Fic: Space Monkeys
Title: Space Monkeys
Genre: Humor, Romance, Smut
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Charles and Erik meet when they're forced to participate in a support group for mutants.
Warnings: Sex, cursing, and multiple Fight Club references. You've been warned.
"Uh... hi. My name is Warren, and I'm a ... I'm a mutant."
"Hello, Warren," the room echoes, a chorus of monotonous voices reflecting back at the dude who's sitting in the center of the room. His wings are huge, white a fluffy with feathers like an eagle, and they're blocking Charles' view of the other side of the circle. It's freezing in the empty classroom, and he wonders for the millionth time what the Hell he's doing there.
"I manifested when I was about twelve." Warren continues nervously, scratching at his shoulder blade through the roughly cut holes on the back of his shirt. "I guess I got teased a lot, but it didn't really ever get that bad, since my dad had a lot of money. But now that I'm here..." His voice cracked and he gulped down a big breath of air. "This is the first time I've ever been on my own, and it’s just kinda hard, you know?"
Charles groans inwardly and crosses his legs, letting one foot drift up to rest on the opposite thigh. Warren is bleeding self-conscious angst and neuroses, the choice emotions of the young, spoiled, and set free. It would be hilarious how melodramatic he is when he's the most eligible bachelor on campus, loved by every girl, be they mutant or human. Instead it's just sort of pathetic. Charles grits his teeth and checks his watch as the pretty-boy bursts into hiccupy tears. Manuel, the group supervisor, puts a hand on his arm and gently leads him back to his seat.
"Lets all say thank you to Warren for sharing himself with us. Okay?" He says in the soft, patronizing tones of an ex-hippie who decided to get a degree in psychology.
"Thank you, Warren." The group intones dully. Manuel grins.
"Who wants to go next? Ali?"
The bottle blonde next to Charles blows a wobbly pink bubble of gum, at the same time sending off a flurry of multi-colored sparks. "Can I just leave? I have choir practice."
Manuel smiles saccharinely. "Of course, Ali. Have fun. Be here on time next week, okay?"
"Whatever." She throws over her shoulder as she exits, her heels clacking loudly on the plastic tile floor and green sparkles popping around her heels. Across the circle a lean man raises his hand mockingly. He's well-muscled but thin, wiry, and Charles can't help but appreciate the sprawl of his body over the rickety aluminum chair.
"Can I leave, Manuel?" He drawls, his consonants clipped and vaguely foreign-sounding. "I have a hairdresser's appointment in half an hour." Sarcasm drips from every word like they've been dipped in honey.
Manuel's brows knit together and for a second his hippy-dippy peace-and-love demeanor is overshadowed with contempt and annoyance, and it's easier than usual to separate him from the college students in the surrounding circle. "No. You have to stay until the end. You know the rules- you don't show up, the dean has no choice but to expel you." He glared. "Why don't you come and share yourself with us, Erik? I'm sure the others could learn a lot from your... experiences."
Erik crosses his arms over his chest, matching Manuel's scowl with one just as imposing. "I'd really rather not."
"You really don't have a choice."
A stare-off commences. The two men are projecting hatred at each other so strongly it's giving Charles a headache. Finally Erik sighs and stands, grudgingly crossing to the middle of the circle of chairs and glaring at the assembled students. He shoots a particularly venomous look at a freshman with curly gold horns, and she looks like she's about to cry. Erik turns slowly, and his blue/green/grey eyes meet Charles, locking on like a laser sight. He smiles, all teeth.
"Hi. I'm Erik, and I'm a mutant."
"Hi, Erik." Charles breathes.
And it's all downhill from there.
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Charles is at the Bowen University Mutant Support Group because he collapsed in the middle of a lecture hall, overcome with hundreds of twenty-something voices all clamoring in his head. The school's doctors recommended that he find somewhere to talk about his problems- and then when he declined, they insisted that he find somewhere to talk about his problems. Having fainting mutants all over campus didn't exactly look good on Bowen's student care agenda.
Erik is at the Bowen University Mutant Support Group because he wrapped one of his teachers in a sheet of glittering steel that he ripped from the ceiling air ducts and left him there overnight.
"He had it coming," he shrugs as he takes a sip of the free stale coffee that always seems to be sitting in the bottom of the clear plastic pot at the support group's meetings. "He was a Holocaust denier. I figured I'd teach him a little lesson about Jewish vengeance."
"So you can manipulate metal, then." Erik nods. "You may have over-reacted slightly." Charles' words are reprimanding, but he smiles as he leans against the Formica tabletop and dumps spoonfuls of sugar into his Styrofoam cup. While the others are still moaning their self-pitying, self-loathing, angry thoughts, they've become a low whine in comparison to Erik's mind- for all his menace, he's actually quite soothing compared to the others. There's a silky thread of confidence that Charles hasn't felt in a while, and it's a refreshing change. Erik leans across the table, plucking the sugar from his hand and letting out a huff of breath against Charles' face. He smells like coffee and cigarettes and toothpaste, and even though he's stolen the sugar he doesn't move away, teeth glinting in the flickering artificial fluorescent light of the empty classroom.
"Yes, well, that's what my therapist said." His voice is low and rumbling in Charles' ear, and the telepath can't help the shiver that runs down his spine. "Anger issues. But I'm actually quite level-headed; I just don't like dealing with idiots."
