![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nekosmuseTitle: A Farewell to Old Lives (we never even knew you)
Fandom: XMFC
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~4,700
Summary: Written for this awesome prompt over at the kink meme. Erik is a virgin trope. An angsty, fluffy, marginally cracky PWP. (cleaned up version)
They are two hours into Raven's tour--and despite both her and Charles calling the Xavier estate a house, it is a sprawling mansion, closer to the castles of Europe that Erik has only ever seen in passing or postcards--when Charles appears at his elbow and steers him aside.
Erik goes willingly, because if he's shown one more opulent detail about this place he's probably going to leave, never mind that he really doesn't want to--and that has everything to do with needing these people to stop Schmidt and nothing to do with Charles, really. Charles leads him to a room he calls a study, though to Erik's eyes it is a full-scale library with more printed books than he has read in his life, and he has read many, many a book in his life. There is a fireplace that is tall enough for a man to walk into without ducking his head, and a desk so large it could likely be used in place of a table to host a feast.
There are two wing-backed chairs and a chessboard--unsurprising--and a couch that Erik suspects Charles might call a settee. It's the sort of word Charles would us. By all accounts, he should really, really hate Charles.
Except that he doesn't.
Not even a little bit. If anything, he likes Charles a little too well. Certainly the things he thinks about Charles have nothing of hate in them. Erik tries not to think of those things too often, especially not in Charles' hearing, because Charles... well, in addition to being a telepath, he also doesn't need to know just how damaged Erik is. Erik is very aware--even if only in a round-about sort of way--that the sorts of thoughts that occupy his mind are not exactly normal.
This is precisely the reason Erik--who is anticipating a game of chess and a strong drink--does not anticipate Charles stepping into his space and placing a hand against Erik's chest.
This is not something Charles does.
He's fairly certain it's not something anyone does.
But again, that's hard to say, because until Charles he has had no one in his life. Not one single person that wasn't a crazed Nazi scientist bent on torturing Erik into his power. Charles is his first friend, and his first model for how non insane people are supposed to act.
So he doesn't say anything. He merely affects an indifferent expression--because he learned a long time ago that it is the best expression to hide behind--and watches Charles, waiting for some explanation. The one that comes nearly causes Erik's knees to buckle.
"I was hoping you would perhaps broach the subject first, but I can see now that you're not going to. I hope you don't mind if I do." Here Charles pauses, cocking his head as though searching for something. Erik doesn't move. "If you're interested, and I think you are, we could have sex now."
Erik blinks, because he's not entirely certain he heard that correctly. His mind must be playing tricks on him, or else he's fallen asleep and is dreaming this entire exchange. Charles strokes his hand down Erik's chest, laughing slightly and shaking his head.
"Not dreaming," he says. He takes a step forward.
And Erik, because this is all so sudden and so new and so unexpected, takes a step back.
"I..." he gets out, but he has no idea how to start that sentence, let alone finish it, because these sorts of things just aren't done, are they?
"I'm sorry. Am I wrong? I really thought the interest was mutual."
He still does, Erik can see, though how--why--Erik doesn't know. He doesn't know a lot of things when it comes to this. His twin lives as lab rat and avenger have not exactly left time for these sorts of things.
Still staring up at him, Charles' eyes go wide.
"Oh," he says, and Erik is not fool enough to think that Charles hasn't pieced together what's going on--telepath, he reminds himself.
Erik stiffens, intending to pull away, to leave the room and maybe the mansion and never come back--he can find and kill Schmidt on his own damn it, without the impossible distraction of Charles Xavier. But Charles, who seems to know Erik better than Erik knows himself, has already wrapped a hand around Erik's forearm. His fingers, where they rest, sit like a brand against Erik's skin. For one hysterical moment, Erik thinks Charles' touch might actually burn away his hated tattoo.
Instead, Charles merely pulls him forward even as he strokes his thumb against the inside of Erik's arm.
"I didn't know," he says, "but it's fine. I don't mind."
He's smiling at Erik now, eyes glassy, though still so impossibly blue--Erik has never noticed someone's eyes before. He has never noticed any of the things he notices about Charles--like the fullness of his lips, so obscenely red, or the milk-pale complexion of his cheeks or the chestnut highlights of his hair. Erik, still taut with nerves, takes a step forward. Charles' smile grows dazzling.
"But not here. Not if you haven't..." he breaks off, glances back towards the door. "Come on."
He leads Erik by the hand, and Erik lets him--mostly because he is so out of his depths, so utterly befuddled by whatever it is that is about to happen that it is all he can do, Erik incapable of moving without guidance. It occurs to him, midway up a flight of stairs, that he is about to have sex with Charles Xavier. His cock, which he has never paid particular attention to--save for the few fleeting, occasional touches he allows himself in the privacy of the shower--has declared its interest in the proceedings. It throbs, almost painfully, pressing hard against the seam of his fly. Erik wants to adjust himself, but the thought of doing so here, touching himself, exposed as he is, makes him flush red with embarrassment.
Erik is not used to feeling embarrassment. He thought the emotion stripped away from him in the camps.
"This way," Charles says when they've reached the landing. Erik's embarrassment turns to awkward anticipation. This is Charles, he tells himself.
Charles leads them to a room that Erik knows once belonged to Charles. It hasn't been used in sometime--years likely--but it has Charles' imprint all over it. There are books on genetics piled on one of the dressers, wearing a thick layer of dust now, but obviously, at one point, well thumbed. There is a picture of Einstein sat next to them, the man smiling manically towards the bed. And there is a general untidiness that has everything to do with clutter and nothing to do with mess that reminds Erik of Charles' suitcase and the way it would just explode all over their room during their trip.
