![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nekosmuseFic: Tessellation (15/?)
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17
Back to chapter 14
Charles waited until they were out in the hall, away from prying eyes, to sink down into his chair. The effort it had taken not to dissolve into a panic attack in the middle of Erik's--no, Magneto's--meeting had left him exhausted. For a while there he'd honestly thought there would be no reasoning with Magneto--and where would that have left him, because certainly Charles couldn't have found an excuse to stay had Magneto insisted on planning a willful murder.
A small voice in the back of his head told Charles that Magneto had done it before and would most certainly do it again.
Stop it, Charles told himself firmly. Erik had changed his mind; had taken Charles' advice under advisement. They could find a way to meet in the middle; to compromise and make this work.
"Are you all right?" It wasn't Magneto who asked the question, but Erik, expression shadowed by guilt. He swallowed heavily.
"Tired," Charles confessed. In an instant Erik was at his side, hand coming to Charles' shoulder. "I'm fine, really, just in need of a nap."
Erik nodded, hesitating briefly before removing his hand, bringing it awkwardly to his side.
"I think we can manage a nap," he said, smiling.
Charles chuckled. "As nice as that would be, first I need to see Hank." There was always the chance nothing he could say could keep Hank from leaving--and while the Brotherhood wanted Hank's help in building Cerebro, that was not the reason Charles wanted him to stay. Having sat through that meeting--having nearly come to blows with Magneto--Charles was starting to realize he had few friends here, and for as much as he trusted Erik--as much as he was starting to suspect he loved Erik--Charles liked the idea of having someone else he could turn to.
It was not a thought he felt comfortable sharing with Erik, who was still radiating uncertainty--even with the helmet--obviously as thrown as Charles after what had just happened.
Erik agreed to take him to see Hank--albeit reluctantly--leading them to the suite of guest rooms set aside for visiting diplomats. Hank and Ms. Carter had been placed in separate rooms, side-by-side, but when Hank opened the door Ms. Carter was sitting on the bed and her suitcase was set on the low desk beneath the window.
No one appeared to be packing, which Charles took as a good sign.
"Not him," Hank said, gesturing to Erik. Charles immediately reached out to sway Hank's thoughts, but then thought better of it. He had just convinced Erik to do the right thing; the least he could do was the same.
"Please let us in, Hank. I'm only asking five minutes, and if, after that, you want us to leave, we will leave."
Charles could hear Hank wavering; for as much as he disliked Erik, Charles was his oldest friend--not to mention mentor and the first person who had accepted his mutation. Charles waited patiently, keeping his telepathy firmly reigned in. Eventually Hank sighed and stepped aside. Charles rolled into the room.
The room was nowhere near as extravagant as Erik's; more like a business grade hotel room than a diplomatic suite, but Charles suspected Hank found it comfortable. He wheeled across lushly carpeted floors and parked his chair next to the desk. Erik came to stand at his side. He still wore the helmet--which frustrated Charles to no end--but he was doing his best to blend into the shadows, trusting Charles to deal with the situation.
"We're going to arrest Stryker and bring him to trial, with UN backing," Charles said. Hank looked up sharply.
"He's agreed to that?" he asked, nodding to where Erik stood. Charles nodded. "And you trust him?"
Of course I trust him, Charles wanted to say, but before he got the chance, Erik stepped forward.
"I'm a man of my word," he said, body taut with anger.
Ignoring Charles completely, Hank stepped forward to meet Erik, and for a moment Charles thought they might come to blows. Ms. Carter had slid off the bed and was inching towards the bathroom. She looked terrified. Charles sent a calming thought in her direction and then pushed her to complete her journey, the bathroom door closing firmly behind her.
"I'm supposed to take the word of mass murder?" Hank said; all teeth and raised fur. His hands were clenched into fists and his body was leaned forward as though preparing to charge. Truly, when Hank wanted to, he could appear quite fearsome. Erik seemed unfazed.
Charles brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was the last thing he needed right now, when his nerves were still so shot. Why couldn't they sit down and discuss this like civilized adults? Preferably over scotch.
"And how exactly am I a mass murderer?" Erik asked, the metal in the room beginning to quiver. Charles wasn't sure if he was doing it intentionally; if not it marked the first time Charles had seen Erik lose control of his power. It was a frightening thing--he felt as though he was seeing a younger version of Erik, someone too rash to be trusted. Then again, knowing Erik, it was entirely possible he was simply posturing.
"Are you denying Los Angeles," Hank replied. Charles glanced up sharply. One point six million people had died in Los Angeles, but to Charles' knowledge, Erik had had nothing to do with the event.
"That wasn't me," Erik said, confirming Charles' assumption. Still, Charles felt himself relax, tension he hadn't been aware of draining from between his shoulder blades.
"But it was your Brotherhood."
"No, it was a single member of the Brotherhood, acting alone, and as soon as I learned of it, Apocalypse was stripped of membership and banished from Genosha."
Hank didn't appear to have anything to say to that. He didn't back down, but he did appear uncertain--though his anger was still resting on the surface of his thoughts. Charles thought perhaps now would be a good time to distribute those drinks, so he wheeled himself to the wet bar that occupied the corner opposite the desk. Erik's room didn't have one of these.
"I don't need you to like me, McCoy, but for Charles' sake, it would be nice if we could be civil," Erik was saying. He heard Hank snort just as he found what he was looking for: a 38 year old Glendronach--and obviously the Brotherhood knew how to treat their visiting dignitaries.
"For Charles' sake? Please explain to me how you have Charles' best interests at heart, because he doesn't even know you, and you don't know him. You've only just met," Hank replied. Charles retrieved three glasses from the cabinet and opened the bottle. At the sound, Hank turned to stare in his direction, Erik and their argument seemingly forgotten.