Charles' hands trembles as he raises the cup to his lips, faintly aware of Manuel and the thinly veiled disapproval he's projecting at them from across the room. "You don't seem like the type to suffer fools gladly."
"I'd gladly suffer you."
"I'm not a fool."
Erik's grin widens and his eyes flash as his hand curves around the back of Charles' neck, fingers toying with the soft hair at the base of his skull. "Of course you are. You've already let me get this close to you."
Charles' cock stirs in the confines of his khakis, and it takes all the willpower he has not to buck forward and rut against Erik like an animal in heat. He gets away with letting his eyes flicker closed for a second, his breathing heavier, taking a second to get back in control. "Maybe I'm doing it on purpose. Maybe I'm seducing you so that I can knock you out and steal all our money."
"There wouldn't be much to steal." Erik quips dryly, his fingertips calloused over Charles' skin. He leans in, and for a second Charles thinks he's going to kiss him right here, in this room full of teenage mutant ninja losers. Instead his head jerks up and he moves back suddenly, his eyes shuttering closed. Charles sways a little at the loss of contact and contemplates pouting until he hears Manuel's patronizing voice behind him.
"Boys, you know the rules. No inappropriate touching between sponsors." He clicks his tongue and pushes Erik back, the shove just this side of too-rough. "Leave some room for Jesus."
"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Erik mutters under his breath. Charles' headache threatens to come back. Flashing Erik a last glare and switching to an insincere smile as he moves his gaze to Charles, Manuel breezes back to the center of the room and claps his hands in a pattern. Some of the others clap back half-heartedly, repeating the sequence. Manuel looks overjoyed.
"Okay, everybody, let's make a Circle Of Trust. Join hands and close your eyes." He stretches out his palms and grins as the girl with the horns and a surly-looking boy intertwine their fingers with his gingerly. "That's it. Remember, don't hold on too tight- this is a circle of caring, not a circle of contact. All you have to do is touch lightly."
Erik drags Charles forward and squeezes his hand so hard that his skin starts to turn white. Stifling a gasp, Charles leans against the solid weight of Erik's shoulder. They're the only two in the room with their eyes open now.
"I want everyone to take a deep breath." Manuel chants in what is supposed to be a soothing voice but comes off as more of a drone. "Take a deep breath, and try to find your ohm." He pronounces it like "Oom." Erik snickers and twitches his fingers, and the top button of Charles' shirt pops open. He gapes down at it, then back up at Erik, who smiles mischievously. The second button undoes itself.
"I want you to imagine your mutation as a ball of white light." Manuel continues, oblivious to what's going on around him. "Imagine all the pain and fear that being a mutant has caused you. Feel all the ways that being different has made your life a curse."
This is the worst motivational speech ever, Charles thinks. Erik raises and eyebrow.
I can't disagree with that. He replies, and Charles flushes.
I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was projecting. I'll stop.
Erik grips his hands tighter and releases another one of Charles buttons so that his shirt hangs open over his pale, bony chest. Don't you dare. A silver pen floats up from the coffee table and drags over Charles exposed nipple, cold and hard against his goose-pimpled flesh. He bites back a moan as Manuel says something about opening chakra gates.
You're a horrible person. Don't stop.
Erik grins. I wasn't planning to.
By the time Manuel is finishing up guiding them through the last chakra gate, Charles is a weak-kneed mess. He's panting, his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen and dark from sucking on the pen as Erik levitates it in front of his face. One of the buttons on his shirt has been completely ripped off, and his fly is gaping open.
He hasn't felt this good in weeks, but that doesn't mean he wants everyone in the room to know.
Erik, you need to fix me up. Everyone is going to open their eyes in a minute. He thinks reluctantly. Erik rakes his eyes over Charles debauched body greedily, a smile still playing at the corners of his lips.
Hm. Give me one good reason.
Charles groans. Oh come on. I don't want to play this right now.
Who said we were playing? The predatory glint in Erik's eye is turned on him, his teeth bared. It makes Charles want to throw himself on the other man like a love-starved damsel, but he's got more self-control than that. He thinks.
If you do up all my buttons, I'll make it worth your while. He projects in the most seductive voice he can, sending the thought packaged with a mental image of Erik on his knees, mouth wrapped around Charles cock. Erik groans out loud, but thankfully the other students let out a loud "Ohm!" Just as he does, drowning out the sound.
Which dorm are you in?
The Trafford building. Room 423. Come over at seven, okay? I'll be alone, my roommate spends most of his nights at the science lab, anyway. Charles grins in victory as his buttons start doing themselves up. I promise you, my friend, it'll be much more interesting than this support group.
I'm holding you to that. Erik purrs as Manuel opens his eyes, blinking at the circle of mutants. He squints at Charles and Erik for a second suspiciously, but there's nothing to incriminate them of any illicit activity- Charles runs fingers through his hair casually, smoothing it down, as Erik shoves his hands in his pockets. Manuel is a low-level empath- far below Charles' level of telepathy- and he wouldn't be able to figure out what had been going on. Even if he could read Charles' mind, all he would get right now is the mental image of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Contrary to what his little sister might say, Charles DOES have a sense of humor. It's just a weird one.
"Alright, guys, that's the end of this weeks session." Manuel claps his hands. "Same time, same place next week, okay?"
The other mutants mutter farewells and a few exchange phone numbers, shuffling out the door. Charles chances a last look back at Erik, but the taller man is already heading off down the hallway in the opposite direction.
