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nekosmuseTitle: An Ideal Grace (16/17)
Fandom: XMFC, a modern, non-powered AU
Rating: NC-17
Warning: mild allusions to past dub con
Summary: Charles and Erik as university professors. Need I say more?
Back to chapter 15
Professor Munroe turned her gaze on Erik, expression icy with disdain.
"Yes, Professor Xavier," she said, "and you're damned lucky he's decided to take an interest in these affairs, because otherwise I'd have you bundled back to Germany before you could say Auf Wiedersehen."
She shook her head and stood from her chair, brushing the creases from her pantsuit. She turned to Summers.
"Make sure he apologizes," she said, casting a final, disapproving glance in Erik's direction. Erik was still too stunned to do anything other than blink comically at her.
Charles was a professor?
He was only dimly aware of Munroe leaving the room, Summers stepping forward, Logan at his heel. Erik tensed even as he scowled at the man, but Logan only quirked a smile and held up his hands. Erik turned his attention to Summers.
"Charles is a professor?" he asked, because clearing that up seemed his most pressing concern.
"Of course he's a professor," Summers said, like Erik was being particularly dense--and apparently that was exactly what he'd been--"and she's right; you're damned lucky this school needs Xavier money more than it does Poet Laureate prestige, otherwise she would have crucified you.
Erik frowned at that. Charles had money? He was having a hard time picturing it; Charles always looked like he'd stepped right off the pages of the local Goodwill catalogue--which was actually a rather good look on him.
It occurred to Erik then that he was allowed to think that. For the first time in days--weeks even--Erik found himself smiling, a weight he'd been carrying lifting as he processed what this meant. Charles was a professor. He wasn't off limits. And Erik wasn't a monster. Shaw hadn't won.
He laughed, sounding more than a little manic. Summers stepped back, even as Logan frowned at him, looking like he expected to have to restrain Erik all over again. Erik grinned at him.
"I believe I have an apology to make," he said, gesturing to the door. Summers glanced at Logan, Logan at Summers, but eventually they nodded, Summers leading the way while Logan took up the rear, neither of them trusting Erik enough to let him out of their sight.
Erik didn't care.
Charles was a professor.
He wanted to seek out Charles first--hoped to run into Charles on the way--but his guards were coiled tight with tension, ready to spring into action should Erik attempt anything other than making his apology. They led him back into the auditorium. Erik scanned the room, hoping to catch sight of Charles, but he wasn't there. He did, however, spot Shaw, looking far smaller than Erik remembered him being. He was sitting near the back of the room, by the open bar, with an ice-filled cloth napkin pressed against the side of his face. Erik smiled, even as the sight reminded him that his knuckles still rather stung.
"I think I can manage this on my own," Erik said, and when Summers hesitated, he added, "I'm fairly certain Charles' arrangement did not involve witnesses." He took particular care to emphasize Charles' name, feeling possessive now that Charles was his--and he was, oh, God, he was. Erik was still smiling. Undoubtedly he looked a little psychotic.
Summers hesitated, but apparently he decided it wasn't worth the fight, because he nodded and dragged Logan off to the side, leaving Erik to cross the room on his own. Shaw, who'd been talking with a handful of people, glanced up at Erik's approach. He cocked his head to the side, and then waved off his concerned admirers. By the time Erik reached his side, they were alone.
"Erik Lehnsherr," Shaw said, smiling, though he'd hesitated briefly upon seeing the grin plastered across Erik's face. Shaw's smile made the bruise spreading across his cheek look swollen and ugly. Erik's smile widened.
"You're looking old, Sebastian," he said. Shaw titled his head, obviously not expecting the jab.
"I could say the same for you," he said. He let his smile turn just a little menacing. "I can't say the same for your... friend, however."
Erik let his smile grow teeth--the same smile he'd given that chess hustler last week. Shaw looked momentarily taken aback. God, had Erik ever really idolized this man? He looked so small--so pathetic--well past the prime of his life, hair shot through with grey, wrinkles pulling at the corners of his eyes. He had a liver spot on his forehead.
"He's not really your type. For one thing, he's a professor, not a student; for another, I very much doubt he's a virgin."
Shaw looked slightly startled upon hearing that, his smile slipping momentarily as he tried to find his equilibrium.
"That's too bad," he said after a moment. "But I suppose there are plenty of fish in the sea."
Erik laughed at that--outright laughed, and anyone who'd seen him earlier, who'd witnessed him punching this man in the face, undoubtedly thought him crazy, but Erik didn't care.
"Still, getting a little harder to catch those fish these days, I would imagine," he said. The last fifteen years hadn't been terribly kind to Shaw. Gone was the vibrant, powerful man he'd been. Shaw was on the short track to becoming a dirty old man--not that he hadn't always been, but at least now his appearance would match his perversion.
Shaw, whose smile had completely vanished, squared his shoulders. He glared at Erik.
"I believe you owe me an apology," he said, "so I'd suggest you get on with it."
Erik was half expecting Shaw to request that he kneel to give it. Erik let his smile grow smug.
"Oh, I don't think we'll be doing that. In fact, we're going to try something new." The look Shaw shot him was incredulous, but Erik pressed on. "You're going to finish your little party, and then you're going to get on a plane and go back to London, or Berlin, or Paris, or wherever the hell it is you're living these days, and you are going to stay the hell away from me, and Charles, and everyone else I care about. How does that sound?"
"Are you threatening me?" Shaw asked, stepping forward now, trying to use his size to intimidate, except Erik had grown in the years since their last meeting; was taller than Shaw now.
"Actually," Erik said, "I believe I'm blackmailing you. Because if you don't agree to my terms, then I'm going to go public, and I may not technically have been underage, but I suspect it wouldn't take too much to find someone who was. How old was that boy you brought to that conference in Zurich? Fifteen? Fourteen? I don't think he was legal, and even if he wasn't willing to come forward, I suspect just the rumour would hurt your career."
Shaw had gone completely white, mouth pressed into a thin line as he shook. Erik watched, rather delighted, as Shaw breathed heavily through his nose. All this time--all these years--and here was the man Erik had agonized over; rendered pathetic and insignificant, stripped of his power, little more than a forgotten relic.
"I would be very careful about the sorts of accusations you throw around," he began, but Erik stopped him with another barked laugh.
"No, I think it's you who needs to be careful. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have better things to do with my time," he said, and without waiting for a reply, turned and left.
Any other time, he might have paused to revel in the feeling of having just bested the man he'd thought had utterly broken him--how could something so pitiful break anyone?--but now all Erik could think was Charles. He left Shaw, undoubtedly fuming, and headed out of the auditorium, intending to search the whole of campus, building by building if he had to.
~*~
"Let me cut to the chase, Charles," Ororo was saying. She'd found Charles standing outside the door to the auditorium, where he'd been waiting for Erik, and had promptly dragged him down the hall and into the cloakroom.
Kinky, he'd told her, though only because they were once on friendly terms and he knew she wasn't as stormy as she led people to believe.
"The administration may not be aware of it, but I know you've cut ties with your family, or had ties cut--I don't care. The point is your influence isn't going to make a very large difference in your mother's next donation cheque, so we both know I have no reason to listen to your arguments in his favour."
"Except, rationally, I'm right," Charles said. "I've already spoken with Professor Shaw. He's willing to drop the matter, so other than a handful of witnesses--most already tipsy from their champagne--who's to say it ever happened? Wouldn't it be easier just to drop the matter entirely? Certainly it would save you some paperwork."
Ororo stared at him. It was a shame, Charles thought, that she'd chosen Scott's side over his in their breakup. He admired her, and might still count her a friend had she not decided he was an immature fool--not that she hadn't been right. Maybe that would change now.
"Can you at least tell me what that was about? Because I'd like to at least know why Lehnsherr felt the need to slug Professor Shaw in the middle of Professor Shaw's gala dinner."
Charles hesitated. He didn't know the real reason--obviously only Erik knew that--and while he knew that Erik knew Shaw--and had seemed more than a little standoffish about the man--Charles hoped--which was probably the most pathetic thing he'd done in his life, and that was saying something--that Erik had been at least partly motivated by jealousy.
Still, he couldn't exactly tell her that.
"I'm not sure," he decided on, which seemed to frustrate Ororo to no end.
She stared him down for several minutes before shaking her head, her shoulders losing their tension.
"They'll be serving dinner now and I for one am hungry. Provided Professor Shaw hasn't changed his mind, I am willing to overlook this incident, for now, but you tell Lehnsherr that if anything like this happens again, Columbia will retract their offer of a full professor position."
She moved towards the door then, looking exasperated by the entire situation, but Charles was too busy internally squealing over the prospect of Erik taking up permanent residence in New York to really notice.
