Oh Gods, Why Is This So Good
Title: Oh Gods, Why Is This So Good
'Verse: Bad Things
Fandom: X-Men: First Class, Shame
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Charles/Erik, Charles/Logan; past Erik/Magda, Alex/Erik, Erik/Raven
Summary: Anticipationwantneedlust. It's not something he can control.
Warnings: dubiously consented to phone sex.
Previous Bits: one, two, three, four
It’s about a week later that Erik’s fishing through his pants pockets, that he finds the a scrap of paper with a series a numbers messily scrawled on it. A telephone number without a name to it. He decides to give the number a call.
‘Bloody he-Oh, uh, hullo. You’ve reached the mobile of Charles Xavier and-Raven stop! I’m trying to-and I’m not available at the moment. Leave a message or a number or-I guess you know the drill...’ Then there’s a long drawn out beep.
“Xavier...” It takes him a moment, but he gets it and runs a hand to his chest where there’s still a linger bruise. “Oh.”
He doesn’t know what to say, so he hangs up the phone. He settles down on one of the chairs by the kitchen. He wonders if he should call Xavier and leave an actual message. Instead, he calls Magda.
It’s quiet on the line for a while, then:
‘What do you want, Erik?’
Erik breathes in deep.
“Are the kids at school?”
‘You know they are. What do you want?’
“I’m sorry.”
‘I’m going to hand up now, Erik.’
“No, wait-”
But the line was already dead. He sighs and looks back at the slip of paper with Xavier’s number. He presses his numbers into his phone.
There’s a pause, where there is no sound aside from Erik’s breathing, then:
‘Bloody he-Oh, uh, hullo. You’ve reached the mobile of-’
Erik sighs, just about ready to hang up.
‘Uhh, hullo? Sorry, I was busy with my paper and umm...Who is this?’
Erik raises a dubious brow. “Is this Charles Xavier?”
‘...Yeah. Who is this?’
“Erik.”
‘Who? Erik? Where do I-OH. My gods, Erik, are you-’
Erik wets his lips.
“What’re you wearing?”
The line is silent, only the sound of breathing filters through.
‘Wha-what?’
“You heard me. What are you wearing?”
‘I-I. What?’
Erik rolls his eyes and says it again, slow and deliberate.
‘Oh, I uhh. That’s what I...thought you said. Umm, why?’
Erik stands and walks over to the sofa and settles himself down.
“Are you really going to play stupid?”
‘...No. Umm, I’m- button up and jeans.’
“Mmmm, describe it.”
‘What?’
“Really.”
Erik hears a sigh.
‘Umm, blue-ish button up? Dark blue jeans? There’s a rip in the knee.’ He pauses, and Erik can imagine him running a hand through his hair. ‘Really, why does this matter?’
“Sounds like it would look good on you with your pretty blue eyes, Charles. Does it?”
‘Err, I guess?’
“Do you remember how we met?”
‘Erik, listen, I don’t thi-’
“Do you remember? You felt so good pressed against me.”
Erik laughs when he hears Charles’ hitched breath. He presses the phone into his shoulder and holds it with his head.
“I touch myself just thinking about it.”
His right hand rubs against the growing tent of his pants and groans.
“I like to think that you did suck my cock. I bet you’d be great at it with your pretty, red mouth.”
He hears a breathy whimper.
‘Erik, I can’t I need-’
“I’ve got what you need. Come on. How did you feel rutting against me like your life depended on it?’
He hears Charles’ poorly held back moan.
“Take off your shirt. Touch yourself for me.”
Charles lets out a breathless whine.
‘E-Erik.’
“Tell me how it feels.”
He hears a low moan, and it might just be him, but it sounds like shame and want and ohgodswhyisthissogoodwhyamihard.
‘Is good.’ And it’s small and whimpery.
Erik sinks lower into the sofa and he toys with the zip to his jeans before undoing it and pulling them down low on his thighs.
“Tell me what you’re doing to yourself.”
‘Mmmy hand is- my chest- on my- pretending it’s you.’
Erik’s fingers dance around the front of his boxers, teasing.
“Yeah? Wish I was there. I’d hold you and stroke you and make you come.”
Charles lets out a moan and Erik wraps his fingers around his cock, squeezing slightly. He hears another hitched breath and he knows, just knows that Charles is wanking now. At the thought, he drags a finger across the head of his prick and moans.
“Mmmm, I bet you’d feel good on my cock. You’d love getting fucked by me, wouldn’t you?.”
‘Yeesss.’ Is the breathy reply he hears.
“Me filling you up so much you can’t see straight; so much you can’t walk properly for days”
‘Fuck, fuck. Yes.’
And he hears a low groan and half smiles and works himself twice as fast. With one final stroke, Erik comes with the ghost of something on his lips.
Through with catching his breath, he says just above a whisper:
“I think we should meet, Charles.”
There’s a moment of silence, where there’s no sound. Not even the static of the phone.