Erik feels just a little bit giddy.
"Stay here," Charles says, leaving Erik inside the door. He slips back out the way they have come and for one terrifying moment Erik thinks Charles might leave him there, some disturbing joke at Erik's expense. But then Charles is returning, jar of something in hand. He pauses to lock the door behind him, and then crosses the room to the bed.
He sets the jar down on the nightstand.
Erik watches, uncertain, as Charles turns back to him, extending a hand and beckoning Erik towards the bed. It is mildly surprising to find that his legs still work, though he stumbles--and prays Charles hasn't noticed--the first few steps. When he is standing before Charles, Charles takes his hand.
"No one, then," Charles says, and it is not a question, though Erik still gives a brief shake of his head. "But you want this?"
The second part is a question; one Erik can't find the voice to answer, so instead he nods his head, staring now at Charles' clavicle, the top button of Charles' shirt undone. He feels too hot in his turtleneck, sweat already making the back of his neck feel tacky. Charles smiles and brings the hand he is holding to his waist. He sets it there.
Charles doesn't tell him it will be all right, or that they can take this slow. He doesn't say all the other myriad of cliche things he could say--things Erik has read in books that he will admit to no one he has read. He does not approach Erik cautiously, or even with anything approaching tenderness. He simply steps into Erik's space, presses up onto his toes, and seals their lips together.
The hand on Charles' waist clenches. Erik pulls Charles flush against him.
There is no finesse on Erik's part--Erik knows this. It is an entirely different thing to witness a kiss from the outside, or read about it in a book, than to be involved in one. He has no idea what to do with his other hand, so he brings it up to clutch at the other side of Charles' waist, holding him tight, as though half afraid Charles might try to slip away. His nose keeps getting in the way, and twice he bumps his teeth against Charles', but Charles just chuckles against Erik's mouth, tilts his head, and redirects the kiss into something he wants.
Makes it a thousand times better.
They kiss for what seems an eternity--surely no two people have ever kissed this long, Erik thinks, breathing heavy through his nose, tongue skating across Charles' teeth--and is that right? Does Charles like that? He has no idea, except that Charles' still hasn't stopped kissing him, wet and messy thought it is, and he's moaning like it might just be exceptional--and oh, God, Erik thinks, he made Charles make that sound.
When Charles does break away, it is to press his forehead against Erik's--still on tiptoes Erik thinks a little manically--and pant heavily against Erik's mouth. Erik does the same, his entire body shaking with tension. He has no idea what to do with it.
But Charles--lovely, wonderful, perfect Charles whom Erik will never, ever love any more than he does in this moment--knows exactly what to do, because he breaks the contact between them, steps back and begins quietly and methodically removing his clothes. He gestures for Erik to do the same.
Erik is used to being naked in front of other people. He is used to the communal showers of the camps, where masses of nude bodies huddled together under powder-fine sprays of water, always half expecting to be gassed. He is used to being strapped naked to examination tables--and at first he had worried, had heard stories from others about the sorts of things men did to naked boys, but he had never interested Schmidt in that way, and Schmidt had never allowed anyone else to touch his toys. He was even used to being stripped and deloused outside in the bitter cold of winter, the ground beneath his bare feet so icy it cut like shards of glass.
This... This is vastly different.
For one thing he is warm--so very, very warm--and aroused, and the man looking at him with open hunger--open want--is someone Erik is looking at with exactly the same expression.
Charles reaches for him first. He guides Erik to the bed, pushing him down until Erik sinks into the pillows. The scent of must reaches his nose. No one has thought to change the sheets.
Erik reaches for Charles, but Charles stays his hands, placing them firmly at Erik's sides and then gently releasing his grip, trusting Erik to stay where Charles has placed him. Charles leans forward to press his lips to Erik's right shoulder. Erik arches into the sensation.
Even as Charles' lips paint a picture across his chest, Charles climbs onto the bed, coming to straddle Erik's legs so that Erik is pressed beneath his weight. It is a heady sensation, being so thoroughly ensconced in Charles. Erik can feel him everywhere--every point of contact burning against his skin, sending sparks of white-hot desire racing through his bloodstream to pool in his cock.
Erik bucks.
Charles shushes him, lips still moving across Erik's chest. His hands are stroking patterns against the outsides of Erik's arms, up and down, up and down, until goose bumps rise in the wake of Charles' fingertips, Erik shivering against them. He feels dizzy with want. There is fire burning in his groin, his every nerve ending alight with desire.
Charles continues his onslaught.
It is only now that Erik becomes aware of warm presence inside his mind. He has had Charles in his head before, and this is not Charles searching. This is something else entirely, Charles' mind coaxing Erik's until every touch from Charles' hands, every movement of Charles' hips, sparks and builds in intensity, vibrating as much through Erik's mind as his body. He has lost the ability to see straight. He is vaguely aware that his mouth is probably open, that he is probably drooling, but such a thing seems inconsequential compared to what Charles is doing to him.
Stay with me, Erik, Charles speaks to his mind, and withdraws just a little bit--enough so that the room comes back into focus, the bed beneath him solid once more. Erik shakes with the need for... something, anything, but it is clear that Charles is not going to allow Erik to find his release until he is good and ready.
Erik whimpers. Later, he will remember to feel embarrassed, but now he is on the verge of begging.
Which is exactly when Charles begins to slid down Erik's chest, fingers stroking up his arms, then over his shoulders to trail behind Charles' mouth. He scrapes light nails across Erik's nipples and then over his rib cage, swirling briefly into the divot of Erik's bellybutton, then across to scratch at Erik's hip bones. Erik arches into the sensation, so lost to the feel of Charles' hands that he is unprepared for the first feel of Charles' breath against his cock.