She caught his attention again, however, when she reached the door, turning to say, "And for God's sake, Charles; try to keep your personal life out of the office."
Apparently she'd made the same assumption Charles had. Charles rather hoped that was a sign he was at least pointed in the right direction. He offered her a sharp nod.
"Of course, my apologies," he said. Ororo nodded and then vanished through the door.
Once she was gone, Charles took a minute to run his hands through his hair, check his breath--it required a mint, but fortunately he'd thought to pack those--and straighten his tux jacket. When he was done, he headed into the hall.
Ororo had told him she'd arranged an escort to ensure Erik met his apology as scheduled, so the first place he checked was the auditorium, but the guests were already taking their assigned seats, a sea of white-clothed tables dotting the open space. Shaw was up at the front, sitting at a long, raised table with the University's elite. Charles was too far away to tell for sure, but he didn't look particularly happy. Erik wouldn't have stayed for this, Charles knew, so he headed back into the hall.
But where would Erik go? Home perhaps? But why come all this way and not speak to Charles, especially after everything that had happened between them?
He thought perhaps this might be the time to use the number Raven had programmed into his contacts list. He pulled his iPhone from his pocket, but waited until he was out of the building, Broadway a sea of late rush-hour traffic before him, to dial the number and hit the call button.
It was startling to hear the connection ring at the same time as a nearby cellphone. Charles glanced up and found himself staring at the retreating back of Erik Lehnsherr. They must have literally just missed one another.
Charles watched, faintly amused, as Erik pulled his phone out of his pocket. He glanced at it and immediately stopped walking, standing frozen in the middle of the sidewalk. He hesitated, and then brought the phone to his ear.
Through the connection, Charles heard, "Charles?"
"You know," Charles said, loud enough so that Erik could hear him both through the phone and across the twenty odd feet that separated them, "you're very good at giving a guy mixed signals."
As soon as Erik heard Charles' voice, he pivoted on his heel, the hand holding his cell dropping to his side. Charles disconnected the call and dropped his phone back into his pocket. Erik did the same.
"I mean, really, what exactly am I supposed..." was as far as Charles got before Erik had closed the distance between them.
Charles was about to ask him what he was doing--if he was okay, because the look on Erik's face was near crazed--when Erik reached for him, hands coming up to tangle in Charles hair--oh God, Erik's hands were in his hair--even as he closed the distance between them, kissing Charles with such ferocity that Charles stumbled back a step.
As soon as he got his feet under him, he surged forward, pressing into the kiss--oh, God, Erik was kissing him--bringing his hands to Erik's shoulders to hold him in place. Erik whimpered into his mouth.
Erik kissed like the world was ending. Like Charles was simultaneously the first and last person he would ever kiss. His lips trembled, even as they parted, Erik's tongue sliding against Charles' bottom lip, a polite request for entry. Charles was more than happy to grant it, opening his mouth with an audible groan, whimpering slightly when Erik's tongue slid against his own--and oh, God, Erik's tongue was in his mouth.
The added contact seemed to break something in Erik, because he pressed even closer, until Charles could feel him from his knees all the way to the top of his head, where Erik's fingers were twisting in his hair, shaking ever so slightly. Erik was breathing heavily, chest heaving against Charles', Charles aware of the rapid-fire patter of Erik's heart that echoed exactly his own.
One of the hands in Charles' hair moved then, fingers tracing a steady line down Charles' spine until Erik's arm was wrapped around Charles' waist, drawing him closer, holding him firm against Erik until Charles could feel the press of Erik's erection digging into his stomach.
Charles felt his knees go a little weak. He rather thought he was entitled.
There was a million questions running through his head--a million things he wanted to say--but when Erik finally broke the kiss--too soon, too soon, Charles's mind shouted--and pressed his forehead against Charles' to pant against Charles' lips, Charles found himself incapable of speech.
"Are you okay?" Erik asked, holding Charles so tightly that Charles could do nothing save tuck his head into Erik's neck. "Did he hurt you? Did he touch you? Did he make you promise him anything?"
It took Charles several long minutes--several long, nice minutes, in which he breathed the scent of Erik's skin, his shampoo--before Charles was able to deduce what Erik was talking about. When he did, he tried to pull back, but his struggles only caused Erik to tighten his grip, holding Charles against him like he thought Charles might vanish if he let go.
Charles didn't feel much like complaining, so he relaxed into Erik's embrace.
"He didn't touch me, I'm fine," Charles mumbled into Erik's neck.
He felt Erik's Adam's apple brush against his cheek when Erik swallowed, and then Erik was pulling back and kissing Charles again, like the first time was only practice and this time he wanted to ensure he did it right. Charles' knees actually gave way this time--that had never happened to him before--but Erik merely hoisted him up, holding him suspended, pressed tight against Erik's body. It was easily the best moment of Charles' life.
Somewhere in the distance, a horn honked and the city came back to life around them, Charles only then remembering that they were standing in the middle of the street, in front of a very public building, and that it was probably not an appropriate place to begin tearing at Erik's clothes. Erik seemed to have the same idea, because he broke the kiss and pulled back, panting.
"Is there somewhere we can go?" he asked into the space between them, and anything Charles might have said--anything Charles might have asked--vanished in an instant, replaced only by want and desire and the sheer giddy delight that came with the prospect of having Erik in his bed.
"I don't live far," he managed.
Erik grinned at him, the edges of his smile so grateful it took Charles' breath away. He slid a hand into Charles' uninjured one and tugged. Charles returned the smile, and then tugged Erik in the direction of his apartment.
They practically ran.
It still took ten minutes to get there, the tension between them growing heavier with each passing minute. Erik had refused to relinquish Charles' hand--clung to it even now--and whenever Charles glanced in his direction, Erik was watching him, staring with something close to awe reflected in his gaze.
Charles always meant to ask in those minutes what it was that had stopped them from doing this, and what had changed, but the sight of Erik's smile, soft and hesitant, like Charles was the best thing to ever happen to him, always derailed the thought. Instead Charles returned the smile and picked up the pace.
It was still the longest ten minutes of Charles' life.
They slowed to a stop outside Charles' building while Charles dug around for his keys. He found them, and was about to turn and offer Erik another smile when he found Erik staring at the building and frowning. Charles' heart sank.
"I know it's not the nicest of places, but it's really not too bad once you get inside," he said. He'd never felt this before. Growing up in the lap of luxury tended to make a person disdainful of displays of wealth. Or perhaps that was just him.
Erik shook his head. "Why are you living in student housing?" he asked, turning then to catch Charles' eye. He looked utterly confused, and more than a little conflicted. It was a familiar expression, one Charles had seen before.
Still, Charles supposed it was a fair question. "Honestly," he said, "it's mostly just laziness." He shrugged, hoping Erik might forgive him for it--more than willing to offer to pay for a hotel if Erik had a problem with the location.
Apparently, however, Charles' answer had been the exact right thing to say, because Erik laughed--actually laughed--shaking his head fondly before he stalked--oh, God, he stalked--towards Charles, hands coming up to catch Charles about the hips.
"You can understand why a man might be confused," he said, leaning in then to nip at Charles' lips--at least, that was likely his intention, but when he got there Charles surged forward, catching Erik's bottom lip between his teeth, sucking slightly until Erik melted--melted--the kiss softening into something Charles had never once experienced.
Erik kissed Charles like he thought Charles was ludicrous and loved him anyway. Charles' heart beat fiercely in his chest, every cell alive with energy and want and need and this man, this man. When Erik pulled back, lips swollen, pupils blown, twin spots of colour on his cheek, Charles groaned and ducked his head.
"We probably need to get this inside, soon," he managed. When he glanced back up again, the smile that Erik was wearing was as nervous as it was eager. Charles reclaimed Erik's hand and dragged him inside.
Erik paused again once they were inside the door to Charles' actual apartment, standing frozen on the threshold as though on the verge of changing his mind.
"We can go elsewhere," Charles offered--quickly, far too quickly. This had never worried him before.
Erik merely shook his head. He met Charles' eye then, expression turning serious.
"Are you sure you're a professor?" he asked. Charles didn't miss the way he swallowed upon saying it. Still, Charles laughed.
"Fairly certain, yes. Why, did you think I was a student?"
He meant it as a joke--even laughed a little upon saying it--but the look that crossed Erik's face was unmistakable. Charles' eyes grew wide.
"Oh, God, you did. How did you think that? No, wait, better question; is that why we haven't done this yet?"
Because until this moment he still thought it was something he'd done or not done and the not knowing--the not being able to figure it out--was driving him crazy. To know that Erik was merely being honourable--admirable, even--was... Charles found himself smiling.
