FIC: can't stop feeling | x-men: first class/good omens; charles/erik, aziraphale/crowley
Title: Can't Stop Feeling
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Charles/Erik, Crowley/Aziraphale
Warnings: Voyeurism
Summary: "For some reason Charles can't read minds of these two gentlemen but he's convinced that they're also mutants and gay."
A/N: For this prompt at 1stclass_kink .
--
They were wandering through some of the seedier parts of London after a monumentally unsuccessful attempt at recruiting (“It seemed like a good idea to get him drunk at the time,” protested Charles, whom Erik felt was not taking this seriously), when Charles stopped dead in his tracks in front of a darkened bookshop, causing Erik to bump into him. Erik opened his mouth to demand an explanation when he saw Charles adopt his trademark stance, fingers to the temple.
“Well?” he inquired, after a long moment.
“It . . . appears as if there’s no one there,” Charles responded, sounding puzzled.
Glancing at the door, which held a very emphatic ‘CLOSED’ sign, Erik shrugged one shoulder. “Yes?”
“But I could have sworn I felt someone - something - and - oh, Erik,” Charles murmured in a voice that Erik refused to admit thrilled him, “it was strong. Let’s go inside!”
Erik had been nodding, and he nodded through the last bit as well before realizing - “Wait, what?” Not that he had anything in particular against breaking and entering; he’d done it enough, but what possible purpose could this serve.
“Aren’t you in the least bit curious?” Charles demanded breathlessly. And when he put it like that - with his eyes wide and his lips ruddy - Erik couldn’t help but be.
The door was locked, but Charles just looked at Erik, who, rolling his eyes, twisted the doorknob off and pushed the door open, simple as that. Erik, who had expected to be impressed, was confronted instead by a dank and dusty shop with books piled to the ceilings, tens, even hundreds of Bibles and a peculiarly large number of Wilde volumes. Disillusioned by adventure, he glanced at Charles, hoping that he’d get bored and they can go -
But Charles’s eyes were wide, his lips were redder, and his breath was coming fast. “Can’t you feel it?” he whispered, one eyelid twitching as he concentrated. His hand fell to his side, trembling.
It came on like waves before a storm, lapping softly at the edges of Erik’s consciousness: an overwhelming current of good feeling, something like what Erik imagined bliss would be like. Although he had not given consent for anything but a suspicious scowl, Erik felt his face melt into a soft smile. There was nowhere he wanted to be other than here, no one he’d rather be standing next to than Charles Xavier.
And beneath it all there was something else, something quick and jumping and just a bit desperate, that made Erik’s pulse quicken and his eyes slip closed, just for a second. He knew it, of course.
It was lust.
Charles’s hand, palm clammy, found his own, and slowly they walked towards the back room, drawn like magnets. As they walked they drew closer to one another, not out of fear but out of need. Erik’s hand wrapped around Charles’s waist, petting his hip gently, as Charles’s fingers twisted in Erik’s hair. Every square inch of skin sang out at the tension, until they turned the corner and saw -
“Oh god,” whispered Charles, eyes shining wide in awe, licking his lips, his lips, his mouth -
Erik couldn’t say what they were, but he knew they weren’t human - not the way the dark one with the sunglasses was twisting, writhing, not with the words he was saying, neither English nor German nor any language Erik had ever heard, deep and hissing and old. Erik knew in his soul that the man fucking him was older than time; he was undone and desperate but his entire body knew his counterparts, the places he wanted to be touched, the ways in which he wanted to be fucked.
In this case, hard. Fast. And dirty, bent over a desk and rutting like mad, the occasional English word foul and grunted. They were so beautiful, Erik thought through a haze, not physically beautiful but creating beauty - and yet -
The feelings were coming from them, it was so obvious now. They were so powerful that they were projecting over the entire block. They couldn’t help it. Everyone in the area must be copulating like animals, thought Erik, and I - and Charles - are in the eye of the storm.
An image shot at him: Charles bent over the desk in the place of the dark one, biting at his own fingers, Erik gasping and holding his shoulder down with one strong hand, fisting his cock and pushing in and out with alternating slow-fast-slow brutally hard strokes. His throat went dry, his cock - how long had he been hard for? - it ached, and when he looked at Charles, he was, well, he was a picture.
A high flush flew like a flag on Charles’s cheekbones, telling Erik exactly where that image had come from. There was a dark spot on the front of his pants that proved that, yes, Charles lusted as well, he watched and he lusted and he coveted. His pupils were blown, he was loosening his tie, and overall he looked thoroughly debauched.