"What are you doing?" he asked. Charles glanced over and arched an eyebrow.
"I thought we could all do with a drink." Charles held up the bottle. Hank's eyes grew wide and he glanced from Charles to Erik, and then out the window.
"It's only just noon," he said. Charles hesitated. It felt later--like the entire day had gotten away from him. He'd been anticipating heading back to Erik's room--their room--crawling into bed, and falling asleep.
"I thought it might soothe ruffled tempers," Charles explained. Hank's anger returned, tenfold, only this time it was directed at Charles. Charles found himself flinching.
"You would think that," Hank said, all strained bitterness that cut Charles to the core. He had no idea where it had come from--and a brief glimpse of Hank's mind showed only exasperation, annoyance and extreme hostility; the latter still mostly directed at Erik.
A second later the sensation was gone, Hank's mind stuttering shut--and Hank had never once closed his mind to Charles. Charles swallowed. He still held the open bottle of whiskey, glasses forgotten.
"I'm sorry, Charles. I didn't mean to say that." Hank hesitated. "I think you should go. I think you both should go." He deflated somewhat.
Charles hesitated. He glanced to Erik to find Erik doing the same, obviously waiting for Charles' lead. There was something in Erik's expression that caused Charles' already wounded heart to constrict painfully. Charles capped the bottle, tucked it into the side of his chair--there was no sense wasting a freshly cracked bottle--and headed towards the door.
"Are you leaving?" Charles asked when he got there, turning back to look at Hank.
Hank's mind surged with indecision, but he shook his head. "I'll stay." Charles felt like he could breathe again, though only barely. He nodded his thanks, and an apology, and wheeled through the open--Erik's doing--door. Erik followed on his heel.
Out in the hall, Charles released a shuddering breath. Erik came to stand at his side.
"Still feel like a nap?" he asked. Charles chuckled, but it was a sad, exhausted sound.
"Yes, I think I do," he said, genuinely meaning it.
By the time they made it back to Erik's rooms, exhaustion had crept into every inch of his body. He was stiff and sore--though most of that he could blame on this morning's physio--not to mention emotionally wrung out. Even his telepathy seemed out of reach, the edge of a headache made worse whenever he reached for it. Charles closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and willed the day to come to an end.
"I never said, but thank you," Charles said when he opened his eyes again. Erik was sitting on the edge of the bed, still wearing his helmet--and Charles frowned at that--so lost in thought that he didn't appear to have heard anything Charles had said.
"Did we do this too fast?" he asked suddenly. Charles narrowed his eyes, not quite certain what Erik was talking about.
"Did we do what too fast?"
"This," Erik said, gesturing first between them, then to the room, and finally to the bed. Charles' brain caught up with the conversation.
He stared at Erik, wishing Erik would remove the helmet. Erik sat, perfectly still, but when Charles looked close enough, he could see that Erik's hands were trembling. A closer look at the lines of his face told Charles that Erik was terrified. Hank's earlier accusation came back to him.
He doesn't even know you, and you don't know him.
"Because this has been... Good," Erik said abruptly, obviously misreading Charles' silence. "And I don't want to screw it up, so if we did this too fast, if we need to slow this down, then we can do that. I can arrange for you to have your own room, and we can..."
"Stop," Charles said, holding up his hand. Erik stopped. The terror in his eyes was still apparent, but now there was worry and such heart-wrenching dejection that Charles wanted to rise from his chair, walk across the room to Erik's side, and wrap the man in a hug.
"I'll leave if you want me to, but I would rather stay. Hank may be right; we don't know each other particularly well, not yet, but that doesn't mean we won't, or that we haven't made a decent start."
Erik's features relaxed at that--and until that moment, Charles hadn't realized just how tense Erik had been. He smiled, standing then to cross to Charles' side. He leaned into Charles' space, but instead of the kiss Charles was expecting, Erik merely retrieved the bottle of scotch from Charles' side. He turned the bottle to read the label, an eyebrow disappearing beneath the brim of his helmet.
"I need to talk to Rogue about what she's stocking in the diplomatic suites," he said. Charles chuckled.
He left Erik to find them glasses--though Charles wouldn't have been surprised if the only thing Erik came up with were the little paper cups stacked in the bathroom next to the toothpaste--and wheeled over to the bed. Locking his wheels, Charles quickly transferred himself onto the mattress. He was sitting up, propped against the headboard when Erik returned, two glasses--real ones--in hand. He handed one to Charles.
"You know it is only noon," he said, sipping from his glass, and then setting it on the nightstand. He reached up to remove his helmet.
The feel of Erik's mind--still overwhelmingly uncertain--was like a balm for Charles' shattered nerves.
"I'm still on New York time," Charles said. He sipped his whiskey, settled further back into the bed, and offered Erik a suggestive smile. Erik laughed and then perched on the edge of the bed.
"I thought you wanted to nap," he said, but he reached out a hand and slowly danced his fingertips up the inside of Charles' arm. Charles let his expression grow coy.
"I think I'm getting a second wind," he said. Erik beamed at him, all of his earlier uncertainty vanishing.
Erik stood then, taking Charles' drink to set it down next to his. He began methodically stripping off his clothes--and this, Charles realized, was the third time he'd been treated to a strip show. As soon as Erik was down to his boxers, he climbed into the bed, settling over Charles--who was still braced against the headboard--knees braced on either side of Charles' hips so that they were face to face. Charles would have given anything to feel the points of contact between them.