And now Erik looked more than a little distraught, so Charles closed the distance between them, reaching out to grab Erik by the waist with his uninjured hand. He pulled Erik towards him. He would have done anything in the world to remove that look from Erik's face, but part of him thrilled to learn that Erik had undoubtedly been agonizing over this--there was no mistaking that now.
"You were in my class," Erik said, as if that explained everything. He still looked hopelessly lost, but he let Charles reel him in; let his hands come up to wrap around Charles' shoulders.
"That's only because you stole all my students." When Erik frowned, Charles elaborated. "I had to cancel my Intro to Genetics course, because half my class dropped to sit in on your poetry course." He quirked a smile then, letting it grow more than a little suggestive.
To his surprise, Erik merely asked, "Is that where they all came from?" He chuckled then, like in hindsight the entire incident was comical--and Charles supposed it rather was.
"Can you blame them?" Charles asked, and because he could, he brought a hand to Erik's sternum and began tracing his fingers down. It was a shock when Erik immediately reached out to stop him.
"Anything but that," he said, squeezing Charles' hand before he released it. Charles hesitated, and then brought the hand to Erik's shoulder, tracing the line of his arm instead, watching Erik intently to ensure he had no objections.
He offered none, but his expression had grown serious again, the way he looked at Charles like nothing Charles had ever seen before. He'd seen lust--even love, of a sort--but this; this was worship, Charles fairly certain he was unworthy of the way this man looked at him. It was probably a good thing he was far too selfish a person to protest.
"You're wrong, you know," Erik said, bringing up a hand then to brush the backs of his fingers against Charles' cheek. "Anyone who would drop your class for mine is an idiot."
Charles swallowed, not entirely certain what to say to that. Apparently Erik didn't expect him to say anything, because his hand moved next to Charles' mouth, fingers tracing Charles' lips so that Charles couldn't have answered, even if he'd wanted to.
Erik stepped forward then, until he was crowded against Charles. He let his fingers dip beneath Charles' chin, tilting his head until he could fit their mouths together. This kiss was softer, more purposeful than the ones before; like Erik was seeking permission, reassurance. Charles let his lips part, which seemed to be enough to suit Erik's needs, because Erik surged into him then, kissing Charles with abandon, Charles left dizzy and light-headed under the onslaught.
When they parted, Erik's hands--shaking, oh, God, they were shaking--rested on the buttons of Charles' blazer. Erik sought Charles' gaze, asking silent permission, to which Charles could only nod.
"Why aren't you wearing a coat?" he scolded as he worked the line of buttons, Charles trembling beneath him, more aroused than he had ever been. Later he'd remember that he'd forgotten his coat in the coat check--that he hadn't even noticed it missing on their jog to his apartment--but at the moment all Charles could do was smile sheepishly, like he would never forget his coat again if he thought it might make Erik happy.
Erik, who was wearing a coat--had been all night, even the first time Charles had seen him--looked entirely too overdressed for Charles' apartment, so as soon as Erik had finished with Charles' blazer--the fabric falling to pool on Charles' worn and stained carpet--Charles reached for Erik's zipper. It was a fumbling affair, using only his non-dominant hand, and halfway through his attempt Erik chuckled and reached up to help. They finally got the zipper down, and Erik shrugged the coat off, tossing it in the direction of Charles' chair/book depository. It too ended up on the floor.
"You can't imagine how much I..." Erik said then, staring at the line of buttons on Charles' shirt. Charles let out a little laugh even as he swayed a little closer, wanting to feel Erik's heat.
"Actually..." he said with a self-deprecating chuckle. Erik glanced up then, startled. He caught Charles' gaze.
Whatever he found there seemed to be exactly what he was searching for, because he smiled, soft and relieved. He brought his hands to the buttons of Charles' shirt and slowly began undoing them.
Charles had never been undressed before. It was an overwhelming experience that left him feeling more than a little on display, but when he tried to help, Erik caught his hand and said, "Let me," like Charles could ever deny Erik anything.
Charles nodded and let his hand drop back to his side.
The unbuttoning of his shirt was an agonizingly slow process. Erik seemed enraptured by it. He had to pause when he reached the part that was tucked into Charles' pants. Charles grew dizzy with the thought of Erik unfastening them, but instead Erik began systematically pulling Charles' shirt free, starting again on the buttons as soon as it was out. When he was done with the buttons, he reached for Charles' injured hand and brought it between them.
"How long..." he began, swallowing as though incapable of speaking.
"I get more x-rays on Thursday," Charles said. Erik nodded at that, running his thumb over the backs of Charles' knuckles before he reached for Charles' cufflinks.
He unfastened one, and then the other, and then pushed the shirt over Charles' shoulders, letting it slip over his arms to join his blazer on the floor. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes from Charles' chest.
"This might be a good time to move to the bed," Charles said, sensing that Erik could probably spend several hours just standing and looking--and while Charles appreciated being admired, he was also fast approaching a state of desperateness that before now he didn't know existed.
Erik glanced up at that, seemingly startled. For a moment Charles thought to panic--because wasn't that what they were doing?--but then Erik nodded, though he caught Charles' eye and said, "Only if you're sure," like he was somehow afraid he was pushing Charles too hard.
Charles almost laughed. Instead he swayed forward, placing his hands on Erik's chest, letting his good hand stroke across the pectoral muscle it found there.
"I think I can safely assure you that I am beyond positive," he said.
Erik grinned at that, a delighted smile that Charles wanted to spend the rest of his life trying to provoke. He stepped back then, reached for the hem of his turtleneck--God, could the man wear turtlenecks--and pulled it over his head. Charles caught a brief flash of abs--oh, God, those abs--before he was entirely distracted by Erik's chest.
In fact, Erik's chest was the reason Charles missed Erik unfastening his pants. It was only luck--or rather, Charles' desire to follow the curve of Erik's body down, perhaps take in those abs a second time, that made him realize Erik was now standing in his briefs, pants around his ankles as he tried to simultaneously remove them and his shoes.
Christ, Charles had never wanted to drop to his knees more.
The problem with sleeping with Erik, Charles now realized, was that Erik was entirely too attractive for Charles to be expected to maintain any level of higher brain function. Already he wanted to throw himself at Erik and rut against his leg. It took a considerable degree of effort to not do exactly that, to instead wait for Erik to sort out the pants-shoe business, and then place a hand in the centre of Erik's chest--and he would never get over the firmness of it--and push him towards the bed. To Charles' surprise--and delight--Erik went willingly.
He climbed backwards onto Charles' bed.
Charles took a few minutes to process that.
Erik was in his bed.
It took another few minutes for Charles's brain to catch up with the situation, but once it did he scrambled to get his own trousers off, clasp particularly tricky given that he only had one working hand. Erik seemed to sense what he was trying to do, because suddenly there were another set of hands helping him--and Charles would never, ever be able to compute Erik undoing Charles' pants, so he gave up trying and simply let it happen.
He stumbled a little when they were off and he had to do his own pant-shoe battle, but eventually he managed, Erik chuckling a little as he pulled Charles down into the bed beside him.
Oh, God, Erik was in his bed.
"Is this okay?" Erik asked, running a hand across Charles' shoulder. It occurred to Charles then that Erik seemed more than a little concerned about consent.
The thought spiked something deeply uncomfortable in his stomach--something he wasn't sure if he wanted to approach just yet, so instead he said, "I absolutely want to have sex with you," and then added, "Provided you want to have sex with me."
Erik beamed at him. There was no other way to describe it. He nodded--somewhat vigorously Charles was delighted to note.
"Yeah, I definitely want that," he said, blushing slightly as he said it, and it wasn't until he spoke again that Charles understood why. "But condoms are a must." He ducked his head. "And it's been a really long time, so you'll have to be a little careful."
This last bit was said all in a rush, Erik practically whispering, like it pained him to admit as much. It took Charles a minute to work out what he was saying, and, oh. Oh. That hadn't occurred to Charles until now. He'd just assumed Erik was a top. He floundered briefly, because while he wasn't unfamiliar with topping--certainly he'd done it--it wasn't exactly something he did.
"Um..." There was really no other way to ask this. "Do you always..." Charles gestured.
Erik's eyes grew wide, as though he'd only just caught up with their conversation. Charles was painfully aware of how little space there was between them. Erik's chest was pressed against his own; their hips perfectly aligned so that Charles could feel the outline of Erik's erection nestled alongside his. Their knees brushed every time they shifted. Charles had never done this before. He'd never negotiated sex before--not the first time, anyway. It had always been a mad pulling off of clothes and then a rush towards the finish line, followed shortly by passing out or a shameful walk home.
It probably shouldn't have surprised him that in this, like in everything else, Erik was unique.
"I haven't," Erik admitted, "but I suppose I could."