Not enough, thought Erik feverishly, surely I can do better. Worse. Oh god, better.
“Erik,” said Charles, “please,” and Erik couldn’t resist. He wanted to run his hands over every inch of Charles’s skin, expose, taste, and mark him - and he would, he resolved as his shaking hands unbuttoned Charles’s shirt.
Out of the corner of his eye Erik saw the two twisting, the dark one’s head pulled back by the hair as the other bit his neck savagely. They were close. Erik knew, because his knees were weak and Charles’s eyes were rolling.
When they kissed, Charles shook, and when Erik pressed his tongue into Charles’s mouth, fucking his lips gently, Charles spasmed, back arching.
“Did you just - “ Erik gasped into his mouth.
The man on top cried out, burying his face in the dark one’s hair.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Charles panted, “do it again, don’t bloody stop.”
And Erik pressed him to the wall, marveling distantly at how easy it was to overpower him; pressed his hips to Charles’s, rocked in the rhythm of the two fucking behind Charles’s head. Feverishly, he sucked on his fingers, reached down the back of Charles’s pants, and stroked desperately at the cleft of his arse.
Charles bucked again, once, twice, Erik felt him screaming in his head, and then nothing and everything happened as he came in his pants - Charles came, pressing back against Erik’s fingers - and they came, too, with a brief silent flash of light and then - silence.
Erik looked at Charles. Charles looked at Erik, panting. Erik withdrew his hand from Charles’s backside.
Euphoria passed, and Erik felt a distant terror. Turning to look at the two, he was just in time to see them zip up without giving any impression of discomfort or embarrassment. They looked him straight in the eye, then looked at Charles, then at each other.
“You know,” said the first one, the one who’d been on top, “it’s terrible rude to break down someone’s door like that.”
“I didn’t break it down,” Erik corrected before he could think to stop himself, “I only - “
The dark one lifted an eyebrow, and suddenly Erik felt very much like a guilty child.
It was then that Charles chose to be British. “Terribly sorry,” he squeaked out, trying to stand as normally as he could with his trousers full of come. “We thought - well, I thought I felt something, and you see, we’re looking for people to join us, and - “
“They don’t want to join, Charles,” Erik said in a monotone.
“Oh.” Charles faltered. “Er.”
The two exchanged another look. “I feel almost as though we should take pity on them, Aziraphale,” the dark one said.
“They broke my door,” the one called Aziraphale said peevishly. “It’ll cost - well, it’ll cost money to get it fixed, anyway.”
“You really have gone tremendously native,” said the other one, affection in his tone. “Well, it wasn’t them, it was him - “ He pointed at Erik. “ - and you can’t harm him anyway, I think he’s one of mine. Besides, it wouldn’t be sporting, considering . . . “ For a moment he looked sad. “Things,” he finished.
“Really?” Aziraphale looked puzzled. “I was sure he was one of mine, my dear.”
“Excuse me,” Erik drawled. “We’re not any of yours. Thanks.”
The dark one tilted his glasses down, and Erik couldn’t help but take a step back. Snake eyes.
This man - “You’re not a mutant,” he whispered, “are you?”
“Listen,” said the man with the yellow eyes, “Erik, you seem like a nice kid - “
“ - mostly - “ muttered Aziraphale.
“ - mostly, yes, but really, talking back with come all down your trousers is not best form. Try again later, perhaps?”
Erik realizes that Charles is still gripping his hand. He tries to say, “You can’t hurt us,” but it comes out small: “You mustn’t hurt us,” and Charles squeezes his hand tight.
“No, that’s true.” Aziraphale looks at the other one. “Crowley, we mustn’t.”
Rolling his eyes, Crowley pushes his sunglasses back up his nose. “Right,” he says, “bugger off then.”
“And I hope you’ve learned something about yourselves today!” Aziraphale calls after them loftily.
They scuttle out into the bright sunlight, stepping awkwardly. As the door slams closed with finality behind them, they avoid each other’s eyes.
“I don’t know what came over me,” Charles muttered, raising a hand to his still-sweaty forehead.
“I do,” said Erik, and takes his hand again. Charles looks at him and smiles, a smile that would make the sun come out if it wasn’t already beating down on them.