Then:
‘...Yes.’
Next Bit: six
'Verse: Bad Things
Fandom: X-Men: First Class, Shame
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Charles/Erik, Charles/Logan; past Erik/Magda, Alex/Erik, Erik/Raven
Summary: Anticipationwantneedlust. It's not something he can control.
Warnings: dubiously consented to phone sex.
Previous Bits: one, two, three, four
It’s about a week later that Erik’s fishing through his pants pockets, that he finds the a scrap of paper with a series a numbers messily scrawled on it. A telephone number without a name to it. He decides to give the number a call.
‘Bloody he-Oh, uh, hullo. You’ve reached the mobile of Charles Xavier and-Raven stop! I’m trying to-and I’m not available at the moment. Leave a message or a number or-I guess you know the drill...’ Then there’s a long drawn out beep.
“Xavier...” It takes him a moment, but he gets it and runs a hand to his chest where there’s still a linger bruise. “Oh.”
He doesn’t know what to say, so he hangs up the phone. He settles down on one of the chairs by the kitchen. He wonders if he should call Xavier and leave an actual message. Instead, he calls Magda.
It’s quiet on the line for a while, then:
‘What do you want, Erik?’
Erik breathes in deep.
“Are the kids at school?”
‘You know they are. What do you want?’
“I’m sorry.”
‘I’m going to hand up now, Erik.’
“No, wait-”
But the line was already dead. He sighs and looks back at the slip of paper with Xavier’s number. He presses his numbers into his phone.
There’s a pause, where there is no sound aside from Erik’s breathing, then:
‘Bloody he-Oh, uh, hullo. You’ve reached the mobile of-’
Erik sighs, just about ready to hang up.
‘Uhh, hullo? Sorry, I was busy with my paper and umm...Who is this?’
Erik raises a dubious brow. “Is this Charles Xavier?”
‘...Yeah. Who is this?’
“Erik.”
‘Who? Erik? Where do I-OH. My gods, Erik, are you-’
Erik wets his lips.
“What’re you wearing?”
The line is silent, only the sound of breathing filters through.
‘Wha-what?’
“You heard me. What are you wearing?”
‘I-I. What?’
Erik rolls his eyes and says it again, slow and deliberate.
‘Oh, I uhh. That’s what I...thought you said. Umm, why?’
Erik stands and walks over to the sofa and settles himself down.
“Are you really going to play stupid?”
‘...No. Umm, I’m- button up and jeans.’
“Mmmm, describe it.”
‘What?’
“Really.”
Erik hears a sigh.
‘Umm, blue-ish button up? Dark blue jeans? There’s a rip in the knee.’ He pauses, and Erik can imagine him running a hand through his hair. ‘Really, why does this matter?’
“Sounds like it would look good on you with your pretty blue eyes, Charles. Does it?”
‘Err, I guess?’
“Do you remember how we met?”
‘Erik, listen, I don’t thi-’
“Do you remember? You felt so good pressed against me.”
Erik laughs when he hears Charles’ hitched breath. He presses the phone into his shoulder and holds it with his head.
“I touch myself just thinking about it.”
His right hand rubs against the growing tent of his pants and groans.
“I like to think that you did suck my cock. I bet you’d be great at it with your pretty, red mouth.”
He hears a breathy whimper.
‘Erik, I can’t I need-’
“I’ve got what you need. Come on. How did you feel rutting against me like your life depended on it?’
He hears Charles’ poorly held back moan.
“Take off your shirt. Touch yourself for me.”
Charles lets out a breathless whine.
‘E-Erik.’
“Tell me how it feels.”
He hears a low moan, and it might just be him, but it sounds like shame and want and ohgodswhyisthissogoodwhyamihard.
‘Is good.’ And it’s small and whimpery.
Erik sinks lower into the sofa and he toys with the zip to his jeans before undoing it and pulling them down low on his thighs.
“Tell me what you’re doing to yourself.”
‘Mmmy hand is- my chest- on my- pretending it’s you.’
Erik’s fingers dance around the front of his boxers, teasing.
“Yeah? Wish I was there. I’d hold you and stroke you and make you come.”
Charles lets out a moan and Erik wraps his fingers around his cock, squeezing slightly. He hears another hitched breath and he knows, just knows that Charles is wanking now. At the thought, he drags a finger across the head of his prick and moans.
“Mmmm, I bet you’d feel good on my cock. You’d love getting fucked by me, wouldn’t you?.”
‘Yeesss.’ Is the breathy reply he hears.
“Me filling you up so much you can’t see straight; so much you can’t walk properly for days”
‘Fuck, fuck. Yes.’
And he hears a low groan and half smiles and works himself twice as fast. With one final stroke, Erik comes with the ghost of something on his lips.
Through with catching his breath, he says just above a whisper:
“I think we should meet, Charles.”
There’s a moment of silence, where there’s no sound. Not even the static of the phone.
Then:
‘...Yes.’
Next Bit: six