He didn't exactly sound too confident about it. In fact, he sounded horrified by the prospect, and Charles wondered exactly who this ex of his was--the one he'd written about, the one Raven had told him about--that had obviously so thoroughly messed with Erik's sexuality.
For the first time in Charles' life, Charles wanted to kill someone.
Instead he said, "It doesn't matter," and pulled Erik to him, kissing Erik because if he didn't kiss Erik soon he was probably going to explode.
They could worry about the logistics of anal sex another time. Right now Charles just wanted Erik.
Erik seemed to approve of this plan, because he kissed Charles back like having spent the last ten minutes not kissing had been the most agonizing ten minutes of his life. Just having Erik against him was almost enough to send him over, Charles rocking their hips together, pressing into Erik even as Erik pressed into him, all of their earlier awkwardness vanishing as they set up a rhythm like that.
But Charles still wanted to suck him--had wanted to suck Erik pretty much from the minute he'd walked into Erik's classroom and saw him leaned against the podium and quoting Blake, like it was something Erik did all the time, over coffee or while taking out the trash.
He pulled back long enough to tell Erik as much, mumbling, "I want to suck you," into his mouth between open mouthed, wet kisses. God, Erik was easily the best kisser Charles had ever encountered.
Except, after he said it, Erik went very still, so Charles pulled back far enough to get his eyes open, taking in Erik's startled expression without fully comprehending what had caused it.
"You don't have to do that," Erik said in answer to a question Charles had apparently--not that he remembered--asked.
Charles frowned, needing a minute before he could piece together what Erik was saying. Once he did, he pulled back far enough to get up onto one elbow, leaning over Erik now like he intended to open a conversation.
Instead, he said, "I don't think a single day has gone by since we met that hasn't involved me fantasizing about sucking your cock. Why on earth would you think I considered it a chore?"
Erik seemed startled by that--he seemed startled by a lot of things, Charles was quickly learning. He sounded almost timid when he said, "You fantasize about sucking my cock?" like Charles was some kind of wonder--some miracle sent down from heaven above.
Charles grinned at him. "Pretty much constantly. May I?"
Erik, who looked decidedly flustered, gave a brief nod, which was all the encouragement Charles needed, Charles sliding down the bed to position himself between Erik's legs, Erik once again going very still, like he was half afraid breathing would disrupt this thing between them.
Charles gave him half a second to settle, and then, because he tended to be a bit of a greedy bastard, and because he was fairly certain a direct assault would work best in this instance, Charles took half a second to nuzzle his nose against Erik's balls--oh, the scent of him--and then immediately took Erik into his mouth, taking the whole of his length--not inconsiderable--down his throat, thankful then for having beaten has gag reflex into submission years ago.
Erik let out a hoarse shout that might have been a curse, or maybe an entreaty to God--though Charles rather fancied it was his name--his hips pistoning off the bed, his entire body going taut--well, tenser than it already was--as he succumbed to the sensation. Charles smiled around a mouthful of cock and hollowed his cheeks. Erik outright whimpered.
He'd sucked enough cock in his day--and by that he meant a lot of cock; probably more than was healthy--so he had enough tricks up his sleeve that it was only a matter of minutes before Erik was practically sobbing, thrashing on the sheets and begging for something that even Charles suspected he didn't understand. What he wasn't expecting--what hadn't happened before--was for Erik's reaction to so thoroughly accelerate his own. Charles was leaking onto the sheets, even as he rubbed against them, wanting so desperately to touch, and yet half afraid he'd end up coming just from this alone.
It was an impossible thing to control, though, the sight of Erik beneath him--eyes screwed tight, hands fisted in Charles' covers, body arching off the bed, hips bucking against where Charles was now holding them against the mattress, bottom lip clenched between his teeth, and beads of sweat dotting his body--so arousing that in that instance Charles was fairly certain he could have easily fucked Erik and loved it.
Loved every second of it.
He almost pulled off to suggest as much, but Erik was so far gone--so lost to the haze of his pleasure--that it was all Charles could do to squeeze Erik's base as he pulled off, Erik groaning against the loss, but Charles was experienced with this--had it down to a science--so it was only a matter of seconds before he was into and out of his bedside drawer, condom wrapper opened--Erik had insisted--and condom rolled over Erik's cock. Not a half a minute later, Charles was swallowing him back down so that he could come in Charles' mouth.
Erik's shout was unlike anything Charles had ever heard.
He spent a few dizzying minutes after basking in the knowledge that he'd just sucked off Erik Lehnsherr. That he'd just made Erik Lehnsherr come. That Erik Lehnsherr was sprawled across his mattress, looking thoroughly debauched, mouth parted as he tried to suck in enough oxygen, skin flushed from the force of his orgasm, entire body lax in that way that only a body thoroughly wrung out could look.
Charles had never felt more powerful than he did in that moment.
And then Erik opened his eyes, and looked at him, like Charles was some kind of god, and Charles had to reassess every world view he'd ever had.
"You okay?" Charles asked, even though it was painfully obvious that Erik was--certainly if the dopey smile he was wearing was any indication.
"No one's ever done that for me," Erik said, all in a rush, like he was imparting a great secret.
He rather was.
Because okay. Charles had just given Erik Lehnsherr his first blow job. He found himself smiling stupidly.
Erik returned the smile, continuing to look dazed--and more than a little happy--for several minutes, until he caught sight of Charles' erection. Then his expression grew serious again. He licked his lips, nodding like he'd just given himself a pep talk.
He pushed himself up onto his elbows then, drawing attention to the condom he was still wearing. Charles chuckled--he'd defend to his death that it was a chuckle, even though, later, Erik would tell him it was a giggle--and reached for the box of tissue next to his alarm clock. He grabbed a handful and handed them to Erik, letting him dispose of the prophylactic. When Erik was done, he glanced back to Charles' cock.
"Would you like me to?" he said, gesturing. There was something in his hesitation--however determined he sounded--that startled Charles. He moved immediately to lie on the bed at Erik's side.
When Erik remained seated, Charles reached for him and drew him down.
"I'd like to kiss you some more, if that's okay," he said, because obviously having sex with Erik was like walking into a mind field, and until Charles had a map, he didn't exactly want to make any missteps.
It was obviously the wrong thing to say, because Erik tutted, shaking his head then like Charles was being ridiculous.
"I have sucked a cock before," he said. Charles smiled.
Okay, if that was the way he was going to be.
"I leak, so you'll probably want to start with a condom," Charles said, nodding to the drawer. Erik looked surprised, like he was expecting to have to argue his case, perhaps convince Charles to let Erik suck his cock--as if that would ever need to happen.
Erik got that determined look on his face again, so Charles sighed, feigning exasperation he didn't feel, and grabbed Erik's shoulder, toppling him off balance as he reached for the drawer, so that he landed on Charles instead--and Charles took a moment to appreciate being pinned to the bed by Erik's weight before he spoke.
"We're not keeping a tally sheet. This isn't tit for tat. I like sucking cock. If you don't, it's not something you need to do. I would be just as happy with your hand. But whatever it is you're going to do, please do it, because I've been about a half a second away from coming since we walked in the door."
For as much as Charles sometimes wished that his list of past sexual partners was shorter than it actually was--a good deal shorter would have been nice--at the very least his range of experiences meant that he was very good at telling his partners what he liked and what he wanted, but more than that, he knew how to be frank when it counted. Right now, it seemed to count.
Erik seemed to take Charles' words for a challenge, because he stayed where he was, surging into Charles to seal their lips together--oh, finally--kissing Charles like Charles had wanted him to do from the onset. What surprised Charles--delighted him, really--was that the hand that slipped between them--that wrapped around Charles' cock--was strong and confident and not at all as uncertain as Charles was starting to assume Erik would always be.
As if sensing Charles' surprise, Erik smiled into the kiss. He pulled back slightly to catch Charles' eye--Charles couldn't have closed them even if someone had paid him to--asking, in a husky whisper, "Like this?"
Which was pretty much about the time that Charles gave up and came, making a sound that he would forever deny having made--a sound that surely no human had ever made--semen spilling between them, his entire world going white, Charles having half a second to feel embarrassed by how quickly it had happened before Erik moaned--moaned--and started kissing him again.
Were they perhaps ten years younger--ironically, if they were still students--he suspected Erik would have been hard again.
As it was he still rutting against Charles' leg, kissing him with abandon even as he ran his hand through the mess Charles had made of their stomachs. He seemed determined to trace patterns into it, as though wanting tactile proof that it had happened. When he eventually broke the kiss and pulled back, he was wearing that same dopey smile from before.
Charles was pretty sure his matched.
"Now what?" Erik asked, like Charles might just have all the answers in the universe.
Charles considered.
"Order food and then have another go?" he suggested.
Erik's answering grin was all teeth.