They go home and don’t tell anyone. What would they say? But Charles comes shyly to Erik’s bed that night, and as time ticks away they spend it exploring each other. After all, they did learn a few things.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Charles/Erik, Crowley/Aziraphale
Warnings: Voyeurism
Summary: "For some reason Charles can't read minds of these two gentlemen but he's convinced that they're also mutants and gay."
A/N: For this prompt at 1stclass_kink .
--
They were wandering through some of the seedier parts of London after a monumentally unsuccessful attempt at recruiting (“It seemed like a good idea to get him drunk at the time,” protested Charles, whom Erik felt was not taking this seriously), when Charles stopped dead in his tracks in front of a darkened bookshop, causing Erik to bump into him. Erik opened his mouth to demand an explanation when he saw Charles adopt his trademark stance, fingers to the temple.
“Well?” he inquired, after a long moment.
“It . . . appears as if there’s no one there,” Charles responded, sounding puzzled.
Glancing at the door, which held a very emphatic ‘CLOSED’ sign, Erik shrugged one shoulder. “Yes?”
“But I could have sworn I felt someone - something - and - oh, Erik,” Charles murmured in a voice that Erik refused to admit thrilled him, “it was strong. Let’s go inside!”
Erik had been nodding, and he nodded through the last bit as well before realizing - “Wait, what?” Not that he had anything in particular against breaking and entering; he’d done it enough, but what possible purpose could this serve.
“Aren’t you in the least bit curious?” Charles demanded breathlessly. And when he put it like that - with his eyes wide and his lips ruddy - Erik couldn’t help but be.
The door was locked, but Charles just looked at Erik, who, rolling his eyes, twisted the doorknob off and pushed the door open, simple as that. Erik, who had expected to be impressed, was confronted instead by a dank and dusty shop with books piled to the ceilings, tens, even hundreds of Bibles and a peculiarly large number of Wilde volumes. Disillusioned by adventure, he glanced at Charles, hoping that he’d get bored and they can go -
But Charles’s eyes were wide, his lips were redder, and his breath was coming fast. “Can’t you feel it?” he whispered, one eyelid twitching as he concentrated. His hand fell to his side, trembling.
It came on like waves before a storm, lapping softly at the edges of Erik’s consciousness: an overwhelming current of good feeling, something like what Erik imagined bliss would be like. Although he had not given consent for anything but a suspicious scowl, Erik felt his face melt into a soft smile. There was nowhere he wanted to be other than here, no one he’d rather be standing next to than Charles Xavier.
And beneath it all there was something else, something quick and jumping and just a bit desperate, that made Erik’s pulse quicken and his eyes slip closed, just for a second. He knew it, of course.
It was lust.
Charles’s hand, palm clammy, found his own, and slowly they walked towards the back room, drawn like magnets. As they walked they drew closer to one another, not out of fear but out of need. Erik’s hand wrapped around Charles’s waist, petting his hip gently, as Charles’s fingers twisted in Erik’s hair. Every square inch of skin sang out at the tension, until they turned the corner and saw -
“Oh god,” whispered Charles, eyes shining wide in awe, licking his lips, his lips, his mouth -
Erik couldn’t say what they were, but he knew they weren’t human - not the way the dark one with the sunglasses was twisting, writhing, not with the words he was saying, neither English nor German nor any language Erik had ever heard, deep and hissing and old. Erik knew in his soul that the man fucking him was older than time; he was undone and desperate but his entire body knew his counterparts, the places he wanted to be touched, the ways in which he wanted to be fucked.
In this case, hard. Fast. And dirty, bent over a desk and rutting like mad, the occasional English word foul and grunted. They were so beautiful, Erik thought through a haze, not physically beautiful but creating beauty - and yet -
The feelings were coming from them, it was so obvious now. They were so powerful that they were projecting over the entire block. They couldn’t help it. Everyone in the area must be copulating like animals, thought Erik, and I - and Charles - are in the eye of the storm.
An image shot at him: Charles bent over the desk in the place of the dark one, biting at his own fingers, Erik gasping and holding his shoulder down with one strong hand, fisting his cock and pushing in and out with alternating slow-fast-slow brutally hard strokes. His throat went dry, his cock - how long had he been hard for? - it ached, and when he looked at Charles, he was, well, he was a picture.
A high flush flew like a flag on Charles’s cheekbones, telling Erik exactly where that image had come from. There was a dark spot on the front of his pants that proved that, yes, Charles lusted as well, he watched and he lusted and he coveted. His pupils were blown, he was loosening his tie, and overall he looked thoroughly debauched.
