles' breath, shaky and warm against his cheek.
It physically hurt to feel Charles slowly untangle their thoughts and then drift away completely. Erik mustered enough energy to push his weight up and off Charles, collapsing again on the bed by his side. He stared up at the ceiling, dazed. He couldn't seem to get his heart to stop racing.
Apparently that was sex with a telepath. Or possibly it was just sex after too long an abstinence. Or possibly he was just stupid in love and only just starting to realize it. It was rather hard to tell at the moment.
Beside him Charles groaned and then stretched, arm brushing against Erik's side in the process. Erik 's entire body shuddered with renewed want, spent cock twitching almost painfully. It was somewhat of a relief to realize he was incapable of achieving a second erection.
"God," Charles said beside him. "I had no idea. I am never having sex with anyone else ever again."
Erik sobered instantly.
"You mean before this you thought you might?" he asked. Charles chuckled, a low, lazy sound that warmed Erik even as he fought to hold on to his indignation.
"Careful, Erik, your possessiveness is showing," Charles said--which wasn't an answer at all. Erik sat, body protesting the movement, but he managed to position himself so that he was looming over Charles' prone form.
God, he looked so utterly despoiled. His entire neck and chest were covered in bright red marks the exact size and shape of Erik's mouth. His pupils were still dilated, his skin still flushed, and his hair was a mass of tangles, spread chaotically across Erik's pillow.
"I think there is something I need to clarify," Erik said. "I don't share." He left off mentioning that he would likely kill anyone who even looked at Charles sideways, let alone anyone who dared to touch.
Charles was slowly coming back to himself and he gave Erik a considering glance. Whatever he was looking for he must have found, because he smiled brightly, pushed up on his elbows and captured Erik's lips in a short but brutal kiss. When he pulled back, Erik had forgotten what they were talking about.
"I think I can do exclusive," Charles said. He glanced down at his stomach then, as if only now becoming aware of the mess Erik had made--and Erik couldn't be certain, but he suspected some of it was Charles'. Charles' lip twisted into a grimace.
"I need to clean up, and then you need to buy me dinner; or order me dinner, or make me dinner--I'm actually not sure how that works around here, but I haven't eaten since the plane and I can't say I ate much on the plane, so I am famished," Charles said, and Erik couldn't help but laugh, feeling everything settle neatly between them.
Go to chapter 14
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Date: 2011-09-19 10:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-12 08:48 pm (UTC)