On to chapter 17
Fandom: XMFC, a modern, non-powered AU
Rating: NC-17
Warning: mild allusions to past dub con
Summary: Charles and Erik as university professors. Need I say more?
Back to chapter 15
Professor Munroe turned her gaze on Erik, expression icy with disdain.
"Yes, Professor Xavier," she said, "and you're damned lucky he's decided to take an interest in these affairs, because otherwise I'd have you bundled back to Germany before you could say Auf Wiedersehen."
She shook her head and stood from her chair, brushing the creases from her pantsuit. She turned to Summers.
"Make sure he apologizes," she said, casting a final, disapproving glance in Erik's direction. Erik was still too stunned to do anything other than blink comically at her.
Charles was a professor?
He was only dimly aware of Munroe leaving the room, Summers stepping forward, Logan at his heel. Erik tensed even as he scowled at the man, but Logan only quirked a smile and held up his hands. Erik turned his attention to Summers.
"Charles is a professor?" he asked, because clearing that up seemed his most pressing concern.
"Of course he's a professor," Summers said, like Erik was being particularly dense--and apparently that was exactly what he'd been--"and she's right; you're damned lucky this school needs Xavier money more than it does Poet Laureate prestige, otherwise she would have crucified you.
Erik frowned at that. Charles had money? He was having a hard time picturing it; Charles always looked like he'd stepped right off the pages of the local Goodwill catalogue--which was actually a rather good look on him.
It occurred to Erik then that he was allowed to think that. For the first time in days--weeks even--Erik found himself smiling, a weight he'd been carrying lifting as he processed what this meant. Charles was a professor. He wasn't off limits. And Erik wasn't a monster. Shaw hadn't won.
He laughed, sounding more than a little manic. Summers stepped back, even as Logan frowned at him, looking like he expected to have to restrain Erik all over again. Erik grinned at him.
"I believe I have an apology to make," he said, gesturing to the door. Summers glanced at Logan, Logan at Summers, but eventually they nodded, Summers leading the way while Logan took up the rear, neither of them trusting Erik enough to let him out of their sight.
Erik didn't care.
Charles was a professor.
He wanted to seek out Charles first--hoped to run into Charles on the way--but his guards were coiled tight with tension, ready to spring into action should Erik attempt anything other than making his apology. They led him back into the auditorium. Erik scanned the room, hoping to catch sight of Charles, but he wasn't there. He did, however, spot Shaw, looking far smaller than Erik remembered him being. He was sitting near the back of the room, by the open bar, with an ice-filled cloth napkin pressed against the side of his face. Erik smiled, even as the sight reminded him that his knuckles still rather stung.
"I think I can manage this on my own," Erik said, and when Summers hesitated, he added, "I'm fairly certain Charles' arrangement did not involve witnesses." He took particular care to emphasize Charles' name, feeling possessive now that Charles was his--and he was, oh, God, he was. Erik was still smiling. Undoubtedly he looked a little psychotic.
Summers hesitated, but apparently he decided it wasn't worth the fight, because he nodded and dragged Logan off to the side, leaving Erik to cross the room on his own. Shaw, who'd been talking with a handful of people, glanced up at Erik's approach. He cocked his head to the side, and then waved off his concerned admirers. By the time Erik reached his side, they were alone.
"Erik Lehnsherr," Shaw said, smiling, though he'd hesitated briefly upon seeing the grin plastered across Erik's face. Shaw's smile made the bruise spreading across his cheek look swollen and ugly. Erik's smile widened.
"You're looking old, Sebastian," he said. Shaw titled his head, obviously not expecting the jab.
"I could say the same for you," he said. He let his smile turn just a little menacing. "I can't say the same for your... friend, however."
Erik let his smile grow teeth--the same smile he'd given that chess hustler last week. Shaw looked momentarily taken aback. God, had Erik ever really idolized this man? He looked so small--so pathetic--well past the prime of his life, hair shot through with grey, wrinkles pulling at the corners of his eyes. He had a liver spot on his forehead.
"He's not really your type. For one thing, he's a professor, not a student; for another, I very much doubt he's a virgin."
Shaw looked slightly startled upon hearing that, his smile slipping momentarily as he tried to find his equilibrium.
"That's too bad," he said after a moment. "But I suppose there are plenty of fish in the sea."
Erik laughed at that--outright laughed, and anyone who'd seen him earlier, who'd witnessed him punching this man in the face, undoubtedly thought him crazy, but Erik didn't care.
"Still, getting a little harder to catch those fish these days, I would imagine," he said. The last fifteen years hadn't been terribly kind to Shaw. Gone was the vibrant, powerful man he'd been. Shaw was on the short track to becoming a dirty old man--not that he hadn't always been, but at least now his appearance would match his perversion.
Shaw, whose smile had completely vanished, squared his shoulders. He glared at Erik.
"I believe you owe me an apology," he said, "so I'd suggest you get on with it."
Erik was half expecting Shaw to request that he kneel to give it. Erik let his smile grow smug.
"Oh, I don't think we'll be doing that. In fact, we're going to try something new." The look Shaw shot him was incredulous, but Erik pressed on. "You're going to finish your little party, and then you're going to get on a plane and go back to London, or Berlin, or Paris, or wherever the hell it is you're living these days, and you are going to stay the hell away from me, and Charles, and everyone else I care about. How does that sound?"
"Are you threatening me?" Shaw asked, stepping forward now, trying to use his size to intimidate, except Erik had grown in the years since their last meeting; was taller than Shaw now.
"Actually," Erik said, "I believe I'm blackmailing you. Because if you don't agree to my terms, then I'm going to go public, and I may not technically have been underage, but I suspect it wouldn't take too much to find someone who was. How old was that boy you brought to that conference in Zurich? Fifteen? Fourteen? I don't think he was legal, and even if he wasn't willing to come forward, I suspect just the rumour would hurt your career."
Shaw had gone completely white, mouth pressed into a thin line as he shook. Erik watched, rather delighted, as Shaw breathed heavily through his nose. All this time--all these years--and here was the man Erik had agonized over; rendered pathetic and insignificant, stripped of his power, little more than a forgotten relic.
"I would be very careful about the sorts of accusations you throw around," he began, but Erik stopped him with another barked laugh.
"No, I think it's you who needs to be careful. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have better things to do with my time," he said, and without waiting for a reply, turned and left.
Any other time, he might have paused to revel in the feeling of having just bested the man he'd thought had utterly broken him--how could something so pitiful break anyone?--but now all Erik could think was Charles. He left Shaw, undoubtedly fuming, and headed out of the auditorium, intending to search the whole of campus, building by building if he had to.
~*~
"Let me cut to the chase, Charles," Ororo was saying. She'd found Charles standing outside the door to the auditorium, where he'd been waiting for Erik, and had promptly dragged him down the hall and into the cloakroom.
Kinky, he'd told her, though only because they were once on friendly terms and he knew she wasn't as stormy as she led people to believe.
"The administration may not be aware of it, but I know you've cut ties with your family, or had ties cut--I don't care. The point is your influence isn't going to make a very large difference in your mother's next donation cheque, so we both know I have no reason to listen to your arguments in his favour."
"Except, rationally, I'm right," Charles said. "I've already spoken with Professor Shaw. He's willing to drop the matter, so other than a handful of witnesses--most already tipsy from their champagne--who's to say it ever happened? Wouldn't it be easier just to drop the matter entirely? Certainly it would save you some paperwork."
Ororo stared at him. It was a shame, Charles thought, that she'd chosen Scott's side over his in their breakup. He admired her, and might still count her a friend had she not decided he was an immature fool--not that she hadn't been right. Maybe that would change now.
"Can you at least tell me what that was about? Because I'd like to at least know why Lehnsherr felt the need to slug Professor Shaw in the middle of Professor Shaw's gala dinner."
Charles hesitated. He didn't know the real reason--obviously only Erik knew that--and while he knew that Erik knew Shaw--and had seemed more than a little standoffish about the man--Charles hoped--which was probably the most pathetic thing he'd done in his life, and that was saying something--that Erik had been at least partly motivated by jealousy.
Still, he couldn't exactly tell her that.
"I'm not sure," he decided on, which seemed to frustrate Ororo to no end.
She stared him down for several minutes before shaking her head, her shoulders losing their tension.
"They'll be serving dinner now and I for one am hungry. Provided Professor Shaw hasn't changed his mind, I am willing to overlook this incident, for now, but you tell Lehnsherr that if anything like this happens again, Columbia will retract their offer of a full professor position."
She moved towards the door then, looking exasperated by the entire situation, but Charles was too busy internally squealing over the prospect of Erik taking up permanent residence in New York to really notice.
She caught his attention again, however, when she reached the door, turning to say, "And for God's sake, Charles; try to keep your personal life out of the office."