Seven o'clock, Erik. He projects. Don't forget.
A picture flashes before his eyes suddenly and he gasps, reeling backwards. He sees himself, naked on a thin cot, cheeks flushed and cock hard and red against his stomach as he works it with a frantic hand. The image comes along with a rather smug sensation. I wouldn't miss it for the world.
Damn, he's good.
----------------------------------------------------
Charles tries to finish his homework, really he does, but every tick of the clock as the hands move towards seven is agony. All he can think of is Erik, Erik's eyes, Erik's arms, Erik's hands, Erik's voice, other parts of Erik that he hasn't seen yet but he can imagine quite vividly. He supposes it isn't healthy to be this obsessed with someone within ten hours of meeting them but then he never was normal, not really. He's pretty sure Erik has never been normal, either. They make a good pair.
There's a knock on the door and Charles nearly jumps a foot. He scrambles out of his chair, the paper he was trying and failing to write for his European history class completely forgotten. He can sense Erik's presence behind the door, the soft, heady thrum of his mind lush and intoxicating. He yanks it open and pulls Erik in by the wrist all in one motion, slamming the door behind them.
Erik's changed his clothes since the morning, now wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and a brown leather jacket against the cold of the Northeast autumn. His jeans are faded and torn and they rub against Charles' sweatpants just a tad too harshly as they press back against the wall, Erik's body covering Charles completely. He ducks his head down and kisses him deeply, fine gingery stubble scraping against Charles' clean-shaven chin and making him groan and tighten his fingers in Erik's shirt. He thrusts his tongue in demandingly as Erik shimmies out of his coat and lets it fall to the dorm room floor, messy and careless and impatient. They break off the kiss as Erik shoves a hand up Charles' vest, his huge palm pressed against the flat of Charles' belly.
"I've been thinking about this all day." Erik growls. "I probably failed my economics quiz because I was too busy daydreaming about your pretty little mouth to remember the finer points of mercantilism."
Charles grins against his lips, slipping off his shirt and pressing their chests flush to each other. "Was it worth it?"
"It sure fucking seems that way." There's a click as Erik locks the door with a flick of his wrist and then he's sliding down to his knees, tugging Charles' pants to the floor with him. Charles flushes as Erik grips at his milky white hips, pressing in his thumbs hard. There will be crescent moons marks from his nails the next day.
Erik nuzzles his thigh, breath ghosting over Charles hardening cock appreciatively. He stretches out the tip of his tongue, teasing a stripe over the shaft, and Charles fists a hand in his carefully smoothed-back hair and tugs. Erik takes the hint and opens his mouth, sliding his lips down over the head and sucking like a vacuum, his chiseled cheeks hollowed and his blue/grey eyes closed under delicate lashes.
"Fuck." Charles pants. He tries to shove his hips forward, but Erik pushes him back with those ridiculous thumbs and he lets out a choked sob instead while Erik laves his tongue over the underside of his cock. Erik does this like a pro, like a blonde and plastic porn star but a million times more gorgeous with his focused expression and the flush that spreads over his nose and cheeks the further he takes Charles into his mouth. It's good, it's really fucking good, and it takes all Charles control not to come from that alone. "Erik- Erik, stop for ten seconds and get up here."
There's an obscene wet pop as Erik obliges and Charles shivers in arousal as the cool breeze stirs around his cock, the contrast between the warm slide of Erik's mouth and the cold open air stark and unflinching. Erik replaces his mouth with a hot dry palm and strokes Charles slowly and teasingly as he plants filthy kisses all around Charles' lips. He shudders and presses against the taller man, aching for more.
"You're wearing too many clothes." Charles mutters, kicking off the sweatpants pooled around his ankles in between kisses. "It's not fair."
Life isn't fair. Erik thinks loudly. Charles realizes that they've been moving at the exact second that the backs of his thighs bump against the bed and Erik shoves him down, grabbing Charles' legs and pulling them apart to kneel in between. His fingers fumble at his belt buckle for a second before he curses and just uses his powers to undo it, slithering out through the belt loops and onto the floor. When he yanks down his jeans, Charles spends a frozen second gaping at what his wayward brain is attempting to dub "Cockzilla."
"What are you staring at?" Erik smirks, knowing damn well what Charles is staring at. Trying desperately not to fall into the obvious trap, Charles shakes his head.
"I have lube in the bottom drawer. Tell me you have a condom in your wallet."
Erik grins and produces a foil packet from his back pocket, ripping it open with his teeth. Charles rolls his eyes as he hands him the half-empty plastic bottle.
"That's really not safe, you know, you can rip the latex by doing that..."
"Shut up, Charles." Erik replies fondly before sticking a dripping finger into Charles unexpectedly. Charles keens. "You talk too much sometimes, has anyone ever told you that?"
"On occasion." Charles gulps as Erik works another finger in, pushing past the rings of muscle determinedly.
Erik presses in further, thrusting his hand roughly and scissoring, twisting, nails thankfully clipped short. "God, you're tight. I could do this all day." He suckles a red bruise onto Charles' neck, the ring of teeth glowing against his pale throat. "I'd fuck you so hard you couldn't walk. I'd make it so every time you shifted those pretty slim hips of your you'd still be able to feel my cock inside you."