Not enough, thought Erik feverishly, surely I can do better. Worse. Oh god, better.
“Erik,” said Charles, “please,” and Erik couldn’t resist. He wanted to run his hands over every inch of Charles’s skin, expose, taste, and mark him - and he would, he resolved as his shaking hands unbuttoned Charles’s shirt.
Out of the corner of his eye Erik saw the two twisting, the dark one’s head pulled back by the hair as the other bit his neck savagely. They were close. Erik knew, because his knees were weak and Charles’s eyes were rolling.
When they kissed, Charles shook, and when Erik pressed his tongue into Charles’s mouth, fucking his lips gently, Charles spasmed, back arching.
“Did you just - “ Erik gasped into his mouth.
The man on top cried out, burying his face in the dark one’s hair.
“Yes, yes, yes,” Charles panted, “do it again, don’t bloody stop.”
And Erik pressed him to the wall, marveling distantly at how easy it was to overpower him; pressed his hips to Charles’s, rocked in the rhythm of the two fucking behind Charles’s head. Feverishly, he sucked on his fingers, reached down the back of Charles’s pants, and stroked desperately at the cleft of his arse.
Charles bucked again, once, twice, Erik felt him screaming in his head, and then nothing and everything happened as he came in his pants - Charles came, pressing back against Erik’s fingers - and they came, too, with a brief silent flash of light and then - silence.
Erik looked at Charles. Charles looked at Erik, panting. Erik withdrew his hand from Charles’s backside.
Euphoria passed, and Erik felt a distant terror. Turning to look at the two, he was just in time to see them zip up without giving any impression of discomfort or embarrassment. They looked him straight in the eye, then looked at Charles, then at each other.
“You know,” said the first one, the one who’d been on top, “it’s terrible rude to break down someone’s door like that.”
“I didn’t break it down,” Erik corrected before he could think to stop himself, “I only - “
The dark one lifted an eyebrow, and suddenly Erik felt very much like a guilty child.
It was then that Charles chose to be British. “Terribly sorry,” he squeaked out, trying to stand as normally as he could with his trousers full of come. “We thought - well, I thought I felt something, and you see, we’re looking for people to join us, and - “
“They don’t want to join, Charles,” Erik said in a monotone.
“Oh.” Charles faltered. “Er.”
The two exchanged another look. “I feel almost as though we should take pity on them, Aziraphale,” the dark one said.
“They broke my door,” the one called Aziraphale said peevishly. “It’ll cost - well, it’ll cost money to get it fixed, anyway.”
“You really have gone tremendously native,” said the other one, affection in his tone. “Well, it wasn’t them, it was him - “ He pointed at Erik. “ - and you can’t harm him anyway, I think he’s one of mine. Besides, it wouldn’t be sporting, considering . . . “ For a moment he looked sad. “Things,” he finished.
“Really?” Aziraphale looked puzzled. “I was sure he was one of mine, my dear.”
“Excuse me,” Erik drawled. “We’re not any of yours. Thanks.”
The dark one tilted his glasses down, and Erik couldn’t help but take a step back. Snake eyes.
This man - “You’re not a mutant,” he whispered, “are you?”
“Listen,” said the man with the yellow eyes, “Erik, you seem like a nice kid - “
“ - mostly - “ muttered Aziraphale.
“ - mostly, yes, but really, talking back with come all down your trousers is not best form. Try again later, perhaps?”
Erik realizes that Charles is still gripping his hand. He tries to say, “You can’t hurt us,” but it comes out small: “You mustn’t hurt us,” and Charles squeezes his hand tight.
“No, that’s true.” Aziraphale looks at the other one. “Crowley, we mustn’t.”
Rolling his eyes, Crowley pushes his sunglasses back up his nose. “Right,” he says, “bugger off then.”
“And I hope you’ve learned something about yourselves today!” Aziraphale calls after them loftily.
They scuttle out into the bright sunlight, stepping awkwardly. As the door slams closed with finality behind them, they avoid each other’s eyes.
“I don’t know what came over me,” Charles muttered, raising a hand to his still-sweaty forehead.
“I do,” said Erik, and takes his hand again. Charles looks at him and smiles, a smile that would make the sun come out if it wasn’t already beating down on them.
They go home and don’t tell anyone. What would they say? But Charles comes shyly to Erik’s bed that night, and as time ticks away they spend it exploring each other. After all, they did learn a few things.