"Far too many clothes," Erik muttered, and Charles could feel his need--a heavy, unwieldy thing that surged in Erik's bloodstream. It wasn't just the sex, Charles realized, unable to stop himself from seeking out Erik's thoughts; Erik had gone years without the simple pleasure of human touch, and now that he had permission, he craved the contact--and that was something Charles understood all too well. Charles brought his hands to Erik's hips, holding him in place. The smile Erik gave him took Charles' breath away.
It was a strange thing to be undressed with such care, Erik taking his time with Charles' buttons--first his cardigan, which he pushed off Charles' shoulders, temporarily trapping his arms before the sweater came away. Erik tossed it onto the floor. His shirt came next, Erik's fingers trembling as he moved along each button, his gaze becoming unfocused the closer he got to the bottom. He paused at the second last button to pull Charles' shirt out of his pants, becoming impatient then and pulling it over Charles' head rather than bothering with the final buttons. He left Charles his undershirt.
Charles swallowed nervously when Erik reached for his belt.
"Don't, please. I want..." Erik said, making eye contact then, his eyes reflecting nothing but naked need. Charles nodded once, slow and deliberate. Erik threaded the belt through its buckle and then reached for Charles' fly.
Charles was blushing furiously by the time Erik had pulled off his pants; limp legs useless between Erik's thighs. Erik didn't seem to care--and in all the time Charles had known him, Erik had never once shown any concern over Charles' paralysis. He looked at Charles' chair the same way other people looked at ties--an accessory, hardly an integral part of the whole. It was one of the things Charles suspected he loved about Erik. That list seemed to be growing daily.
"Wait," Charles said when Erik bent down towards him. Erik paused, his hand braced against the headboard, his bare chest brushing against Charles' clothed one. "There's something I'd like to try."
Erik cocked his head, seeming intrigued. His smile was tinged with amusement.
"Come lie beside me," Charles instructed, nodding to Erik's side of the bed. Erik hesitate briefly, and Charles sensed he was reluctant to move--his thoughts told Charles just how much he liked having Charles trapped beneath him. "Trust me," Charles said, and Erik instantly shifted, moving into the vacant space at Charles' side.
Charles shifted down so that he was lying next to Erik, and turned so that they were facing each other. He reached down briefly to position his legs. The second he was settled Erik shifted into his space, arm wrapping around Charles' waist. Before Charles could issue his next instruction, Erik was in his face, pressing their lips together, kissing Charles soundly. Had they been able, Charles suspected his toes might have curled. Instead he pressed into the kiss, letting his hands come up to trace the lines of Erik's pectorals.
"Close your eyes," Charles said when they parted. Erik smirked at that, but he closed his eyes, mind radiating trust.
It took less than a minute to slide into Erik's head, to pull his subconscious onto the astral plane. "You can open your eyes now," Charles said, staring at Erik's back, several feet of space separating them.
He watched as Erik jerked in surprise, glancing around wildly before he finally turned, frantic in his search for Charles. He relaxed instantly upon spotting him. Charles offered a quirky smile. Erik huffed a laugh and then glanced around, leisurely this time, taking in the sight of Charles' study--the same one that had hosted their very first chess game.
"This isn't real," he said. "You've created this."
"I've projected it; but the space is real--the astral plane, I mean," Charles replied. Erik turned back to face him, obviously impressed. He faltered, only then noticing that Charles stood.
In three steps he was standing before Charles, gaze searching. Charles waited, head tipped back, reveling in being able to almost look Erik in the eye.
"Huh," Erik said. Charles cocked his head, confused. "I really thought you'd be taller," Erik explained, and Charles found himself shaking with laughter, their very first meeting surfacing in his mind.
"I'm plenty tall," Charles said, stepping into Erik's space and pressing up onto his toes--and it was incredible to be able to do so, even if Charles couldn't actually feel the sensation in his legs. He sealed their mouths together.
Erik surged forward into the kiss, arms wrapping around Charles' waist. The force of it caused Charles to stagger back. A single thought--not an easy thing to do in this moment--shifted a wall, and suddenly Charles was pressed against it, Erik rolling their hips together.
The sensation was a fraction of what it might have been, because try as Charles might, he could not recreate the feeling of having full mobility--only the functionality. Still, it was a heady experience, standing on two feet while Erik pinned him to a wall and ravished him.
This took more concentration than simply piggybacking on Erik's sensations, so Charles had to fight to keep from letting their stage dissolve into mist. Erik seemed to sense Charles' distraction, because he pulled back--eyes deep dark pools, lips kiss-swollen and damp from where he'd been sucking on Charles' neck.
"Are you not fully here?" he asked. His hands, where they rested on Charles' waist, were shaking again, though Charles suspected for an entirely different reason.
"I'm just tired, and it takes a good deal of concentration to maintain this location."
"Then get rid of it. As nice a touch as the roaring fire is, I don't think we need it," Erik said, and Charles instantly let the study dissolve, the astral plane taking its natural form--a nullspace of infinite light and darkness, stretching out in every conceivable direction, until one became dizzy trying to make sense of it. Hastily, Charles added a floor--a hazy, fuzzy thing that held no particular pattern, only solidness--and then, as an afterthought, a wall--because he had been thoroughly enjoying being pressed against one.
And this was far more manageable, Charles free to let his mind drift, to fall into the moment, his only preoccupation becoming the press of Erik against him.
"Better," Erik said, nipping at Charles' lips before dipping his head to finish marking Charles' throat--and Charles suspected he would be disappointed to wake and find Charles' actual body unmarred.
This wasn't like the last time--new and uncertain and desperate; their bodies starting to become familiar with one another--but it held a new kind of desperation, one born of their argument and their need for reassurance. Charles did everything in his power to write his intentions on Erik's skin--with hands and tongue and teeth--and Erik did the same, until their bodies were raw and red to match their battered psyches.