"Oh God, please, yes." Charles chokes out, his fists clutching the sheets tightly. Erik laughs breathlessly and rolls on the condom, slicking himself up with a soft huff of air. And then he's pushing into Charles, the intense pleasure-pain of entrance making the smaller man give a cracked cry and arch up off the bed, his back a smooth arc over the mattress. Erik pulls out almost completely and thrusts back in, breathing heavily, his words suddenly lost. Charles can feel the other man's arousal and adrenaline rolling off him in waves and it's almost too much. He throws an arm over his eyes, whimpering.
"Hey." Erik stills for a second and flicks his hand, tugging the arm away from Charles' face using the heavy metal watch around his wrist. "None of that. I want to see you."
Charles nods once and then comes, jerking rigidly, his mouth stretched in a silent O as Erik slams back into him, hitting his prostate dead on. His cock twitches, cum spiraling in white threads over their stomachs as Erik thrusts furiously, pounding him into the aftershocks until he buries his face in Charles shoulder and grunts brokenly, his own orgasm spilling wet and warm into Charles' body.
They pant against each other for a moment, fucked-out and unmoving. Erik pulls out eventually, tying off the condom and stumbling into the bathroom to dispose of it correctly. Considerate as well as a sex god, Charles thinks, adding the detail to the list of Good Things About Erik that he's currently building in his head.
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"Charles, why don't you share yourself with the group?"
Manuel looms over Charles in the folding chair. It's making Charles' head hurt, all these minds focused on him, projecting whether they realize it or not. The one small blip of respite is Erik, sitting just across from him, scowling at Manuel viciously and simultaneously thinking sweet nothings and different methods of disembowelment for the patronizing therapist.
"Er... I'd really prefer not to." Charles inches away from Manuel a little, trying to escape his leer. Manuel just claps his hands in front of the younger man's face, making him wince.
"Too bad, Charles. You're the only person who hasn't talked yet today- I'm afraid you aren't going to get out of this without sharing." He grins, crooked teeth dull under the fluorescent lights. "Why don't you tell us why you're here?"
Charles shakes his head in resignation. "Fine. Whatever. I'm Charles, and I'm a mutant."
"Hi, Charles."
"I'm here because I'm a telepath. I'm a freshman and I've never been around this many people before, so it was a little overwhelming and I passed out once." He doesn't want to be thinking about this- he wants to be thinking about his classes, or the DVDs of Monty Python Erik is coming over to watch later tonight with promises of Chinese takeout, or the things that they're going to do afterward, skin and teeth and smiles. He doesn't want to be sharing his personal details with a group of strangers and a pushy ex-hippy with an internet degree in abnormal psychology.
Speak of the devil; Manuel slaps a hand down on Charles shoulder hard, the smack resonating in the spacious room. A surge of angerjealousypossessionMINE strikes out from Erik, his blue/grey eyes narrowing dangerously. Manuel doesn't notice. "So how does that make you feel, Charles?"
"Uh... fine, I guess. I mean, it sucked at the time, but my control has gotten a lot better since then." He tries to pry Manuel's hand off his shoulder. "Could you stop touching me, please?"
"You don't feel ashamed?" Manuel pries, ignoring him. "You don't feel like your mutation has ruined your life, that it's made things so much worse for you? You must feel something like that, Charles, some sort of shame for being different." Manuel leans forward. "You don't feel like your mutation is something you need to work on hiding? Because that's what we're trying to do, here: to help you be normal, to assimilate."
Something in Charles snaps. He stands up suddenly, the chair falling over with a clatter.
"No!" He shouts. "You know what? I LIKE being a mutant, okay? I like knowing what people are thinking. Sure it's a pain in the arse sometimes, but let me tell you, it's worth it a thousand times over when HE-" He gestures to Erik wildly, raising an amused crow of laughter from the other man, "-Is fucking me into the mattress, and I know EXACTLY what he's feeling."
There's a scandalized gasp from the collected mutants. The girl with the golden horns looks like she's going to cry again. Warren's feathers are standing up on end. Manuel is flushing pink, red, purple.
"That's enough, Mr. Xavier!" He shouts, livid. "That is inappropriate conduct for this environment! I will not have you making a farce of this support group!"
Erik snorts. "Like it isn't already?" Manuel turns on him, spittle flying from his lips.
"Shut up, Lensherr!" He roars. Erik just laughs and stands up, wrapping an arm around Charles' waist and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.
"I think it's time for us to leave."
Charles glares at Manuel. "Yes, I rather think it is."
"No!" The therapist grabs Charles by the wrist, dragging him back. He stumbles over the coffee table and sends Styrofoam cups scattering over the floor. "Get back here this instant!"
Charles meets his gaze, blue eyes cold. "I can make you spend the rest of your life thinking you're a hamster." He says, voice dangerously calm and smooth. Manuel's eyes widen suddenly and he lets go, consumed with the urge to gorge on sunflower seeds and run on a giant plastic wheel for hours at a time. "Be glad you're just getting away with the temporary version."
Manuel squeaks and drops to the floor, sniffing at Warren's toes. Charles and Erik make it to the hallway, arm in arm, before Erik bursts out into hysterical laughter. Charles turns to him, one eyebrow raised.
"You met me at a very strange time in my life." He says. Erik bends down and kisses him deeply, grinning against his lips.
"Oh, my dear," He murmurs, "I wouldn't have you any other way."