Apparently she'd made the same assumption Charles had. Charles rather hoped that was a sign he was at least pointed in the right direction. He offered her a sharp nod.
"Of course, my apologies," he said. Ororo nodded and then vanished through the door.
Once she was gone, Charles took a minute to run his hands through his hair, check his breath--it required a mint, but fortunately he'd thought to pack those--and straighten his tux jacket. When he was done, he headed into the hall.
Ororo had told him she'd arranged an escort to ensure Erik met his apology as scheduled, so the first place he checked was the auditorium, but the guests were already taking their assigned seats, a sea of white-clothed tables dotting the open space. Shaw was up at the front, sitting at a long, raised table with the University's elite. Charles was too far away to tell for sure, but he didn't look particularly happy. Erik wouldn't have stayed for this, Charles knew, so he headed back into the hall.
But where would Erik go? Home perhaps? But why come all this way and not speak to Charles, especially after everything that had happened between them?
He thought perhaps this might be the time to use the number Raven had programmed into his contacts list. He pulled his iPhone from his pocket, but waited until he was out of the building, Broadway a sea of late rush-hour traffic before him, to dial the number and hit the call button.
It was startling to hear the connection ring at the same time as a nearby cellphone. Charles glanced up and found himself staring at the retreating back of Erik Lehnsherr. They must have literally just missed one another.
Charles watched, faintly amused, as Erik pulled his phone out of his pocket. He glanced at it and immediately stopped walking, standing frozen in the middle of the sidewalk. He hesitated, and then brought the phone to his ear.
Through the connection, Charles heard, "Charles?"
"You know," Charles said, loud enough so that Erik could hear him both through the phone and across the twenty odd feet that separated them, "you're very good at giving a guy mixed signals."
As soon as Erik heard Charles' voice, he pivoted on his heel, the hand holding his cell dropping to his side. Charles disconnected the call and dropped his phone back into his pocket. Erik did the same.
"I mean, really, what exactly am I supposed..." was as far as Charles got before Erik had closed the distance between them.
Charles was about to ask him what he was doing--if he was okay, because the look on Erik's face was near crazed--when Erik reached for him, hands coming up to tangle in Charles hair--oh God, Erik's hands were in his hair--even as he closed the distance between them, kissing Charles with such ferocity that Charles stumbled back a step.
As soon as he got his feet under him, he surged forward, pressing into the kiss--oh, God, Erik was kissing him--bringing his hands to Erik's shoulders to hold him in place. Erik whimpered into his mouth.
Erik kissed like the world was ending. Like Charles was simultaneously the first and last person he would ever kiss. His lips trembled, even as they parted, Erik's tongue sliding against Charles' bottom lip, a polite request for entry. Charles was more than happy to grant it, opening his mouth with an audible groan, whimpering slightly when Erik's tongue slid against his own--and oh, God, Erik's tongue was in his mouth.
The added contact seemed to break something in Erik, because he pressed even closer, until Charles could feel him from his knees all the way to the top of his head, where Erik's fingers were twisting in his hair, shaking ever so slightly. Erik was breathing heavily, chest heaving against Charles', Charles aware of the rapid-fire patter of Erik's heart that echoed exactly his own.
One of the hands in Charles' hair moved then, fingers tracing a steady line down Charles' spine until Erik's arm was wrapped around Charles' waist, drawing him closer, holding him firm against Erik until Charles could feel the press of Erik's erection digging into his stomach.
Charles felt his knees go a little weak. He rather thought he was entitled.
There was a million questions running through his head--a million things he wanted to say--but when Erik finally broke the kiss--too soon, too soon, Charles's mind shouted--and pressed his forehead against Charles' to pant against Charles' lips, Charles found himself incapable of speech.
"Are you okay?" Erik asked, holding Charles so tightly that Charles could do nothing save tuck his head into Erik's neck. "Did he hurt you? Did he touch you? Did he make you promise him anything?"
It took Charles several long minutes--several long, nice minutes, in which he breathed the scent of Erik's skin, his shampoo--before Charles was able to deduce what Erik was talking about. When he did, he tried to pull back, but his struggles only caused Erik to tighten his grip, holding Charles against him like he thought Charles might vanish if he let go.
Charles didn't feel much like complaining, so he relaxed into Erik's embrace.
"He didn't touch me, I'm fine," Charles mumbled into Erik's neck.
He felt Erik's Adam's apple brush against his cheek when Erik swallowed, and then Erik was pulling back and kissing Charles again, like the first time was only practice and this time he wanted to ensure he did it right. Charles' knees actually gave way this time--that had never happened to him before--but Erik merely hoisted him up, holding him suspended, pressed tight against Erik's body. It was easily the best moment of Charles' life.
Somewhere in the distance, a horn honked and the city came back to life around them, Charles only then remembering that they were standing in the middle of the street, in front of a very public building, and that it was probably not an appropriate place to begin tearing at Erik's clothes. Erik seemed to have the same idea, because he broke the kiss and pulled back, panting.
"Is there somewhere we can go?" he asked into the space between them, and anything Charles might have said--anything Charles might have asked--vanished in an instant, replaced only by want and desire and the sheer giddy delight that came with the prospect of having Erik in his bed.
"I don't live far," he managed.
Erik grinned at him, the edges of his smile so grateful it took Charles' breath away. He slid a hand into Charles' uninjured one and tugged. Charles returned the smile, and then tugged Erik in the direction of his apartment.
They practically ran.
It still took ten minutes to get there, the tension between them growing heavier with each passing minute. Erik had refused to relinquish Charles' hand--clung to it even now--and whenever Charles glanced in his direction, Erik was watching him, staring with something close to awe reflected in his gaze.
Charles always meant to ask in those minutes what it was that had stopped them from doing this, and what had changed, but the sight of Erik's smile, soft and hesitant, like Charles was the best thing to ever happen to him, always derailed the thought. Instead Charles returned the smile and picked up the pace.
It was still the longest ten minutes of Charles' life.
They slowed to a stop outside Charles' building while Charles dug around for his keys. He found them, and was about to turn and offer Erik another smile when he found Erik staring at the building and frowning. Charles' heart sank.
"I know it's not the nicest of places, but it's really not too bad once you get inside," he said. He'd never felt this before. Growing up in the lap of luxury tended to make a person disdainful of displays of wealth. Or perhaps that was just him.
Erik shook his head. "Why are you living in student housing?" he asked, turning then to catch Charles' eye. He looked utterly confused, and more than a little conflicted. It was a familiar expression, one Charles had seen before.
Still, Charles supposed it was a fair question. "Honestly," he said, "it's mostly just laziness." He shrugged, hoping Erik might forgive him for it--more than willing to offer to pay for a hotel if Erik had a problem with the location.
Apparently, however, Charles' answer had been the exact right thing to say, because Erik laughed--actually laughed--shaking his head fondly before he stalked--oh, God, he stalked--towards Charles, hands coming up to catch Charles about the hips.
"You can understand why a man might be confused," he said, leaning in then to nip at Charles' lips--at least, that was likely his intention, but when he got there Charles surged forward, catching Erik's bottom lip between his teeth, sucking slightly until Erik melted--melted--the kiss softening into something Charles had never once experienced.
Erik kissed Charles like he thought Charles was ludicrous and loved him anyway. Charles' heart beat fiercely in his chest, every cell alive with energy and want and need and this man, this man. When Erik pulled back, lips swollen, pupils blown, twin spots of colour on his cheek, Charles groaned and ducked his head.
"We probably need to get this inside, soon," he managed. When he glanced back up again, the smile that Erik was wearing was as nervous as it was eager. Charles reclaimed Erik's hand and dragged him inside.
Erik paused again once they were inside the door to Charles' actual apartment, standing frozen on the threshold as though on the verge of changing his mind.
"We can go elsewhere," Charles offered--quickly, far too quickly. This had never worried him before.
Erik merely shook his head. He met Charles' eye then, expression turning serious.
"Are you sure you're a professor?" he asked. Charles didn't miss the way he swallowed upon saying it. Still, Charles laughed.
"Fairly certain, yes. Why, did you think I was a student?"
He meant it as a joke--even laughed a little upon saying it--but the look that crossed Erik's face was unmistakable. Charles' eyes grew wide.
"Oh, God, you did. How did you think that? No, wait, better question; is that why we haven't done this yet?"
Because until this moment he still thought it was something he'd done or not done and the not knowing--the not being able to figure it out--was driving him crazy. To know that Erik was merely being honourable--admirable, even--was... Charles found himself smiling.