"Can I?" Erik asked, sliding hands down Charles' back to grasp his ass, pulling up until Charles took the hint and wrapped his legs around Erik's waist--mostly because, in this place, he could.
"Yes, yes," Charles said, and in the span of a thought the rest of their clothes fell away.
There was no need for ugly necessities like stretching and lubrication here. When Erik slid two fingers deep inside, they went effortlessly and sparked nothing but pleasure in Charles' groin. He was fully erect here, and could ejaculate if he desired it, but back in their bed, it would most likely be Erik who made the mess. The thought dissipated with the first brush of Erik's breath against his ear. When Erik spoke, his voice was low and husky.
"I believe you said prostate stimulation was still good for you," Erik said, finding the gland and crooking his fingers against it.
Charles spasmed around him, legs tightening even as he dug his nails into Erik's shoulders. Erik hissed at the sensation, momentarily losing his rhythm. He retaliated by leaning forward and sinking his teeth into the juncture between Charles' neck and shoulder. Charles ' vision dimmed even as bright spots of light flashed against the underside of his eyelids.
"If you don't stop teasing..." Charles managed when he could talk again. Erik chuckled, but he immediately withdrew his fingers, the blunt head of his cock coming to rest against Charles' hole.
Charles exhaled, expecting pain--because experience had taught him it was expected. None came--in part because of where they were, but mostly because he was still without feeling in those first few inches. The last time he had done this was at Oxford, well before the accident that stole his legs, and then it had hurt, considerably.
This; this felt like sliding into Erik's mind, a seamless merging of two people, with only electric sparks of pleasure that raced from the point of contact, spreading up and out until even Charles' fingertips tingled. Erik groaned; low and loud and so desperate Charles nearly lost focus enough for them to lose both the wall and the floor.
"I haven't... I haven't... I haven't..." he was chanting, hands scrambling against the damp of Charles' skin. Eventually he settled on holding Charles around the waist--Charles pleased by the decision--ducking his head to rest his forehead against Charles' shoulder. "Oh, God," he breathed.
Charles had no purchase in this position, so all he could do was cling to Erik and let Erik set the pace. Erik's movements were shaky and erratic; more often than not he stuttered to a stop and cursed against Charles' shoulder. When he did start moving, there was nothing graceful in his movements; no measure of finesse, only desperate, frenzied fucking that slammed Charles against the wall. Charles thought it rather spectacular.
There was something in Erik's desperateness that touched something deep in Charles' core. There was Erik's usual possessiveness, alongside the overwhelming passion that dictated everything Erik did, but beneath all that was an edge of vulnerability that Charles knew--even without looking--no one else had ever seen. It was humbling, to know how much he affected Erik--to be given so much of Erik's trust. It was that, more than anything that pushed Charles towards his edge.
The build to orgasm was a subtle thing; a fluttering in his abdomen that under normal circumstances tended to peter out, leaving him frustrated and wanting. Now it built in intensity--and this was why prostate stimulation was still good for him, something he'd discovered only after months of desperate trying--because now his orgasm was building steadily, leaving him an incoherent mess. When he did fall apart, it was with a weak spasm that caused his dick to twitch--something that had not happened in a very, very long time.
He was only vaguely aware of shouting Erik's name, something that seemed to push Erik over the edge, Erik's hips stuttering as his grip on Charles' waist grew impossibly tight. He groaned once, a shuddering, shaky sound that seeped through Charles' skin and settled in his heart, and then came, entire body tensing as he shuddered through his orgasm.
They stayed like that for a long while afterwards, Charles pressed against the wall, legs wrapped loosely around Erik's waist. Eventually Erik mustered enough strength to lift his head and make eye contact, Charles offering him a weak, though thoroughly satisfied smile. Erik grinned, and then helped Charles set his feet back on the ground.
It was almost ironic that his legs gave out beneath him. Erik caught him before he could hit the ground, a concerned look appearing on his face, but Charles merely shook his head, and then closed his eyes, slowly pulling them back towards their bodies. When next he opened his eyes, he was staring at Erik's decidedly flushed face, his undershirt damp with sweat, and his boxers sticky with traces of semen. Huh, Charles thought, waiting for Erik to open his eyes. He smiled brightly.
"Hi," Erik said, returning the smile. His expression shifted a minute later, frown settling over his mouth as he glanced down at his boxers. He scowled his distaste.
"Indeed," Charles said, and they would probably both need showers before... "Wait, did we miss lunch?"
Erik glanced back up, amusement colouring his expression. "I'm sensing a theme here," he said. Charles shrugged, not in the least apologetic. "Alright, first we clean up, then we eat, and then we need to see Mystique--she still has that list for you." Charles stretched.
"I'd also like to see Scott... I mean, Cyclops," Charles said, pushing himself up onto one elbow. Doing so instantly reminded him of his exhaustion--he had been tired before, but now he was verging on spontaneously losing consciousness. Looking at Erik, whose eyes were drooping heavily, he realized he wasn't the only one.
"Under normal circumstances I would growl and ask what the hell you want with Cyclops, but I think I'm a little too placated to care at the moment," Erik said. He appeared to be melting into the mattress.
Charles yawned. "What he said at the meeting. I want a look at what he's found. If these circuit boards are similar to Cerebro components, I'm probably the best person to talk to." That or Hank, Charles wanted to add, but the arm holding him up was beginning to shake, so he diverted his attention long enough to lower himself back onto the bed. He was still hungry, but not nearly enough to warrant attempting to get out of bed. Erik seemed to agree, his eyes having already fallen shut.
We're going to regret this, Charles thought, the mess in his boxers already starting to congeal. The thought was no match for the warm embrace of approaching slumber.