And, oh... Oh, Erik thinks. He may have even said the word out loud--it's so hard to tell. He knows, from those shower indulgences, that he should be coming--his orgasm has been building and building for so long now, always right on the edge, and Erik is balanced so precariously, but Charles must be doing something to prevent it, because Erik doesn't crash--however much he wants to. Instead he clings to the edge, waiting, waiting, wanting for things he couldn't possibly imagine wanting for until this moment.
He manages to get his eyes open and his head propped up, just in time to see Charles' pink tongue dart out. Charles catches Erik's eye, winks, and then licks the head of Erik's cock. When he is finished, the tip glistens with saliva. Erik chokes out a groan.
And then another, as Charles licks him again, this time from root to tip, tongue moving slowly--oh, so impossibly slow--and again, until Erik is a sobbing mess, entirely uncertain how this happened or how he came to be here but God how he wants this--how he wants all of this.
He trusts up against the next swipe of Charles' tongue, and just like that Charles takes him into his mouth.
Words tumble from Erik's lips. He has no idea what he is saying, or if they are even in English--he doesn't think so, but it hardly matters. Charles' name slips out more than once--of that Erik is sure--and something he thinks might be an entreaty to a God he's not sure he even believes in anymore--though, if he has lost his faith, it is entirely possible Charles will find it for him.
Brilliant, wonderful, best thing that's ever happened to him Charles, whose mouth is stretched around Erik's cock, who is sucking--oh, God, sucking--and tracing patterns with his tongue, whose hand is cradling Erik's balls, squeezing ever so gently in time to the bobbing of his head.
Erik could die in this moment, coin still hidden in his pocket and Schmidt still alive, and Erik would be fine with that. He might even be good with that.
But death does not find him, so Erik thrusts into welcoming, warm heat, fucking into Charles' mouth the way he fucked into his fist all those nights during their cross-country road trip when he was forced to lock himself into their shared bathroom and relieve the consequences of Charles' perpetual presence.
He thinks maybe now Charles might let him come, might let him sink into oblivion, but Charles does not. Instead he pulls off with a wet pop, Erik whimpering a protest that he will undoubtedly feel mortified about come morning.
Charles ignores the sound, smirk pulling at his lips--and Erik can't help but notice that they are ruby red and still damp with spit. He climbs back into Erik's lap, leaning across Erik's body, bringing their chests together--and Erik shivers at the sensation--as he leans across the bed to get to the nightstand and the jar he's left there.
Erik goes very, very still.
"Prep is important," Charles says, screwing the lid off the jar and sticking two fingers inside. They come out coated in what Erik can only assume is Vaseline--the jar has no label. "You don't want to hurt me."
It takes Erik several seconds to work out what Charles means by that, but by that point it is painfully obvious what Charles means. Charles has reached behind himself, tilting his hips up so that Erik can see where he's pressing two fingers inside. The whole of Erik's world narrows to those two fingers, pushing slowly into Charles' body.
"Charles," Erik says. His words are little more than a hoarse whisper. Charles tips his head back and moans. Erik wants so badly to replace Charles' fingers with his cock. Instead he watches as Charles slowly fucks his hand in and out, face contorted in an expression that is half pain, half pleasure. Erik has never seen anything like it.
When Charles finally makes eye contact again, his pupils are blown wide. Erik is torn between staring at Charles' face and staring at the hand moving inside him, so he is not paying attention to Charles' other hand. He startles when he feels it brush against his wrist. Charles laughs at the sound. Erik would join him, but he suddenly feels so very solemn. He lets Charles guide his hand to Charles' mouth.
At first Charles only brings Erik's fingers to his lips, so Erik runs his first two fingers against Charles' still wet, still swollen bottom lip. Charles quirks a smile as he lets his mouth fall open, leaning forward to take the pad of Erik's fingers inside. He closes his mouth and sucks. Erik's eyes roll into the back of his head.
Even with the respite of Charles not touching him, Erik's cock is still painfully hard. It twitches against his belly when Charles draws Erik's fingers further into his mouth, still sucking, only now his mouth fills with saliva, so that when he finally releases Erik's hand, his fingers are slick and wet with spit. Charles guides Erik's hand between his legs.
Charles' fingers are still inside him, still moving, maddeningly slow, in and out, in and out, when Charles urges Erik's fingers inside. They slip against Charles' moving hand, the heat of Charles' body and the slick slide of Charles' fingers trapping Erik in a place he never wants to escape from. Charles is stretched impossibly tight around their fingers, so much so that Erik cannot find purchase. He curls up until he is half seated, so that he can watch more closely as twin sets of fingers move slowly in and out of Charles' body.
"Oh, oh," Charles says. Erik hazards a glance up--and tearing his gaze from his hand almost physically painful, but it is worth it to see Charles, with his head tipped back, his skin flushed red and damp with sweat. There is an expression of pure bliss on his face. Erik caused that. Erik is causing that. The thought makes him swell with pride.
"Too much, too much," Charles says, stilling the roll of his hips. He is panting now, his hand stilling, so Erik stills his as well, half terrified that he has somehow managed to hurt Charles. Charles begins withdrawing his fingers, urging Erik to do the same. Erik swallows disappointment that vanishes the second Charles says, "I want to come with you inside me."