Genre: Humor, Romance, Smut
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Charles and Erik meet when they're forced to participate in a support group for mutants.
Warnings: Sex, cursing, and multiple Fight Club references. You've been warned.
"Uh... hi. My name is Warren, and I'm a ... I'm a mutant."
"Hello, Warren," the room echoes, a chorus of monotonous voices reflecting back at the dude who's sitting in the center of the room. His wings are huge, white a fluffy with feathers like an eagle, and they're blocking Charles' view of the other side of the circle. It's freezing in the empty classroom, and he wonders for the millionth time what the Hell he's doing there.
"I manifested when I was about twelve." Warren continues nervously, scratching at his shoulder blade through the roughly cut holes on the back of his shirt. "I guess I got teased a lot, but it didn't really ever get that bad, since my dad had a lot of money. But now that I'm here..." His voice cracked and he gulped down a big breath of air. "This is the first time I've ever been on my own, and it’s just kinda hard, you know?"
Charles groans inwardly and crosses his legs, letting one foot drift up to rest on the opposite thigh. Warren is bleeding self-conscious angst and neuroses, the choice emotions of the young, spoiled, and set free. It would be hilarious how melodramatic he is when he's the most eligible bachelor on campus, loved by every girl, be they mutant or human. Instead it's just sort of pathetic. Charles grits his teeth and checks his watch as the pretty-boy bursts into hiccupy tears. Manuel, the group supervisor, puts a hand on his arm and gently leads him back to his seat.
"Lets all say thank you to Warren for sharing himself with us. Okay?" He says in the soft, patronizing tones of an ex-hippie who decided to get a degree in psychology.
"Thank you, Warren." The group intones dully. Manuel grins.
"Who wants to go next? Ali?"
The bottle blonde next to Charles blows a wobbly pink bubble of gum, at the same time sending off a flurry of multi-colored sparks. "Can I just leave? I have choir practice."
Manuel smiles saccharinely. "Of course, Ali. Have fun. Be here on time next week, okay?"
"Whatever." She throws over her shoulder as she exits, her heels clacking loudly on the plastic tile floor and green sparkles popping around her heels. Across the circle a lean man raises his hand mockingly. He's well-muscled but thin, wiry, and Charles can't help but appreciate the sprawl of his body over the rickety aluminum chair.
"Can I leave, Manuel?" He drawls, his consonants clipped and vaguely foreign-sounding. "I have a hairdresser's appointment in half an hour." Sarcasm drips from every word like they've been dipped in honey.
Manuel's brows knit together and for a second his hippy-dippy peace-and-love demeanor is overshadowed with contempt and annoyance, and it's easier than usual to separate him from the college students in the surrounding circle. "No. You have to stay until the end. You know the rules- you don't show up, the dean has no choice but to expel you." He glared. "Why don't you come and share yourself with us, Erik? I'm sure the others could learn a lot from your... experiences."
Erik crosses his arms over his chest, matching Manuel's scowl with one just as imposing. "I'd really rather not."
"You really don't have a choice."
A stare-off commences. The two men are projecting hatred at each other so strongly it's giving Charles a headache. Finally Erik sighs and stands, grudgingly crossing to the middle of the circle of chairs and glaring at the assembled students. He shoots a particularly venomous look at a freshman with curly gold horns, and she looks like she's about to cry. Erik turns slowly, and his blue/green/grey eyes meet Charles, locking on like a laser sight. He smiles, all teeth.
"Hi. I'm Erik, and I'm a mutant."
"Hi, Erik." Charles breathes.
And it's all downhill from there.
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Charles is at the Bowen University Mutant Support Group because he collapsed in the middle of a lecture hall, overcome with hundreds of twenty-something voices all clamoring in his head. The school's doctors recommended that he find somewhere to talk about his problems- and then when he declined, they insisted that he find somewhere to talk about his problems. Having fainting mutants all over campus didn't exactly look good on Bowen's student care agenda.
Erik is at the Bowen University Mutant Support Group because he wrapped one of his teachers in a sheet of glittering steel that he ripped from the ceiling air ducts and left him there overnight.
"He had it coming," he shrugs as he takes a sip of the free stale coffee that always seems to be sitting in the bottom of the clear plastic pot at the support group's meetings. "He was a Holocaust denier. I figured I'd teach him a little lesson about Jewish vengeance."
"So you can manipulate metal, then." Erik nods. "You may have over-reacted slightly." Charles' words are reprimanding, but he smiles as he leans against the Formica tabletop and dumps spoonfuls of sugar into his Styrofoam cup. While the others are still moaning their self-pitying, self-loathing, angry thoughts, they've become a low whine in comparison to Erik's mind- for all his menace, he's actually quite soothing compared to the others. There's a silky thread of confidence that Charles hasn't felt in a while, and it's a refreshing change. Erik leans across the table, plucking the sugar from his hand and letting out a huff of breath against Charles' face. He smells like coffee and cigarettes and toothpaste, and even though he's stolen the sugar he doesn't move away, teeth glinting in the flickering artificial fluorescent light of the empty classroom.
"Yes, well, that's what my therapist said." His voice is low and rumbling in Charles' ear, and the telepath can't help the shiver that runs down his spine. "Anger issues. But I'm actually quite level-headed; I just don't like dealing with idiots."