On to chapter 16
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17
Back to chapter 14
Charles waited until they were out in the hall, away from prying eyes, to sink down into his chair. The effort it had taken not to dissolve into a panic attack in the middle of Erik's--no, Magneto's--meeting had left him exhausted. For a while there he'd honestly thought there would be no reasoning with Magneto--and where would that have left him, because certainly Charles couldn't have found an excuse to stay had Magneto insisted on planning a willful murder.
A small voice in the back of his head told Charles that Magneto had done it before and would most certainly do it again.
Stop it, Charles told himself firmly. Erik had changed his mind; had taken Charles' advice under advisement. They could find a way to meet in the middle; to compromise and make this work.
"Are you all right?" It wasn't Magneto who asked the question, but Erik, expression shadowed by guilt. He swallowed heavily.
"Tired," Charles confessed. In an instant Erik was at his side, hand coming to Charles' shoulder. "I'm fine, really, just in need of a nap."
Erik nodded, hesitating briefly before removing his hand, bringing it awkwardly to his side.
"I think we can manage a nap," he said, smiling.
Charles chuckled. "As nice as that would be, first I need to see Hank." There was always the chance nothing he could say could keep Hank from leaving--and while the Brotherhood wanted Hank's help in building Cerebro, that was not the reason Charles wanted him to stay. Having sat through that meeting--having nearly come to blows with Magneto--Charles was starting to realize he had few friends here, and for as much as he trusted Erik--as much as he was starting to suspect he loved Erik--Charles liked the idea of having someone else he could turn to.
It was not a thought he felt comfortable sharing with Erik, who was still radiating uncertainty--even with the helmet--obviously as thrown as Charles after what had just happened.
Erik agreed to take him to see Hank--albeit reluctantly--leading them to the suite of guest rooms set aside for visiting diplomats. Hank and Ms. Carter had been placed in separate rooms, side-by-side, but when Hank opened the door Ms. Carter was sitting on the bed and her suitcase was set on the low desk beneath the window.
No one appeared to be packing, which Charles took as a good sign.
"Not him," Hank said, gesturing to Erik. Charles immediately reached out to sway Hank's thoughts, but then thought better of it. He had just convinced Erik to do the right thing; the least he could do was the same.
"Please let us in, Hank. I'm only asking five minutes, and if, after that, you want us to leave, we will leave."
Charles could hear Hank wavering; for as much as he disliked Erik, Charles was his oldest friend--not to mention mentor and the first person who had accepted his mutation. Charles waited patiently, keeping his telepathy firmly reigned in. Eventually Hank sighed and stepped aside. Charles rolled into the room.
The room was nowhere near as extravagant as Erik's; more like a business grade hotel room than a diplomatic suite, but Charles suspected Hank found it comfortable. He wheeled across lushly carpeted floors and parked his chair next to the desk. Erik came to stand at his side. He still wore the helmet--which frustrated Charles to no end--but he was doing his best to blend into the shadows, trusting Charles to deal with the situation.
"We're going to arrest Stryker and bring him to trial, with UN backing," Charles said. Hank looked up sharply.
"He's agreed to that?" he asked, nodding to where Erik stood. Charles nodded. "And you trust him?"
Of course I trust him, Charles wanted to say, but before he got the chance, Erik stepped forward.
"I'm a man of my word," he said, body taut with anger.
Ignoring Charles completely, Hank stepped forward to meet Erik, and for a moment Charles thought they might come to blows. Ms. Carter had slid off the bed and was inching towards the bathroom. She looked terrified. Charles sent a calming thought in her direction and then pushed her to complete her journey, the bathroom door closing firmly behind her.
"I'm supposed to take the word of mass murder?" Hank said; all teeth and raised fur. His hands were clenched into fists and his body was leaned forward as though preparing to charge. Truly, when Hank wanted to, he could appear quite fearsome. Erik seemed unfazed.
Charles brought his hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose. This was the last thing he needed right now, when his nerves were still so shot. Why couldn't they sit down and discuss this like civilized adults? Preferably over scotch.
"And how exactly am I a mass murderer?" Erik asked, the metal in the room beginning to quiver. Charles wasn't sure if he was doing it intentionally; if not it marked the first time Charles had seen Erik lose control of his power. It was a frightening thing--he felt as though he was seeing a younger version of Erik, someone too rash to be trusted. Then again, knowing Erik, it was entirely possible he was simply posturing.
"Are you denying Los Angeles," Hank replied. Charles glanced up sharply. One point six million people had died in Los Angeles, but to Charles' knowledge, Erik had had nothing to do with the event.
"That wasn't me," Erik said, confirming Charles' assumption. Still, Charles felt himself relax, tension he hadn't been aware of draining from between his shoulder blades.
"But it was your Brotherhood."
"No, it was a single member of the Brotherhood, acting alone, and as soon as I learned of it, Apocalypse was stripped of membership and banished from Genosha."
Hank didn't appear to have anything to say to that. He didn't back down, but he did appear uncertain--though his anger was still resting on the surface of his thoughts. Charles thought perhaps now would be a good time to distribute those drinks, so he wheeled himself to the wet bar that occupied the corner opposite the desk. Erik's room didn't have one of these.
"I don't need you to like me, McCoy, but for Charles' sake, it would be nice if we could be civil," Erik was saying. He heard Hank snort just as he found what he was looking for: a 38 year old Glendronach--and obviously the Brotherhood knew how to treat their visiting dignitaries.
"For Charles' sake? Please explain to me how you have Charles' best interests at heart, because he doesn't even know you, and you don't know him. You've only just met," Hank replied. Charles retrieved three glasses from the cabinet and opened the bottle. At the sound, Hank turned to stare in his direction, Erik and their argument seemingly forgotten.