Erik has known they were leading to this, but knowing it and standing on the brink of it are two entirely different things. Erik is suddenly nervous, fumbling in a way he hasn't been so far. He suspects this is largely due to Charles having guided everything up until this point, and now Erik is expected to... To what? To turn Charles over and fuck him? Does he want this on his knees? On his back? Over the edge of the bed? All of those options seem rather appealing to Erik.
Once, when Erik was in Amsterdam, he sat in a theatre alone and watched a film in which a man did exactly that, bending the woman he was with over the side of the bed, her legs spread into an upside-down V. The film had left him feeling awkward and uncomfortable, so Erik had killed the Nazi he'd followed inside, and then left, avoiding anything but cold showers for three full days afterwards.
He wishes now he'd paid better attention, because the books he's read have never really gone into the mechanics of how this is supposed to work--certainly none of them went into the mechanics of how this is supposed to work with two men.
"Too much thinking," Charles says. He has the Vaseline again and is unscrewing the lid, reaching fingers inside and Erik has half a second to wonder if he's about to slide his fingers back inside before Charles reaches down to wrap a slick hand around Erik's cock.
Erik bucks sharply into the sensation, biting off a curse because he'd almost forgotten how incredible it felt to have Charles touching him. Charles coats Erik liberally, and then shifts forward, holding Erik's cock in place. Erik watches, awestruck, as Charles lowers himself down onto it.
Erik's eyes cross at the sensation. He has half a second to wonder--to marvel--at how hot and tight and amazing Charles feels before Charles clenches around him. Erik thrusts up, which only intensifies the sensation, Erik momentarily flailing as he tries to figure out what to do with himself.
But Charles guides him in this, too. He reaches for Erik's hands--which are currently clenching Charles' sheets--and brings them to Charles' hips. Erik grips Charles tight, a lifeline that will undoubtedly end with Charles wearing finger-shaped bruises in the morning. Next he brings his hands to Erik's hips, pressing them down into the mattress in a firm command to stay put. Erik instantly stills. The effort causes his entire body to shake, every muscle clenched in anticipation.
His gaze find Charles' face--because if he looks at the place they are connected, he is going to fall into the abyss, regardless of whatever telepathy Charles is using to keep him from coming. It is too much, his mind screaming with the knowledge that he is inside Charles. Charles' face is wearing that same expression from earlier, the one that is half pain, half pleasure, and worry spikes in Erik's breast that he may actually be hurting Charles.
You're not. I just need a minute, Charles says into his mind, and even then he sounds breathless. Erik's fingers dig deeper into the flesh of Charles' hips.
It is a long, agonizing moment before anything happens, Erik half afraid he will be forced to spend eternity buried inside Charles without ever being able to do anything about it. It is not a terrible fate, but his body aches to move--to do something to end this agony. When Charles does move, it is to slowly pull up, stopping only when just the tip of Erik's cock remains inside. He hovers there, entire body taut and shaking with the effort, and then, just when Erik thinks he break into tiny pieces waiting, Charles slowly lowers himself back down.
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, Erik thinks, mind chanting the words over and over and over again. He thought he was prepared for this--thought he was ready--but there is nothing that could have ever prepared him for the soft, tight heat of Charles' body. Charles moves slowly--so very slowly--up and down until Erik's vision begins to swim. He has crossed over into incoherence, he knows, words spilling from his lips without his consent. He's fairly certain he declares his love for Charles--something he vowed he would never do--possibly even promised to secure Charles the moon and maybe even offered to bear Charles' children. Never mind that half those things are impossible, Erik too lost to the sensation of Charles riding his cock to notice.
And, oh, God, Charles is riding is cock. Erik's brain stutters on that for several long moments. His pace has become a little more frantic now, his movements a bit more shaky, and this Erik completely understands. There is still a wall standing between him and the precipice, but Erik can feel pressure building against it. It is going to fall, and he suspects it will very likely take Charles with it--or perhaps it is Erik that will fall with Charles.
There is nothing coordinated in the end--it is nothing like the books or that film--Charles moaning, biting at his still swollen lips as he impales himself over and over again on Erik's cock. Erik's hands are still clenched around Charles' hips, still anchoring him in place. Despite his best efforts, his hips have begun to move, rocking up into Charles' body as Charles slams down into his. The experience is brutal, raw, beautiful in a way Erik has never known, yet just as powerful as everything he associates with Charles.
As though catching the stray edge of that thought--and it's probable he did--Charles opens his eyes and makes eye contact. Erik can do nothing but stare, helpless to this thing between them, to the aching pulse in his groin, to the frantic pounding of his heart.
"Are you ready?" Charles asks, in same tone he used each time they were set to meet another mutant.
"Let's find out," Erik says, proud of himself for remembering his line. Charles smiles, and the wall crumbles to the ground.
Every sensation is amplified; the tight clenching of Charles' body, the sticky heat where Charles' thighs are braced against Erik's, the soft silk of Charles' skin beneath Erik's hands, the heady tang of musk and sex that fill the room. Charles shifts up only to immediately thrust back down, rolling his hips as he does. His body clenches, and he spills, white hot against Erik's stomach. As soon as he does Erik is coming, Charles granting him permission, Erik's entire body convulsing as he spills deep inside Charles. It is a seemingly never ending thing that curls his toes and arches his body off the bed, his breath stolen and his heart thundering, racing in his chest.
When it does end, Erik collapses against the mattress, Charles doing the same against his chest. A dopy grin settles on Erik's face.
Charles laughs into his collarbone.
"Oh, my friend," he says, "we should have done that weeks ago."
Erik can't help but agree, though he thinks, rather clearly and with the certainty that Charles will hear, that he's rather glad they waited. He feels Charles smile against his chest, and knows Charles agrees.