Charles' hands trembles as he raises the cup to his lips, faintly aware of Manuel and the thinly veiled disapproval he's projecting at them from across the room. "You don't seem like the type to suffer fools gladly."
"I'd gladly suffer you."
"I'm not a fool."
Erik's grin widens and his eyes flash as his hand curves around the back of Charles' neck, fingers toying with the soft hair at the base of his skull. "Of course you are. You've already let me get this close to you."
Charles' cock stirs in the confines of his khakis, and it takes all the willpower he has not to buck forward and rut against Erik like an animal in heat. He gets away with letting his eyes flicker closed for a second, his breathing heavier, taking a second to get back in control. "Maybe I'm doing it on purpose. Maybe I'm seducing you so that I can knock you out and steal all our money."
"There wouldn't be much to steal." Erik quips dryly, his fingertips calloused over Charles' skin. He leans in, and for a second Charles thinks he's going to kiss him right here, in this room full of teenage mutant ninja losers. Instead his head jerks up and he moves back suddenly, his eyes shuttering closed. Charles sways a little at the loss of contact and contemplates pouting until he hears Manuel's patronizing voice behind him.
"Boys, you know the rules. No inappropriate touching between sponsors." He clicks his tongue and pushes Erik back, the shove just this side of too-rough. "Leave some room for Jesus."
"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Erik mutters under his breath. Charles' headache threatens to come back. Flashing Erik a last glare and switching to an insincere smile as he moves his gaze to Charles, Manuel breezes back to the center of the room and claps his hands in a pattern. Some of the others clap back half-heartedly, repeating the sequence. Manuel looks overjoyed.
"Okay, everybody, let's make a Circle Of Trust. Join hands and close your eyes." He stretches out his palms and grins as the girl with the horns and a surly-looking boy intertwine their fingers with his gingerly. "That's it. Remember, don't hold on too tight- this is a circle of caring, not a circle of contact. All you have to do is touch lightly."
Erik drags Charles forward and squeezes his hand so hard that his skin starts to turn white. Stifling a gasp, Charles leans against the solid weight of Erik's shoulder. They're the only two in the room with their eyes open now.
"I want everyone to take a deep breath." Manuel chants in what is supposed to be a soothing voice but comes off as more of a drone. "Take a deep breath, and try to find your ohm." He pronounces it like "Oom." Erik snickers and twitches his fingers, and the top button of Charles' shirt pops open. He gapes down at it, then back up at Erik, who smiles mischievously. The second button undoes itself.
"I want you to imagine your mutation as a ball of white light." Manuel continues, oblivious to what's going on around him. "Imagine all the pain and fear that being a mutant has caused you. Feel all the ways that being different has made your life a curse."
This is the worst motivational speech ever, Charles thinks. Erik raises and eyebrow.
I can't disagree with that. He replies, and Charles flushes.
I'm sorry, I didn't realize I was projecting. I'll stop.
Erik grips his hands tighter and releases another one of Charles buttons so that his shirt hangs open over his pale, bony chest. Don't you dare. A silver pen floats up from the coffee table and drags over Charles exposed nipple, cold and hard against his goose-pimpled flesh. He bites back a moan as Manuel says something about opening chakra gates.
You're a horrible person. Don't stop.
Erik grins. I wasn't planning to.
By the time Manuel is finishing up guiding them through the last chakra gate, Charles is a weak-kneed mess. He's panting, his cheeks flushed, his lips swollen and dark from sucking on the pen as Erik levitates it in front of his face. One of the buttons on his shirt has been completely ripped off, and his fly is gaping open.
He hasn't felt this good in weeks, but that doesn't mean he wants everyone in the room to know.
Erik, you need to fix me up. Everyone is going to open their eyes in a minute. He thinks reluctantly. Erik rakes his eyes over Charles debauched body greedily, a smile still playing at the corners of his lips.
Hm. Give me one good reason.
Charles groans. Oh come on. I don't want to play this right now.
Who said we were playing? The predatory glint in Erik's eye is turned on him, his teeth bared. It makes Charles want to throw himself on the other man like a love-starved damsel, but he's got more self-control than that. He thinks.
If you do up all my buttons, I'll make it worth your while. He projects in the most seductive voice he can, sending the thought packaged with a mental image of Erik on his knees, mouth wrapped around Charles cock. Erik groans out loud, but thankfully the other students let out a loud "Ohm!" Just as he does, drowning out the sound.
Which dorm are you in?
The Trafford building. Room 423. Come over at seven, okay? I'll be alone, my roommate spends most of his nights at the science lab, anyway. Charles grins in victory as his buttons start doing themselves up. I promise you, my friend, it'll be much more interesting than this support group.
I'm holding you to that. Erik purrs as Manuel opens his eyes, blinking at the circle of mutants. He squints at Charles and Erik for a second suspiciously, but there's nothing to incriminate them of any illicit activity- Charles runs fingers through his hair casually, smoothing it down, as Erik shoves his hands in his pockets. Manuel is a low-level empath- far below Charles' level of telepathy- and he wouldn't be able to figure out what had been going on. Even if he could read Charles' mind, all he would get right now is the mental image of the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man. Contrary to what his little sister might say, Charles DOES have a sense of humor. It's just a weird one.
"Alright, guys, that's the end of this weeks session." Manuel claps his hands. "Same time, same place next week, okay?"
The other mutants mutter farewells and a few exchange phone numbers, shuffling out the door. Charles chances a last look back at Erik, but the taller man is already heading off down the hallway in the opposite direction.