And now Erik looked more than a little distraught, so Charles closed the distance between them, reaching out to grab Erik by the waist with his uninjured hand. He pulled Erik towards him. He would have done anything in the world to remove that look from Erik's face, but part of him thrilled to learn that Erik had undoubtedly been agonizing over this--there was no mistaking that now.
"You were in my class," Erik said, as if that explained everything. He still looked hopelessly lost, but he let Charles reel him in; let his hands come up to wrap around Charles' shoulders.
"That's only because you stole all my students." When Erik frowned, Charles elaborated. "I had to cancel my Intro to Genetics course, because half my class dropped to sit in on your poetry course." He quirked a smile then, letting it grow more than a little suggestive.
To his surprise, Erik merely asked, "Is that where they all came from?" He chuckled then, like in hindsight the entire incident was comical--and Charles supposed it rather was.
"Can you blame them?" Charles asked, and because he could, he brought a hand to Erik's sternum and began tracing his fingers down. It was a shock when Erik immediately reached out to stop him.
"Anything but that," he said, squeezing Charles' hand before he released it. Charles hesitated, and then brought the hand to Erik's shoulder, tracing the line of his arm instead, watching Erik intently to ensure he had no objections.
He offered none, but his expression had grown serious again, the way he looked at Charles like nothing Charles had ever seen before. He'd seen lust--even love, of a sort--but this; this was worship, Charles fairly certain he was unworthy of the way this man looked at him. It was probably a good thing he was far too selfish a person to protest.
"You're wrong, you know," Erik said, bringing up a hand then to brush the backs of his fingers against Charles' cheek. "Anyone who would drop your class for mine is an idiot."
Charles swallowed, not entirely certain what to say to that. Apparently Erik didn't expect him to say anything, because his hand moved next to Charles' mouth, fingers tracing Charles' lips so that Charles couldn't have answered, even if he'd wanted to.
Erik stepped forward then, until he was crowded against Charles. He let his fingers dip beneath Charles' chin, tilting his head until he could fit their mouths together. This kiss was softer, more purposeful than the ones before; like Erik was seeking permission, reassurance. Charles let his lips part, which seemed to be enough to suit Erik's needs, because Erik surged into him then, kissing Charles with abandon, Charles left dizzy and light-headed under the onslaught.
When they parted, Erik's hands--shaking, oh, God, they were shaking--rested on the buttons of Charles' blazer. Erik sought Charles' gaze, asking silent permission, to which Charles could only nod.
"Why aren't you wearing a coat?" he scolded as he worked the line of buttons, Charles trembling beneath him, more aroused than he had ever been. Later he'd remember that he'd forgotten his coat in the coat check--that he hadn't even noticed it missing on their jog to his apartment--but at the moment all Charles could do was smile sheepishly, like he would never forget his coat again if he thought it might make Erik happy.
Erik, who was wearing a coat--had been all night, even the first time Charles had seen him--looked entirely too overdressed for Charles' apartment, so as soon as Erik had finished with Charles' blazer--the fabric falling to pool on Charles' worn and stained carpet--Charles reached for Erik's zipper. It was a fumbling affair, using only his non-dominant hand, and halfway through his attempt Erik chuckled and reached up to help. They finally got the zipper down, and Erik shrugged the coat off, tossing it in the direction of Charles' chair/book depository. It too ended up on the floor.
"You can't imagine how much I..." Erik said then, staring at the line of buttons on Charles' shirt. Charles let out a little laugh even as he swayed a little closer, wanting to feel Erik's heat.
"Actually..." he said with a self-deprecating chuckle. Erik glanced up then, startled. He caught Charles' gaze.
Whatever he found there seemed to be exactly what he was searching for, because he smiled, soft and relieved. He brought his hands to the buttons of Charles' shirt and slowly began undoing them.
Charles had never been undressed before. It was an overwhelming experience that left him feeling more than a little on display, but when he tried to help, Erik caught his hand and said, "Let me," like Charles could ever deny Erik anything.
Charles nodded and let his hand drop back to his side.
The unbuttoning of his shirt was an agonizingly slow process. Erik seemed enraptured by it. He had to pause when he reached the part that was tucked into Charles' pants. Charles grew dizzy with the thought of Erik unfastening them, but instead Erik began systematically pulling Charles' shirt free, starting again on the buttons as soon as it was out. When he was done with the buttons, he reached for Charles' injured hand and brought it between them.
"How long..." he began, swallowing as though incapable of speaking.
"I get more x-rays on Thursday," Charles said. Erik nodded at that, running his thumb over the backs of Charles' knuckles before he reached for Charles' cufflinks.
He unfastened one, and then the other, and then pushed the shirt over Charles' shoulders, letting it slip over his arms to join his blazer on the floor. He couldn't seem to tear his eyes from Charles' chest.
"This might be a good time to move to the bed," Charles said, sensing that Erik could probably spend several hours just standing and looking--and while Charles appreciated being admired, he was also fast approaching a state of desperateness that before now he didn't know existed.
Erik glanced up at that, seemingly startled. For a moment Charles thought to panic--because wasn't that what they were doing?--but then Erik nodded, though he caught Charles' eye and said, "Only if you're sure," like he was somehow afraid he was pushing Charles too hard.
Charles almost laughed. Instead he swayed forward, placing his hands on Erik's chest, letting his good hand stroke across the pectoral muscle it found there.
"I think I can safely assure you that I am beyond positive," he said.
Erik grinned at that, a delighted smile that Charles wanted to spend the rest of his life trying to provoke. He stepped back then, reached for the hem of his turtleneck--God, could the man wear turtlenecks--and pulled it over his head. Charles caught a brief flash of abs--oh, God, those abs--before he was entirely distracted by Erik's chest.
In fact, Erik's chest was the reason Charles missed Erik unfastening his pants. It was only luck--or rather, Charles' desire to follow the curve of Erik's body down, perhaps take in those abs a second time, that made him realize Erik was now standing in his briefs, pants around his ankles as he tried to simultaneously remove them and his shoes.
Christ, Charles had never wanted to drop to his knees more.
The problem with sleeping with Erik, Charles now realized, was that Erik was entirely too attractive for Charles to be expected to maintain any level of higher brain function. Already he wanted to throw himself at Erik and rut against his leg. It took a considerable degree of effort to not do exactly that, to instead wait for Erik to sort out the pants-shoe business, and then place a hand in the centre of Erik's chest--and he would never get over the firmness of it--and push him towards the bed. To Charles' surprise--and delight--Erik went willingly.
He climbed backwards onto Charles' bed.
Charles took a few minutes to process that.
Erik was in his bed.
It took another few minutes for Charles's brain to catch up with the situation, but once it did he scrambled to get his own trousers off, clasp particularly tricky given that he only had one working hand. Erik seemed to sense what he was trying to do, because suddenly there were another set of hands helping him--and Charles would never, ever be able to compute Erik undoing Charles' pants, so he gave up trying and simply let it happen.
He stumbled a little when they were off and he had to do his own pant-shoe battle, but eventually he managed, Erik chuckling a little as he pulled Charles down into the bed beside him.
Oh, God, Erik was in his bed.
"Is this okay?" Erik asked, running a hand across Charles' shoulder. It occurred to Charles then that Erik seemed more than a little concerned about consent.
The thought spiked something deeply uncomfortable in his stomach--something he wasn't sure if he wanted to approach just yet, so instead he said, "I absolutely want to have sex with you," and then added, "Provided you want to have sex with me."
Erik beamed at him. There was no other way to describe it. He nodded--somewhat vigorously Charles was delighted to note.
"Yeah, I definitely want that," he said, blushing slightly as he said it, and it wasn't until he spoke again that Charles understood why. "But condoms are a must." He ducked his head. "And it's been a really long time, so you'll have to be a little careful."
This last bit was said all in a rush, Erik practically whispering, like it pained him to admit as much. It took Charles a minute to work out what he was saying, and, oh. Oh. That hadn't occurred to Charles until now. He'd just assumed Erik was a top. He floundered briefly, because while he wasn't unfamiliar with topping--certainly he'd done it--it wasn't exactly something he did.
"Um..." There was really no other way to ask this. "Do you always..." Charles gestured.
Erik's eyes grew wide, as though he'd only just caught up with their conversation. Charles was painfully aware of how little space there was between them. Erik's chest was pressed against his own; their hips perfectly aligned so that Charles could feel the outline of Erik's erection nestled alongside his. Their knees brushed every time they shifted. Charles had never done this before. He'd never negotiated sex before--not the first time, anyway. It had always been a mad pulling off of clothes and then a rush towards the finish line, followed shortly by passing out or a shameful walk home.
It probably shouldn't have surprised him that in this, like in everything else, Erik was unique.
"I haven't," Erik admitted, "but I suppose I could."