FIN
Fandom: XMFC
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~4,700
Summary: Written for this awesome prompt over at the kink meme. Erik is a virgin trope. An angsty, fluffy, marginally cracky PWP. (cleaned up version)
They are two hours into Raven's tour--and despite both her and Charles calling the Xavier estate a house, it is a sprawling mansion, closer to the castles of Europe that Erik has only ever seen in passing or postcards--when Charles appears at his elbow and steers him aside.
Erik goes willingly, because if he's shown one more opulent detail about this place he's probably going to leave, never mind that he really doesn't want to--and that has everything to do with needing these people to stop Schmidt and nothing to do with Charles, really. Charles leads him to a room he calls a study, though to Erik's eyes it is a full-scale library with more printed books than he has read in his life, and he has read many, many a book in his life. There is a fireplace that is tall enough for a man to walk into without ducking his head, and a desk so large it could likely be used in place of a table to host a feast.
There are two wing-backed chairs and a chessboard--unsurprising--and a couch that Erik suspects Charles might call a settee. It's the sort of word Charles would us. By all accounts, he should really, really hate Charles.
Except that he doesn't.
Not even a little bit. If anything, he likes Charles a little too well. Certainly the things he thinks about Charles have nothing of hate in them. Erik tries not to think of those things too often, especially not in Charles' hearing, because Charles... well, in addition to being a telepath, he also doesn't need to know just how damaged Erik is. Erik is very aware--even if only in a round-about sort of way--that the sorts of thoughts that occupy his mind are not exactly normal.
This is precisely the reason Erik--who is anticipating a game of chess and a strong drink--does not anticipate Charles stepping into his space and placing a hand against Erik's chest.
This is not something Charles does.
He's fairly certain it's not something anyone does.
But again, that's hard to say, because until Charles he has had no one in his life. Not one single person that wasn't a crazed Nazi scientist bent on torturing Erik into his power. Charles is his first friend, and his first model for how non insane people are supposed to act.
So he doesn't say anything. He merely affects an indifferent expression--because he learned a long time ago that it is the best expression to hide behind--and watches Charles, waiting for some explanation. The one that comes nearly causes Erik's knees to buckle.
"I was hoping you would perhaps broach the subject first, but I can see now that you're not going to. I hope you don't mind if I do." Here Charles pauses, cocking his head as though searching for something. Erik doesn't move. "If you're interested, and I think you are, we could have sex now."
Erik blinks, because he's not entirely certain he heard that correctly. His mind must be playing tricks on him, or else he's fallen asleep and is dreaming this entire exchange. Charles strokes his hand down Erik's chest, laughing slightly and shaking his head.
"Not dreaming," he says. He takes a step forward.
And Erik, because this is all so sudden and so new and so unexpected, takes a step back.
"I..." he gets out, but he has no idea how to start that sentence, let alone finish it, because these sorts of things just aren't done, are they?
"I'm sorry. Am I wrong? I really thought the interest was mutual."
He still does, Erik can see, though how--why--Erik doesn't know. He doesn't know a lot of things when it comes to this. His twin lives as lab rat and avenger have not exactly left time for these sorts of things.
Still staring up at him, Charles' eyes go wide.
"Oh," he says, and Erik is not fool enough to think that Charles hasn't pieced together what's going on--telepath, he reminds himself.
Erik stiffens, intending to pull away, to leave the room and maybe the mansion and never come back--he can find and kill Schmidt on his own damn it, without the impossible distraction of Charles Xavier. But Charles, who seems to know Erik better than Erik knows himself, has already wrapped a hand around Erik's forearm. His fingers, where they rest, sit like a brand against Erik's skin. For one hysterical moment, Erik thinks Charles' touch might actually burn away his hated tattoo.
Instead, Charles merely pulls him forward even as he strokes his thumb against the inside of Erik's arm.
"I didn't know," he says, "but it's fine. I don't mind."
He's smiling at Erik now, eyes glassy, though still so impossibly blue--Erik has never noticed someone's eyes before. He has never noticed any of the things he notices about Charles--like the fullness of his lips, so obscenely red, or the milk-pale complexion of his cheeks or the chestnut highlights of his hair. Erik, still taut with nerves, takes a step forward. Charles' smile grows dazzling.
"But not here. Not if you haven't..." he breaks off, glances back towards the door. "Come on."
He leads Erik by the hand, and Erik lets him--mostly because he is so out of his depths, so utterly befuddled by whatever it is that is about to happen that it is all he can do, Erik incapable of moving without guidance. It occurs to him, midway up a flight of stairs, that he is about to have sex with Charles Xavier. His cock, which he has never paid particular attention to--save for the few fleeting, occasional touches he allows himself in the privacy of the shower--has declared its interest in the proceedings. It throbs, almost painfully, pressing hard against the seam of his fly. Erik wants to adjust himself, but the thought of doing so here, touching himself, exposed as he is, makes him flush red with embarrassment.
Erik is not used to feeling embarrassment. He thought the emotion stripped away from him in the camps.
"This way," Charles says when they've reached the landing. Erik's embarrassment turns to awkward anticipation. This is Charles, he tells himself.
Charles leads them to a room that Erik knows once belonged to Charles. It hasn't been used in sometime--years likely--but it has Charles' imprint all over it. There are books on genetics piled on one of the dressers, wearing a thick layer of dust now, but obviously, at one point, well thumbed. There is a picture of Einstein sat next to them, the man smiling manically towards the bed. And there is a general untidiness that has everything to do with clutter and nothing to do with mess that reminds Erik of Charles' suitcase and the way it would just explode all over their room during their trip.