Seven o'clock, Erik. He projects. Don't forget.
A picture flashes before his eyes suddenly and he gasps, reeling backwards. He sees himself, naked on a thin cot, cheeks flushed and cock hard and red against his stomach as he works it with a frantic hand. The image comes along with a rather smug sensation. I wouldn't miss it for the world.
Damn, he's good.
----------------------------------------------------
Charles tries to finish his homework, really he does, but every tick of the clock as the hands move towards seven is agony. All he can think of is Erik, Erik's eyes, Erik's arms, Erik's hands, Erik's voice, other parts of Erik that he hasn't seen yet but he can imagine quite vividly. He supposes it isn't healthy to be this obsessed with someone within ten hours of meeting them but then he never was normal, not really. He's pretty sure Erik has never been normal, either. They make a good pair.
There's a knock on the door and Charles nearly jumps a foot. He scrambles out of his chair, the paper he was trying and failing to write for his European history class completely forgotten. He can sense Erik's presence behind the door, the soft, heady thrum of his mind lush and intoxicating. He yanks it open and pulls Erik in by the wrist all in one motion, slamming the door behind them.
Erik's changed his clothes since the morning, now wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt and a brown leather jacket against the cold of the Northeast autumn. His jeans are faded and torn and they rub against Charles' sweatpants just a tad too harshly as they press back against the wall, Erik's body covering Charles completely. He ducks his head down and kisses him deeply, fine gingery stubble scraping against Charles' clean-shaven chin and making him groan and tighten his fingers in Erik's shirt. He thrusts his tongue in demandingly as Erik shimmies out of his coat and lets it fall to the dorm room floor, messy and careless and impatient. They break off the kiss as Erik shoves a hand up Charles' vest, his huge palm pressed against the flat of Charles' belly.
"I've been thinking about this all day." Erik growls. "I probably failed my economics quiz because I was too busy daydreaming about your pretty little mouth to remember the finer points of mercantilism."
Charles grins against his lips, slipping off his shirt and pressing their chests flush to each other. "Was it worth it?"
"It sure fucking seems that way." There's a click as Erik locks the door with a flick of his wrist and then he's sliding down to his knees, tugging Charles' pants to the floor with him. Charles flushes as Erik grips at his milky white hips, pressing in his thumbs hard. There will be crescent moons marks from his nails the next day.
Erik nuzzles his thigh, breath ghosting over Charles hardening cock appreciatively. He stretches out the tip of his tongue, teasing a stripe over the shaft, and Charles fists a hand in his carefully smoothed-back hair and tugs. Erik takes the hint and opens his mouth, sliding his lips down over the head and sucking like a vacuum, his chiseled cheeks hollowed and his blue/grey eyes closed under delicate lashes.
"Fuck." Charles pants. He tries to shove his hips forward, but Erik pushes him back with those ridiculous thumbs and he lets out a choked sob instead while Erik laves his tongue over the underside of his cock. Erik does this like a pro, like a blonde and plastic porn star but a million times more gorgeous with his focused expression and the flush that spreads over his nose and cheeks the further he takes Charles into his mouth. It's good, it's really fucking good, and it takes all Charles control not to come from that alone. "Erik- Erik, stop for ten seconds and get up here."
There's an obscene wet pop as Erik obliges and Charles shivers in arousal as the cool breeze stirs around his cock, the contrast between the warm slide of Erik's mouth and the cold open air stark and unflinching. Erik replaces his mouth with a hot dry palm and strokes Charles slowly and teasingly as he plants filthy kisses all around Charles' lips. He shudders and presses against the taller man, aching for more.
"You're wearing too many clothes." Charles mutters, kicking off the sweatpants pooled around his ankles in between kisses. "It's not fair."
Life isn't fair. Erik thinks loudly. Charles realizes that they've been moving at the exact second that the backs of his thighs bump against the bed and Erik shoves him down, grabbing Charles' legs and pulling them apart to kneel in between. His fingers fumble at his belt buckle for a second before he curses and just uses his powers to undo it, slithering out through the belt loops and onto the floor. When he yanks down his jeans, Charles spends a frozen second gaping at what his wayward brain is attempting to dub "Cockzilla."
"What are you staring at?" Erik smirks, knowing damn well what Charles is staring at. Trying desperately not to fall into the obvious trap, Charles shakes his head.
"I have lube in the bottom drawer. Tell me you have a condom in your wallet."
Erik grins and produces a foil packet from his back pocket, ripping it open with his teeth. Charles rolls his eyes as he hands him the half-empty plastic bottle.
"That's really not safe, you know, you can rip the latex by doing that..."
"Shut up, Charles." Erik replies fondly before sticking a dripping finger into Charles unexpectedly. Charles keens. "You talk too much sometimes, has anyone ever told you that?"
"On occasion." Charles gulps as Erik works another finger in, pushing past the rings of muscle determinedly.
Erik presses in further, thrusting his hand roughly and scissoring, twisting, nails thankfully clipped short. "God, you're tight. I could do this all day." He suckles a red bruise onto Charles' neck, the ring of teeth glowing against his pale throat. "I'd fuck you so hard you couldn't walk. I'd make it so every time you shifted those pretty slim hips of your you'd still be able to feel my cock inside you."