"What are you doing?" he asked. Charles glanced over and arched an eyebrow.
"I thought we could all do with a drink." Charles held up the bottle. Hank's eyes grew wide and he glanced from Charles to Erik, and then out the window.
"It's only just noon," he said. Charles hesitated. It felt later--like the entire day had gotten away from him. He'd been anticipating heading back to Erik's room--their room--crawling into bed, and falling asleep.
"I thought it might soothe ruffled tempers," Charles explained. Hank's anger returned, tenfold, only this time it was directed at Charles. Charles found himself flinching.
"You would think that," Hank said, all strained bitterness that cut Charles to the core. He had no idea where it had come from--and a brief glimpse of Hank's mind showed only exasperation, annoyance and extreme hostility; the latter still mostly directed at Erik.
A second later the sensation was gone, Hank's mind stuttering shut--and Hank had never once closed his mind to Charles. Charles swallowed. He still held the open bottle of whiskey, glasses forgotten.
"I'm sorry, Charles. I didn't mean to say that." Hank hesitated. "I think you should go. I think you both should go." He deflated somewhat.
Charles hesitated. He glanced to Erik to find Erik doing the same, obviously waiting for Charles' lead. There was something in Erik's expression that caused Charles' already wounded heart to constrict painfully. Charles capped the bottle, tucked it into the side of his chair--there was no sense wasting a freshly cracked bottle--and headed towards the door.
"Are you leaving?" Charles asked when he got there, turning back to look at Hank.
Hank's mind surged with indecision, but he shook his head. "I'll stay." Charles felt like he could breathe again, though only barely. He nodded his thanks, and an apology, and wheeled through the open--Erik's doing--door. Erik followed on his heel.
Out in the hall, Charles released a shuddering breath. Erik came to stand at his side.
"Still feel like a nap?" he asked. Charles chuckled, but it was a sad, exhausted sound.
"Yes, I think I do," he said, genuinely meaning it.
By the time they made it back to Erik's rooms, exhaustion had crept into every inch of his body. He was stiff and sore--though most of that he could blame on this morning's physio--not to mention emotionally wrung out. Even his telepathy seemed out of reach, the edge of a headache made worse whenever he reached for it. Charles closed his eyes, tipped his head back, and willed the day to come to an end.
"I never said, but thank you," Charles said when he opened his eyes again. Erik was sitting on the edge of the bed, still wearing his helmet--and Charles frowned at that--so lost in thought that he didn't appear to have heard anything Charles had said.
"Did we do this too fast?" he asked suddenly. Charles narrowed his eyes, not quite certain what Erik was talking about.
"Did we do what too fast?"
"This," Erik said, gesturing first between them, then to the room, and finally to the bed. Charles' brain caught up with the conversation.
He stared at Erik, wishing Erik would remove the helmet. Erik sat, perfectly still, but when Charles looked close enough, he could see that Erik's hands were trembling. A closer look at the lines of his face told Charles that Erik was terrified. Hank's earlier accusation came back to him.
He doesn't even know you, and you don't know him.
"Because this has been... Good," Erik said abruptly, obviously misreading Charles' silence. "And I don't want to screw it up, so if we did this too fast, if we need to slow this down, then we can do that. I can arrange for you to have your own room, and we can..."
"Stop," Charles said, holding up his hand. Erik stopped. The terror in his eyes was still apparent, but now there was worry and such heart-wrenching dejection that Charles wanted to rise from his chair, walk across the room to Erik's side, and wrap the man in a hug.
"I'll leave if you want me to, but I would rather stay. Hank may be right; we don't know each other particularly well, not yet, but that doesn't mean we won't, or that we haven't made a decent start."
Erik's features relaxed at that--and until that moment, Charles hadn't realized just how tense Erik had been. He smiled, standing then to cross to Charles' side. He leaned into Charles' space, but instead of the kiss Charles was expecting, Erik merely retrieved the bottle of scotch from Charles' side. He turned the bottle to read the label, an eyebrow disappearing beneath the brim of his helmet.
"I need to talk to Rogue about what she's stocking in the diplomatic suites," he said. Charles chuckled.
He left Erik to find them glasses--though Charles wouldn't have been surprised if the only thing Erik came up with were the little paper cups stacked in the bathroom next to the toothpaste--and wheeled over to the bed. Locking his wheels, Charles quickly transferred himself onto the mattress. He was sitting up, propped against the headboard when Erik returned, two glasses--real ones--in hand. He handed one to Charles.
"You know it is only noon," he said, sipping from his glass, and then setting it on the nightstand. He reached up to remove his helmet.
The feel of Erik's mind--still overwhelmingly uncertain--was like a balm for Charles' shattered nerves.
"I'm still on New York time," Charles said. He sipped his whiskey, settled further back into the bed, and offered Erik a suggestive smile. Erik laughed and then perched on the edge of the bed.
"I thought you wanted to nap," he said, but he reached out a hand and slowly danced his fingertips up the inside of Charles' arm. Charles let his expression grow coy.
"I think I'm getting a second wind," he said. Erik beamed at him, all of his earlier uncertainty vanishing.
Erik stood then, taking Charles' drink to set it down next to his. He began methodically stripping off his clothes--and this, Charles realized, was the third time he'd been treated to a strip show. As soon as Erik was down to his boxers, he climbed into the bed, settling over Charles--who was still braced against the headboard--knees braced on either side of Charles' hips so that they were face to face. Charles would have given anything to feel the points of contact between them.
"Far too many clothes," Erik muttered, and Charles could feel his need--a heavy, unwieldy thing that surged in Erik's bloodstream. It wasn't just the sex, Charles realized, unable to stop himself from seeking out Erik's thoughts; Erik had gone years without the simple pleasure of human touch, and now that he had permission, he craved the contact--and that was something Charles understood all too well. Charles brought his hands to Erik's hips, holding him in place. The smile Erik gave him took Charles' breath away.