Erik feels just a little bit giddy.
"Stay here," Charles says, leaving Erik inside the door. He slips back out the way they have come and for one terrifying moment Erik thinks Charles might leave him there, some disturbing joke at Erik's expense. But then Charles is returning, jar of something in hand. He pauses to lock the door behind him, and then crosses the room to the bed.
He sets the jar down on the nightstand.
Erik watches, uncertain, as Charles turns back to him, extending a hand and beckoning Erik towards the bed. It is mildly surprising to find that his legs still work, though he stumbles--and prays Charles hasn't noticed--the first few steps. When he is standing before Charles, Charles takes his hand.
"No one, then," Charles says, and it is not a question, though Erik still gives a brief shake of his head. "But you want this?"
The second part is a question; one Erik can't find the voice to answer, so instead he nods his head, staring now at Charles' clavicle, the top button of Charles' shirt undone. He feels too hot in his turtleneck, sweat already making the back of his neck feel tacky. Charles smiles and brings the hand he is holding to his waist. He sets it there.
Charles doesn't tell him it will be all right, or that they can take this slow. He doesn't say all the other myriad of cliche things he could say--things Erik has read in books that he will admit to no one he has read. He does not approach Erik cautiously, or even with anything approaching tenderness. He simply steps into Erik's space, presses up onto his toes, and seals their lips together.
The hand on Charles' waist clenches. Erik pulls Charles flush against him.
There is no finesse on Erik's part--Erik knows this. It is an entirely different thing to witness a kiss from the outside, or read about it in a book, than to be involved in one. He has no idea what to do with his other hand, so he brings it up to clutch at the other side of Charles' waist, holding him tight, as though half afraid Charles might try to slip away. His nose keeps getting in the way, and twice he bumps his teeth against Charles', but Charles just chuckles against Erik's mouth, tilts his head, and redirects the kiss into something he wants.
Makes it a thousand times better.
They kiss for what seems an eternity--surely no two people have ever kissed this long, Erik thinks, breathing heavy through his nose, tongue skating across Charles' teeth--and is that right? Does Charles like that? He has no idea, except that Charles' still hasn't stopped kissing him, wet and messy thought it is, and he's moaning like it might just be exceptional--and oh, God, Erik thinks, he made Charles make that sound.
When Charles does break away, it is to press his forehead against Erik's--still on tiptoes Erik thinks a little manically--and pant heavily against Erik's mouth. Erik does the same, his entire body shaking with tension. He has no idea what to do with it.
But Charles--lovely, wonderful, perfect Charles whom Erik will never, ever love any more than he does in this moment--knows exactly what to do, because he breaks the contact between them, steps back and begins quietly and methodically removing his clothes. He gestures for Erik to do the same.
Erik is used to being naked in front of other people. He is used to the communal showers of the camps, where masses of nude bodies huddled together under powder-fine sprays of water, always half expecting to be gassed. He is used to being strapped naked to examination tables--and at first he had worried, had heard stories from others about the sorts of things men did to naked boys, but he had never interested Schmidt in that way, and Schmidt had never allowed anyone else to touch his toys. He was even used to being stripped and deloused outside in the bitter cold of winter, the ground beneath his bare feet so icy it cut like shards of glass.
This... This is vastly different.
For one thing he is warm--so very, very warm--and aroused, and the man looking at him with open hunger--open want--is someone Erik is looking at with exactly the same expression.
Charles reaches for him first. He guides Erik to the bed, pushing him down until Erik sinks into the pillows. The scent of must reaches his nose. No one has thought to change the sheets.
Erik reaches for Charles, but Charles stays his hands, placing them firmly at Erik's sides and then gently releasing his grip, trusting Erik to stay where Charles has placed him. Charles leans forward to press his lips to Erik's right shoulder. Erik arches into the sensation.
Even as Charles' lips paint a picture across his chest, Charles climbs onto the bed, coming to straddle Erik's legs so that Erik is pressed beneath his weight. It is a heady sensation, being so thoroughly ensconced in Charles. Erik can feel him everywhere--every point of contact burning against his skin, sending sparks of white-hot desire racing through his bloodstream to pool in his cock.
Erik bucks.
Charles shushes him, lips still moving across Erik's chest. His hands are stroking patterns against the outsides of Erik's arms, up and down, up and down, until goose bumps rise in the wake of Charles' fingertips, Erik shivering against them. He feels dizzy with want. There is fire burning in his groin, his every nerve ending alight with desire.
Charles continues his onslaught.
It is only now that Erik becomes aware of warm presence inside his mind. He has had Charles in his head before, and this is not Charles searching. This is something else entirely, Charles' mind coaxing Erik's until every touch from Charles' hands, every movement of Charles' hips, sparks and builds in intensity, vibrating as much through Erik's mind as his body. He has lost the ability to see straight. He is vaguely aware that his mouth is probably open, that he is probably drooling, but such a thing seems inconsequential compared to what Charles is doing to him.
Stay with me, Erik, Charles speaks to his mind, and withdraws just a little bit--enough so that the room comes back into focus, the bed beneath him solid once more. Erik shakes with the need for... something, anything, but it is clear that Charles is not going to allow Erik to find his release until he is good and ready.
Erik whimpers. Later, he will remember to feel embarrassed, but now he is on the verge of begging.
Which is exactly when Charles begins to slid down Erik's chest, fingers stroking up his arms, then over his shoulders to trail behind Charles' mouth. He scrapes light nails across Erik's nipples and then over his rib cage, swirling briefly into the divot of Erik's bellybutton, then across to scratch at Erik's hip bones. Erik arches into the sensation, so lost to the feel of Charles' hands that he is unprepared for the first feel of Charles' breath against his cock.