"Oh God, please, yes." Charles chokes out, his fists clutching the sheets tightly. Erik laughs breathlessly and rolls on the condom, slicking himself up with a soft huff of air. And then he's pushing into Charles, the intense pleasure-pain of entrance making the smaller man give a cracked cry and arch up off the bed, his back a smooth arc over the mattress. Erik pulls out almost completely and thrusts back in, breathing heavily, his words suddenly lost. Charles can feel the other man's arousal and adrenaline rolling off him in waves and it's almost too much. He throws an arm over his eyes, whimpering.
"Hey." Erik stills for a second and flicks his hand, tugging the arm away from Charles' face using the heavy metal watch around his wrist. "None of that. I want to see you."
Charles nods once and then comes, jerking rigidly, his mouth stretched in a silent O as Erik slams back into him, hitting his prostate dead on. His cock twitches, cum spiraling in white threads over their stomachs as Erik thrusts furiously, pounding him into the aftershocks until he buries his face in Charles shoulder and grunts brokenly, his own orgasm spilling wet and warm into Charles' body.
They pant against each other for a moment, fucked-out and unmoving. Erik pulls out eventually, tying off the condom and stumbling into the bathroom to dispose of it correctly. Considerate as well as a sex god, Charles thinks, adding the detail to the list of Good Things About Erik that he's currently building in his head.
--------------------------------------------------------------
"Charles, why don't you share yourself with the group?"
Manuel looms over Charles in the folding chair. It's making Charles' head hurt, all these minds focused on him, projecting whether they realize it or not. The one small blip of respite is Erik, sitting just across from him, scowling at Manuel viciously and simultaneously thinking sweet nothings and different methods of disembowelment for the patronizing therapist.
"Er... I'd really prefer not to." Charles inches away from Manuel a little, trying to escape his leer. Manuel just claps his hands in front of the younger man's face, making him wince.
"Too bad, Charles. You're the only person who hasn't talked yet today- I'm afraid you aren't going to get out of this without sharing." He grins, crooked teeth dull under the fluorescent lights. "Why don't you tell us why you're here?"
Charles shakes his head in resignation. "Fine. Whatever. I'm Charles, and I'm a mutant."
"Hi, Charles."
"I'm here because I'm a telepath. I'm a freshman and I've never been around this many people before, so it was a little overwhelming and I passed out once." He doesn't want to be thinking about this- he wants to be thinking about his classes, or the DVDs of Monty Python Erik is coming over to watch later tonight with promises of Chinese takeout, or the things that they're going to do afterward, skin and teeth and smiles. He doesn't want to be sharing his personal details with a group of strangers and a pushy ex-hippy with an internet degree in abnormal psychology.
Speak of the devil; Manuel slaps a hand down on Charles shoulder hard, the smack resonating in the spacious room. A surge of angerjealousypossessionMINE strikes out from Erik, his blue/grey eyes narrowing dangerously. Manuel doesn't notice. "So how does that make you feel, Charles?"
"Uh... fine, I guess. I mean, it sucked at the time, but my control has gotten a lot better since then." He tries to pry Manuel's hand off his shoulder. "Could you stop touching me, please?"
"You don't feel ashamed?" Manuel pries, ignoring him. "You don't feel like your mutation has ruined your life, that it's made things so much worse for you? You must feel something like that, Charles, some sort of shame for being different." Manuel leans forward. "You don't feel like your mutation is something you need to work on hiding? Because that's what we're trying to do, here: to help you be normal, to assimilate."
Something in Charles snaps. He stands up suddenly, the chair falling over with a clatter.
"No!" He shouts. "You know what? I LIKE being a mutant, okay? I like knowing what people are thinking. Sure it's a pain in the arse sometimes, but let me tell you, it's worth it a thousand times over when HE-" He gestures to Erik wildly, raising an amused crow of laughter from the other man, "-Is fucking me into the mattress, and I know EXACTLY what he's feeling."
There's a scandalized gasp from the collected mutants. The girl with the golden horns looks like she's going to cry again. Warren's feathers are standing up on end. Manuel is flushing pink, red, purple.
"That's enough, Mr. Xavier!" He shouts, livid. "That is inappropriate conduct for this environment! I will not have you making a farce of this support group!"
Erik snorts. "Like it isn't already?" Manuel turns on him, spittle flying from his lips.
"Shut up, Lensherr!" He roars. Erik just laughs and stands up, wrapping an arm around Charles' waist and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.
"I think it's time for us to leave."
Charles glares at Manuel. "Yes, I rather think it is."
"No!" The therapist grabs Charles by the wrist, dragging him back. He stumbles over the coffee table and sends Styrofoam cups scattering over the floor. "Get back here this instant!"
Charles meets his gaze, blue eyes cold. "I can make you spend the rest of your life thinking you're a hamster." He says, voice dangerously calm and smooth. Manuel's eyes widen suddenly and he lets go, consumed with the urge to gorge on sunflower seeds and run on a giant plastic wheel for hours at a time. "Be glad you're just getting away with the temporary version."
Manuel squeaks and drops to the floor, sniffing at Warren's toes. Charles and Erik make it to the hallway, arm in arm, before Erik bursts out into hysterical laughter. Charles turns to him, one eyebrow raised.
"You met me at a very strange time in my life." He says. Erik bends down and kisses him deeply, grinning against his lips.
"Oh, my dear," He murmurs, "I wouldn't have you any other way."