He didn't exactly sound too confident about it. In fact, he sounded horrified by the prospect, and Charles wondered exactly who this ex of his was--the one he'd written about, the one Raven had told him about--that had obviously so thoroughly messed with Erik's sexuality.
For the first time in Charles' life, Charles wanted to kill someone.
Instead he said, "It doesn't matter," and pulled Erik to him, kissing Erik because if he didn't kiss Erik soon he was probably going to explode.
They could worry about the logistics of anal sex another time. Right now Charles just wanted Erik.
Erik seemed to approve of this plan, because he kissed Charles back like having spent the last ten minutes not kissing had been the most agonizing ten minutes of his life. Just having Erik against him was almost enough to send him over, Charles rocking their hips together, pressing into Erik even as Erik pressed into him, all of their earlier awkwardness vanishing as they set up a rhythm like that.
But Charles still wanted to suck him--had wanted to suck Erik pretty much from the minute he'd walked into Erik's classroom and saw him leaned against the podium and quoting Blake, like it was something Erik did all the time, over coffee or while taking out the trash.
He pulled back long enough to tell Erik as much, mumbling, "I want to suck you," into his mouth between open mouthed, wet kisses. God, Erik was easily the best kisser Charles had ever encountered.
Except, after he said it, Erik went very still, so Charles pulled back far enough to get his eyes open, taking in Erik's startled expression without fully comprehending what had caused it.
"You don't have to do that," Erik said in answer to a question Charles had apparently--not that he remembered--asked.
Charles frowned, needing a minute before he could piece together what Erik was saying. Once he did, he pulled back far enough to get up onto one elbow, leaning over Erik now like he intended to open a conversation.
Instead, he said, "I don't think a single day has gone by since we met that hasn't involved me fantasizing about sucking your cock. Why on earth would you think I considered it a chore?"
Erik seemed startled by that--he seemed startled by a lot of things, Charles was quickly learning. He sounded almost timid when he said, "You fantasize about sucking my cock?" like Charles was some kind of wonder--some miracle sent down from heaven above.
Charles grinned at him. "Pretty much constantly. May I?"
Erik, who looked decidedly flustered, gave a brief nod, which was all the encouragement Charles needed, Charles sliding down the bed to position himself between Erik's legs, Erik once again going very still, like he was half afraid breathing would disrupt this thing between them.
Charles gave him half a second to settle, and then, because he tended to be a bit of a greedy bastard, and because he was fairly certain a direct assault would work best in this instance, Charles took half a second to nuzzle his nose against Erik's balls--oh, the scent of him--and then immediately took Erik into his mouth, taking the whole of his length--not inconsiderable--down his throat, thankful then for having beaten has gag reflex into submission years ago.
Erik let out a hoarse shout that might have been a curse, or maybe an entreaty to God--though Charles rather fancied it was his name--his hips pistoning off the bed, his entire body going taut--well, tenser than it already was--as he succumbed to the sensation. Charles smiled around a mouthful of cock and hollowed his cheeks. Erik outright whimpered.
He'd sucked enough cock in his day--and by that he meant a lot of cock; probably more than was healthy--so he had enough tricks up his sleeve that it was only a matter of minutes before Erik was practically sobbing, thrashing on the sheets and begging for something that even Charles suspected he didn't understand. What he wasn't expecting--what hadn't happened before--was for Erik's reaction to so thoroughly accelerate his own. Charles was leaking onto the sheets, even as he rubbed against them, wanting so desperately to touch, and yet half afraid he'd end up coming just from this alone.
It was an impossible thing to control, though, the sight of Erik beneath him--eyes screwed tight, hands fisted in Charles' covers, body arching off the bed, hips bucking against where Charles was now holding them against the mattress, bottom lip clenched between his teeth, and beads of sweat dotting his body--so arousing that in that instance Charles was fairly certain he could have easily fucked Erik and loved it.
Loved every second of it.
He almost pulled off to suggest as much, but Erik was so far gone--so lost to the haze of his pleasure--that it was all Charles could do to squeeze Erik's base as he pulled off, Erik groaning against the loss, but Charles was experienced with this--had it down to a science--so it was only a matter of seconds before he was into and out of his bedside drawer, condom wrapper opened--Erik had insisted--and condom rolled over Erik's cock. Not a half a minute later, Charles was swallowing him back down so that he could come in Charles' mouth.
Erik's shout was unlike anything Charles had ever heard.
He spent a few dizzying minutes after basking in the knowledge that he'd just sucked off Erik Lehnsherr. That he'd just made Erik Lehnsherr come. That Erik Lehnsherr was sprawled across his mattress, looking thoroughly debauched, mouth parted as he tried to suck in enough oxygen, skin flushed from the force of his orgasm, entire body lax in that way that only a body thoroughly wrung out could look.
Charles had never felt more powerful than he did in that moment.
And then Erik opened his eyes, and looked at him, like Charles was some kind of god, and Charles had to reassess every world view he'd ever had.
"You okay?" Charles asked, even though it was painfully obvious that Erik was--certainly if the dopey smile he was wearing was any indication.
"No one's ever done that for me," Erik said, all in a rush, like he was imparting a great secret.
He rather was.
Because okay. Charles had just given Erik Lehnsherr his first blow job. He found himself smiling stupidly.
Erik returned the smile, continuing to look dazed--and more than a little happy--for several minutes, until he caught sight of Charles' erection. Then his expression grew serious again. He licked his lips, nodding like he'd just given himself a pep talk.
He pushed himself up onto his elbows then, drawing attention to the condom he was still wearing. Charles chuckled--he'd defend to his death that it was a chuckle, even though, later, Erik would tell him it was a giggle--and reached for the box of tissue next to his alarm clock. He grabbed a handful and handed them to Erik, letting him dispose of the prophylactic. When Erik was done, he glanced back to Charles' cock.
"Would you like me to?" he said, gesturing. There was something in his hesitation--however determined he sounded--that startled Charles. He moved immediately to lie on the bed at Erik's side.
When Erik remained seated, Charles reached for him and drew him down.
"I'd like to kiss you some more, if that's okay," he said, because obviously having sex with Erik was like walking into a mind field, and until Charles had a map, he didn't exactly want to make any missteps.
It was obviously the wrong thing to say, because Erik tutted, shaking his head then like Charles was being ridiculous.
"I have sucked a cock before," he said. Charles smiled.
Okay, if that was the way he was going to be.
"I leak, so you'll probably want to start with a condom," Charles said, nodding to the drawer. Erik looked surprised, like he was expecting to have to argue his case, perhaps convince Charles to let Erik suck his cock--as if that would ever need to happen.
Erik got that determined look on his face again, so Charles sighed, feigning exasperation he didn't feel, and grabbed Erik's shoulder, toppling him off balance as he reached for the drawer, so that he landed on Charles instead--and Charles took a moment to appreciate being pinned to the bed by Erik's weight before he spoke.
"We're not keeping a tally sheet. This isn't tit for tat. I like sucking cock. If you don't, it's not something you need to do. I would be just as happy with your hand. But whatever it is you're going to do, please do it, because I've been about a half a second away from coming since we walked in the door."
For as much as Charles sometimes wished that his list of past sexual partners was shorter than it actually was--a good deal shorter would have been nice--at the very least his range of experiences meant that he was very good at telling his partners what he liked and what he wanted, but more than that, he knew how to be frank when it counted. Right now, it seemed to count.
Erik seemed to take Charles' words for a challenge, because he stayed where he was, surging into Charles to seal their lips together--oh, finally--kissing Charles like Charles had wanted him to do from the onset. What surprised Charles--delighted him, really--was that the hand that slipped between them--that wrapped around Charles' cock--was strong and confident and not at all as uncertain as Charles was starting to assume Erik would always be.
As if sensing Charles' surprise, Erik smiled into the kiss. He pulled back slightly to catch Charles' eye--Charles couldn't have closed them even if someone had paid him to--asking, in a husky whisper, "Like this?"
Which was pretty much about the time that Charles gave up and came, making a sound that he would forever deny having made--a sound that surely no human had ever made--semen spilling between them, his entire world going white, Charles having half a second to feel embarrassed by how quickly it had happened before Erik moaned--moaned--and started kissing him again.
Were they perhaps ten years younger--ironically, if they were still students--he suspected Erik would have been hard again.
As it was he still rutting against Charles' leg, kissing him with abandon even as he ran his hand through the mess Charles had made of their stomachs. He seemed determined to trace patterns into it, as though wanting tactile proof that it had happened. When he eventually broke the kiss and pulled back, he was wearing that same dopey smile from before.
Charles was pretty sure his matched.
"Now what?" Erik asked, like Charles might just have all the answers in the universe.
Charles considered.
"Order food and then have another go?" he suggested.
Erik's answering grin was all teeth.
On to chapter 17