And, oh... Oh, Erik thinks. He may have even said the word out loud--it's so hard to tell. He knows, from those shower indulgences, that he should be coming--his orgasm has been building and building for so long now, always right on the edge, and Erik is balanced so precariously, but Charles must be doing something to prevent it, because Erik doesn't crash--however much he wants to. Instead he clings to the edge, waiting, waiting, wanting for things he couldn't possibly imagine wanting for until this moment.
He manages to get his eyes open and his head propped up, just in time to see Charles' pink tongue dart out. Charles catches Erik's eye, winks, and then licks the head of Erik's cock. When he is finished, the tip glistens with saliva. Erik chokes out a groan.
And then another, as Charles licks him again, this time from root to tip, tongue moving slowly--oh, so impossibly slow--and again, until Erik is a sobbing mess, entirely uncertain how this happened or how he came to be here but God how he wants this--how he wants all of this.
He trusts up against the next swipe of Charles' tongue, and just like that Charles takes him into his mouth.
Words tumble from Erik's lips. He has no idea what he is saying, or if they are even in English--he doesn't think so, but it hardly matters. Charles' name slips out more than once--of that Erik is sure--and something he thinks might be an entreaty to a God he's not sure he even believes in anymore--though, if he has lost his faith, it is entirely possible Charles will find it for him.
Brilliant, wonderful, best thing that's ever happened to him Charles, whose mouth is stretched around Erik's cock, who is sucking--oh, God, sucking--and tracing patterns with his tongue, whose hand is cradling Erik's balls, squeezing ever so gently in time to the bobbing of his head.
Erik could die in this moment, coin still hidden in his pocket and Schmidt still alive, and Erik would be fine with that. He might even be good with that.
But death does not find him, so Erik thrusts into welcoming, warm heat, fucking into Charles' mouth the way he fucked into his fist all those nights during their cross-country road trip when he was forced to lock himself into their shared bathroom and relieve the consequences of Charles' perpetual presence.
He thinks maybe now Charles might let him come, might let him sink into oblivion, but Charles does not. Instead he pulls off with a wet pop, Erik whimpering a protest that he will undoubtedly feel mortified about come morning.
Charles ignores the sound, smirk pulling at his lips--and Erik can't help but notice that they are ruby red and still damp with spit. He climbs back into Erik's lap, leaning across Erik's body, bringing their chests together--and Erik shivers at the sensation--as he leans across the bed to get to the nightstand and the jar he's left there.
Erik goes very, very still.
"Prep is important," Charles says, screwing the lid off the jar and sticking two fingers inside. They come out coated in what Erik can only assume is Vaseline--the jar has no label. "You don't want to hurt me."
It takes Erik several seconds to work out what Charles means by that, but by that point it is painfully obvious what Charles means. Charles has reached behind himself, tilting his hips up so that Erik can see where he's pressing two fingers inside. The whole of Erik's world narrows to those two fingers, pushing slowly into Charles' body.
"Charles," Erik says. His words are little more than a hoarse whisper. Charles tips his head back and moans. Erik wants so badly to replace Charles' fingers with his cock. Instead he watches as Charles slowly fucks his hand in and out, face contorted in an expression that is half pain, half pleasure. Erik has never seen anything like it.
When Charles finally makes eye contact again, his pupils are blown wide. Erik is torn between staring at Charles' face and staring at the hand moving inside him, so he is not paying attention to Charles' other hand. He startles when he feels it brush against his wrist. Charles laughs at the sound. Erik would join him, but he suddenly feels so very solemn. He lets Charles guide his hand to Charles' mouth.
At first Charles only brings Erik's fingers to his lips, so Erik runs his first two fingers against Charles' still wet, still swollen bottom lip. Charles quirks a smile as he lets his mouth fall open, leaning forward to take the pad of Erik's fingers inside. He closes his mouth and sucks. Erik's eyes roll into the back of his head.
Even with the respite of Charles not touching him, Erik's cock is still painfully hard. It twitches against his belly when Charles draws Erik's fingers further into his mouth, still sucking, only now his mouth fills with saliva, so that when he finally releases Erik's hand, his fingers are slick and wet with spit. Charles guides Erik's hand between his legs.
Charles' fingers are still inside him, still moving, maddeningly slow, in and out, in and out, when Charles urges Erik's fingers inside. They slip against Charles' moving hand, the heat of Charles' body and the slick slide of Charles' fingers trapping Erik in a place he never wants to escape from. Charles is stretched impossibly tight around their fingers, so much so that Erik cannot find purchase. He curls up until he is half seated, so that he can watch more closely as twin sets of fingers move slowly in and out of Charles' body.
"Oh, oh," Charles says. Erik hazards a glance up--and tearing his gaze from his hand almost physically painful, but it is worth it to see Charles, with his head tipped back, his skin flushed red and damp with sweat. There is an expression of pure bliss on his face. Erik caused that. Erik is causing that. The thought makes him swell with pride.
"Too much, too much," Charles says, stilling the roll of his hips. He is panting now, his hand stilling, so Erik stills his as well, half terrified that he has somehow managed to hurt Charles. Charles begins withdrawing his fingers, urging Erik to do the same. Erik swallows disappointment that vanishes the second Charles says, "I want to come with you inside me."