It was a strange thing to be undressed with such care, Erik taking his time with Charles' buttons--first his cardigan, which he pushed off Charles' shoulders, temporarily trapping his arms before the sweater came away. Erik tossed it onto the floor. His shirt came next, Erik's fingers trembling as he moved along each button, his gaze becoming unfocused the closer he got to the bottom. He paused at the second last button to pull Charles' shirt out of his pants, becoming impatient then and pulling it over Charles' head rather than bothering with the final buttons. He left Charles his undershirt.
Charles swallowed nervously when Erik reached for his belt.
"Don't, please. I want..." Erik said, making eye contact then, his eyes reflecting nothing but naked need. Charles nodded once, slow and deliberate. Erik threaded the belt through its buckle and then reached for Charles' fly.
Charles was blushing furiously by the time Erik had pulled off his pants; limp legs useless between Erik's thighs. Erik didn't seem to care--and in all the time Charles had known him, Erik had never once shown any concern over Charles' paralysis. He looked at Charles' chair the same way other people looked at ties--an accessory, hardly an integral part of the whole. It was one of the things Charles suspected he loved about Erik. That list seemed to be growing daily.
"Wait," Charles said when Erik bent down towards him. Erik paused, his hand braced against the headboard, his bare chest brushing against Charles' clothed one. "There's something I'd like to try."
Erik cocked his head, seeming intrigued. His smile was tinged with amusement.
"Come lie beside me," Charles instructed, nodding to Erik's side of the bed. Erik hesitate briefly, and Charles sensed he was reluctant to move--his thoughts told Charles just how much he liked having Charles trapped beneath him. "Trust me," Charles said, and Erik instantly shifted, moving into the vacant space at Charles' side.
Charles shifted down so that he was lying next to Erik, and turned so that they were facing each other. He reached down briefly to position his legs. The second he was settled Erik shifted into his space, arm wrapping around Charles' waist. Before Charles could issue his next instruction, Erik was in his face, pressing their lips together, kissing Charles soundly. Had they been able, Charles suspected his toes might have curled. Instead he pressed into the kiss, letting his hands come up to trace the lines of Erik's pectorals.
"Close your eyes," Charles said when they parted. Erik smirked at that, but he closed his eyes, mind radiating trust.
It took less than a minute to slide into Erik's head, to pull his subconscious onto the astral plane. "You can open your eyes now," Charles said, staring at Erik's back, several feet of space separating them.
He watched as Erik jerked in surprise, glancing around wildly before he finally turned, frantic in his search for Charles. He relaxed instantly upon spotting him. Charles offered a quirky smile. Erik huffed a laugh and then glanced around, leisurely this time, taking in the sight of Charles' study--the same one that had hosted their very first chess game.
"This isn't real," he said. "You've created this."
"I've projected it; but the space is real--the astral plane, I mean," Charles replied. Erik turned back to face him, obviously impressed. He faltered, only then noticing that Charles stood.
In three steps he was standing before Charles, gaze searching. Charles waited, head tipped back, reveling in being able to almost look Erik in the eye.
"Huh," Erik said. Charles cocked his head, confused. "I really thought you'd be taller," Erik explained, and Charles found himself shaking with laughter, their very first meeting surfacing in his mind.
"I'm plenty tall," Charles said, stepping into Erik's space and pressing up onto his toes--and it was incredible to be able to do so, even if Charles couldn't actually feel the sensation in his legs. He sealed their mouths together.
Erik surged forward into the kiss, arms wrapping around Charles' waist. The force of it caused Charles to stagger back. A single thought--not an easy thing to do in this moment--shifted a wall, and suddenly Charles was pressed against it, Erik rolling their hips together.
The sensation was a fraction of what it might have been, because try as Charles might, he could not recreate the feeling of having full mobility--only the functionality. Still, it was a heady experience, standing on two feet while Erik pinned him to a wall and ravished him.
This took more concentration than simply piggybacking on Erik's sensations, so Charles had to fight to keep from letting their stage dissolve into mist. Erik seemed to sense Charles' distraction, because he pulled back--eyes deep dark pools, lips kiss-swollen and damp from where he'd been sucking on Charles' neck.
"Are you not fully here?" he asked. His hands, where they rested on Charles' waist, were shaking again, though Charles suspected for an entirely different reason.
"I'm just tired, and it takes a good deal of concentration to maintain this location."
"Then get rid of it. As nice a touch as the roaring fire is, I don't think we need it," Erik said, and Charles instantly let the study dissolve, the astral plane taking its natural form--a nullspace of infinite light and darkness, stretching out in every conceivable direction, until one became dizzy trying to make sense of it. Hastily, Charles added a floor--a hazy, fuzzy thing that held no particular pattern, only solidness--and then, as an afterthought, a wall--because he had been thoroughly enjoying being pressed against one.
And this was far more manageable, Charles free to let his mind drift, to fall into the moment, his only preoccupation becoming the press of Erik against him.
"Better," Erik said, nipping at Charles' lips before dipping his head to finish marking Charles' throat--and Charles suspected he would be disappointed to wake and find Charles' actual body unmarred.
This wasn't like the last time--new and uncertain and desperate; their bodies starting to become familiar with one another--but it held a new kind of desperation, one born of their argument and their need for reassurance. Charles did everything in his power to write his intentions on Erik's skin--with hands and tongue and teeth--and Erik did the same, until their bodies were raw and red to match their battered psyches.
"Can I?" Erik asked, sliding hands down Charles' back to grasp his ass, pulling up until Charles took the hint and wrapped his legs around Erik's waist--mostly because, in this place, he could.