Erik has known they were leading to this, but knowing it and standing on the brink of it are two entirely different things. Erik is suddenly nervous, fumbling in a way he hasn't been so far. He suspects this is largely due to Charles having guided everything up until this point, and now Erik is expected to... To what? To turn Charles over and fuck him? Does he want this on his knees? On his back? Over the edge of the bed? All of those options seem rather appealing to Erik.
Once, when Erik was in Amsterdam, he sat in a theatre alone and watched a film in which a man did exactly that, bending the woman he was with over the side of the bed, her legs spread into an upside-down V. The film had left him feeling awkward and uncomfortable, so Erik had killed the Nazi he'd followed inside, and then left, avoiding anything but cold showers for three full days afterwards.
He wishes now he'd paid better attention, because the books he's read have never really gone into the mechanics of how this is supposed to work--certainly none of them went into the mechanics of how this is supposed to work with two men.
"Too much thinking," Charles says. He has the Vaseline again and is unscrewing the lid, reaching fingers inside and Erik has half a second to wonder if he's about to slide his fingers back inside before Charles reaches down to wrap a slick hand around Erik's cock.
Erik bucks sharply into the sensation, biting off a curse because he'd almost forgotten how incredible it felt to have Charles touching him. Charles coats Erik liberally, and then shifts forward, holding Erik's cock in place. Erik watches, awestruck, as Charles lowers himself down onto it.
Erik's eyes cross at the sensation. He has half a second to wonder--to marvel--at how hot and tight and amazing Charles feels before Charles clenches around him. Erik thrusts up, which only intensifies the sensation, Erik momentarily flailing as he tries to figure out what to do with himself.
But Charles guides him in this, too. He reaches for Erik's hands--which are currently clenching Charles' sheets--and brings them to Charles' hips. Erik grips Charles tight, a lifeline that will undoubtedly end with Charles wearing finger-shaped bruises in the morning. Next he brings his hands to Erik's hips, pressing them down into the mattress in a firm command to stay put. Erik instantly stills. The effort causes his entire body to shake, every muscle clenched in anticipation.
His gaze find Charles' face--because if he looks at the place they are connected, he is going to fall into the abyss, regardless of whatever telepathy Charles is using to keep him from coming. It is too much, his mind screaming with the knowledge that he is inside Charles. Charles' face is wearing that same expression from earlier, the one that is half pain, half pleasure, and worry spikes in Erik's breast that he may actually be hurting Charles.
You're not. I just need a minute, Charles says into his mind, and even then he sounds breathless. Erik's fingers dig deeper into the flesh of Charles' hips.
It is a long, agonizing moment before anything happens, Erik half afraid he will be forced to spend eternity buried inside Charles without ever being able to do anything about it. It is not a terrible fate, but his body aches to move--to do something to end this agony. When Charles does move, it is to slowly pull up, stopping only when just the tip of Erik's cock remains inside. He hovers there, entire body taut and shaking with the effort, and then, just when Erik thinks he break into tiny pieces waiting, Charles slowly lowers himself back down.
Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God, Erik thinks, mind chanting the words over and over and over again. He thought he was prepared for this--thought he was ready--but there is nothing that could have ever prepared him for the soft, tight heat of Charles' body. Charles moves slowly--so very slowly--up and down until Erik's vision begins to swim. He has crossed over into incoherence, he knows, words spilling from his lips without his consent. He's fairly certain he declares his love for Charles--something he vowed he would never do--possibly even promised to secure Charles the moon and maybe even offered to bear Charles' children. Never mind that half those things are impossible, Erik too lost to the sensation of Charles riding his cock to notice.
And, oh, God, Charles is riding is cock. Erik's brain stutters on that for several long moments. His pace has become a little more frantic now, his movements a bit more shaky, and this Erik completely understands. There is still a wall standing between him and the precipice, but Erik can feel pressure building against it. It is going to fall, and he suspects it will very likely take Charles with it--or perhaps it is Erik that will fall with Charles.
There is nothing coordinated in the end--it is nothing like the books or that film--Charles moaning, biting at his still swollen lips as he impales himself over and over again on Erik's cock. Erik's hands are still clenched around Charles' hips, still anchoring him in place. Despite his best efforts, his hips have begun to move, rocking up into Charles' body as Charles slams down into his. The experience is brutal, raw, beautiful in a way Erik has never known, yet just as powerful as everything he associates with Charles.
As though catching the stray edge of that thought--and it's probable he did--Charles opens his eyes and makes eye contact. Erik can do nothing but stare, helpless to this thing between them, to the aching pulse in his groin, to the frantic pounding of his heart.
"Are you ready?" Charles asks, in same tone he used each time they were set to meet another mutant.
"Let's find out," Erik says, proud of himself for remembering his line. Charles smiles, and the wall crumbles to the ground.
Every sensation is amplified; the tight clenching of Charles' body, the sticky heat where Charles' thighs are braced against Erik's, the soft silk of Charles' skin beneath Erik's hands, the heady tang of musk and sex that fill the room. Charles shifts up only to immediately thrust back down, rolling his hips as he does. His body clenches, and he spills, white hot against Erik's stomach. As soon as he does Erik is coming, Charles granting him permission, Erik's entire body convulsing as he spills deep inside Charles. It is a seemingly never ending thing that curls his toes and arches his body off the bed, his breath stolen and his heart thundering, racing in his chest.
When it does end, Erik collapses against the mattress, Charles doing the same against his chest. A dopy grin settles on Erik's face.
Charles laughs into his collarbone.
"Oh, my friend," he says, "we should have done that weeks ago."
Erik can't help but agree, though he thinks, rather clearly and with the certainty that Charles will hear, that he's rather glad they waited. He feels Charles smile against his chest, and knows Charles agrees.
FIN