"Yes, yes," Charles said, and in the span of a thought the rest of their clothes fell away.
There was no need for ugly necessities like stretching and lubrication here. When Erik slid two fingers deep inside, they went effortlessly and sparked nothing but pleasure in Charles' groin. He was fully erect here, and could ejaculate if he desired it, but back in their bed, it would most likely be Erik who made the mess. The thought dissipated with the first brush of Erik's breath against his ear. When Erik spoke, his voice was low and husky.
"I believe you said prostate stimulation was still good for you," Erik said, finding the gland and crooking his fingers against it.
Charles spasmed around him, legs tightening even as he dug his nails into Erik's shoulders. Erik hissed at the sensation, momentarily losing his rhythm. He retaliated by leaning forward and sinking his teeth into the juncture between Charles' neck and shoulder. Charles ' vision dimmed even as bright spots of light flashed against the underside of his eyelids.
"If you don't stop teasing..." Charles managed when he could talk again. Erik chuckled, but he immediately withdrew his fingers, the blunt head of his cock coming to rest against Charles' hole.
Charles exhaled, expecting pain--because experience had taught him it was expected. None came--in part because of where they were, but mostly because he was still without feeling in those first few inches. The last time he had done this was at Oxford, well before the accident that stole his legs, and then it had hurt, considerably.
This; this felt like sliding into Erik's mind, a seamless merging of two people, with only electric sparks of pleasure that raced from the point of contact, spreading up and out until even Charles' fingertips tingled. Erik groaned; low and loud and so desperate Charles nearly lost focus enough for them to lose both the wall and the floor.
"I haven't... I haven't... I haven't..." he was chanting, hands scrambling against the damp of Charles' skin. Eventually he settled on holding Charles around the waist--Charles pleased by the decision--ducking his head to rest his forehead against Charles' shoulder. "Oh, God," he breathed.
Charles had no purchase in this position, so all he could do was cling to Erik and let Erik set the pace. Erik's movements were shaky and erratic; more often than not he stuttered to a stop and cursed against Charles' shoulder. When he did start moving, there was nothing graceful in his movements; no measure of finesse, only desperate, frenzied fucking that slammed Charles against the wall. Charles thought it rather spectacular.
There was something in Erik's desperateness that touched something deep in Charles' core. There was Erik's usual possessiveness, alongside the overwhelming passion that dictated everything Erik did, but beneath all that was an edge of vulnerability that Charles knew--even without looking--no one else had ever seen. It was humbling, to know how much he affected Erik--to be given so much of Erik's trust. It was that, more than anything that pushed Charles towards his edge.
The build to orgasm was a subtle thing; a fluttering in his abdomen that under normal circumstances tended to peter out, leaving him frustrated and wanting. Now it built in intensity--and this was why prostate stimulation was still good for him, something he'd discovered only after months of desperate trying--because now his orgasm was building steadily, leaving him an incoherent mess. When he did fall apart, it was with a weak spasm that caused his dick to twitch--something that had not happened in a very, very long time.
He was only vaguely aware of shouting Erik's name, something that seemed to push Erik over the edge, Erik's hips stuttering as his grip on Charles' waist grew impossibly tight. He groaned once, a shuddering, shaky sound that seeped through Charles' skin and settled in his heart, and then came, entire body tensing as he shuddered through his orgasm.
They stayed like that for a long while afterwards, Charles pressed against the wall, legs wrapped loosely around Erik's waist. Eventually Erik mustered enough strength to lift his head and make eye contact, Charles offering him a weak, though thoroughly satisfied smile. Erik grinned, and then helped Charles set his feet back on the ground.
It was almost ironic that his legs gave out beneath him. Erik caught him before he could hit the ground, a concerned look appearing on his face, but Charles merely shook his head, and then closed his eyes, slowly pulling them back towards their bodies. When next he opened his eyes, he was staring at Erik's decidedly flushed face, his undershirt damp with sweat, and his boxers sticky with traces of semen. Huh, Charles thought, waiting for Erik to open his eyes. He smiled brightly.
"Hi," Erik said, returning the smile. His expression shifted a minute later, frown settling over his mouth as he glanced down at his boxers. He scowled his distaste.
"Indeed," Charles said, and they would probably both need showers before... "Wait, did we miss lunch?"
Erik glanced back up, amusement colouring his expression. "I'm sensing a theme here," he said. Charles shrugged, not in the least apologetic. "Alright, first we clean up, then we eat, and then we need to see Mystique--she still has that list for you." Charles stretched.
"I'd also like to see Scott... I mean, Cyclops," Charles said, pushing himself up onto one elbow. Doing so instantly reminded him of his exhaustion--he had been tired before, but now he was verging on spontaneously losing consciousness. Looking at Erik, whose eyes were drooping heavily, he realized he wasn't the only one.
"Under normal circumstances I would growl and ask what the hell you want with Cyclops, but I think I'm a little too placated to care at the moment," Erik said. He appeared to be melting into the mattress.
Charles yawned. "What he said at the meeting. I want a look at what he's found. If these circuit boards are similar to Cerebro components, I'm probably the best person to talk to." That or Hank, Charles wanted to add, but the arm holding him up was beginning to shake, so he diverted his attention long enough to lower himself back onto the bed. He was still hungry, but not nearly enough to warrant attempting to get out of bed. Erik seemed to agree, his eyes having already fallen shut.
We're going to regret this, Charles thought, the mess in his boxers already starting to congeal. The thought was no match for the warm embrace of approaching slumber.
On to chapter 16
no subject
Date: 2011-10-12 09:17 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-10-12 09:51 pm (UTC)So, long answer short: eventually.