known in every pore of your skin
TITLE: known in every pore of your skin | ao3
FANDOM: x-men: first class
PAIRING: charles xavier/erik lehnsherr
RATING: nc-17
SPOILERS: x-men: first class
WARNINGS: graphic imagery (sex, mild violence); language
WORD COUNT: ~920
DISCLAIMER: x-men: first class belongs to marvel and matthew vaughn. all characters within belong to marvel. anything you do not recognise is mine.
SUMMARY: Erik's body is scarred. He grew up under a brutal regime, and spent much of his life thereafter fighting; it is only to be expected that he bears the physical after effects of such a lifestyle. That doesn't mean that Charles has to like it.
A/N:for papercutperfect, who asked for chin!biting. with bonus voyeurism, claiming, marking, minor painplay, minor powerplay. i'm sure there's plot if you squint.
Erik likes to watch.
He will sit in the wing-back facing Charles' bed, his legs spread and his feet placed flat on the floor, his trousers open at the waist as he works his erection. He likes to watch Charles as he lies on the bed, feet braced against the base of the posts to raise his hips, his shoulders slipping on the quilt, fucking himself on his hand. Charles can't even use his free hand to bring himself off; he has to use it for purchase, fingers scrabbling on the fabric as his fingers brush his prostate, and his balance stutters.
Charles always knows when Erik sees something he particularly likes, because his knees with twitch further apart and his fist will twist about the head of his cock; his eyelids flutter, the eyelashes casting shadows across his cheekbones but never obscuring his eyes. Erik likes it when Charles twists at his nipples, tugging them red and swollen, until Erik can see the small, hard nubs standing erect on Charles' chest; when Charles rubs his thumb back up the fine, dark line of downy hair that stretches from his navel to his pelvis, against the direction of growth so as to send tiny sparks of electricity buzzing under Charles' skin, like a cold breath on the back of his neck.
Erik likes it when Charles' back curves perfectly when his fingernails knick his prostate, the pressure from the extension of pleasure that runs from his curled toes along the muscles of his legs to the bow of his spine pushing his shoulders into the mattress at an angle too sharp, and his breathing comes in short, sharp pants because of the restriction to his airflow. He likes it when Charles turns his head to watch Erik, even though Charles has one hand buried in his arse and his cock is flushed and red and shiny with precome and he can't touch it without losing his delicate balance, even though Charles doesn't need to look at Erik to see him. Charles knows that Erik likes it, because he wets his lips over and over with the tip of his tongue and his hand tugs roughly around his cock.
And Charles, physically seeing Erik nearing orgasm and mentally feeling the tickle of Erik's arousal against his own, will set his feet further apart on the base, settling his heels against the oak as he risks his free hand to griptwisttug himself to orgasm.
Charles likes to mark.
Erik's body is scarred. He grew up under a brutal regime, and spent much of his life thereafter fighting; it is only to be expected that he bears the physical after effects of such a lifestyle. That doesn't mean that Charles has to like it.
He maps the scars with his fingers the first time, deliberately following their contours and lines originally with his hands and then with his tongue. He has tried to explain to Erik with words that he accepts all that he is, but Erik doesn't like to believe what doesn't match his own world view. Instead, Charles tries to show him with purposeful touches. Once, Erik tried to bat his face away, to push Charles off; Charles nipped sharply at the inside of his wrist, and felt Erik's cock jump beneath his thigh.
Charles likes to push his fingertips into Erik's biceps and shoulders and hips hard enough to leave deep, aching bruises that take over a week to turn yellow. He likes to drag his nails over Erik's skin hard enough to pull blood to the surface, and then again until the skin tears and the blood oozes out in thick, dark droplets that he chases with his tongue to soothe away the sting. He likes to suck solid, revealing marks into Erik's skin, at the dip in his clavicle and the small of his back and just beneath his nipple, where Erik will feel them for days; if anyone saw them, there would be no doubt as to what had made them, as to who had made them.
He likes to fasten his teeth over the smooth, unmarked sections of Erik's skin, where he can leave new indentations that flare scarlet against their backdrop; to follow the tremor of Erik's body up, biting down hard and fast on new areas of skin that he has yet to claim as his own.
"You're obsessed," Erik says, as Charles laves his tongue over a purpling bruise on Erik's collarbone. Charles can hardly take it as an insult, considering the way that Erik is shamelessly rutting against his thigh and his voice cracks in the middle. He hums against Erik's skin, feeling the pulse as - impossibly - more blood floods to Erik's erection at the vibration; the muscles in his arms jump as he makes as if to move them from where Charles has pinned them to either side, but the movement subsided into a twitch of his fingers before it ever really becomes anything solid.
"Making you mine," he murmurs, breath hot and damp; Charles can see the goosebumps erupt over Erik's torso. "All of you."
"All of me?" Erik asks, managing to raise an eyebrow despite the way his eyes were glazing as he approached orgasm.
Charles pushes up on Erik's arms, and fixes his teeth around Erik's chin, biting down hard enough to leave ridged indentations beneath his stubble. "Everything," he says, and it's both a threat and a promise.
title from Julio Cortazar's poem to be read in the interrogative:
Have you known
known in every pore of your skin
how your eyes your hands your sex your soft heart
must be thrown away
must be wept away
must be invented all over again
FANDOM: x-men: first class
PAIRING: charles xavier/erik lehnsherr
RATING: nc-17
SPOILERS: x-men: first class
WARNINGS: graphic imagery (sex, mild violence); language
WORD COUNT: ~920
DISCLAIMER: x-men: first class belongs to marvel and matthew vaughn. all characters within belong to marvel. anything you do not recognise is mine.
SUMMARY: Erik's body is scarred. He grew up under a brutal regime, and spent much of his life thereafter fighting; it is only to be expected that he bears the physical after effects of such a lifestyle. That doesn't mean that Charles has to like it.
A/N:for papercutperfect, who asked for chin!biting. with bonus voyeurism, claiming, marking, minor painplay, minor powerplay. i'm sure there's plot if you squint.
Erik likes to watch.
He will sit in the wing-back facing Charles' bed, his legs spread and his feet placed flat on the floor, his trousers open at the waist as he works his erection. He likes to watch Charles as he lies on the bed, feet braced against the base of the posts to raise his hips, his shoulders slipping on the quilt, fucking himself on his hand. Charles can't even use his free hand to bring himself off; he has to use it for purchase, fingers scrabbling on the fabric as his fingers brush his prostate, and his balance stutters.
Charles always knows when Erik sees something he particularly likes, because his knees with twitch further apart and his fist will twist about the head of his cock; his eyelids flutter, the eyelashes casting shadows across his cheekbones but never obscuring his eyes. Erik likes it when Charles twists at his nipples, tugging them red and swollen, until Erik can see the small, hard nubs standing erect on Charles' chest; when Charles rubs his thumb back up the fine, dark line of downy hair that stretches from his navel to his pelvis, against the direction of growth so as to send tiny sparks of electricity buzzing under Charles' skin, like a cold breath on the back of his neck.
Erik likes it when Charles' back curves perfectly when his fingernails knick his prostate, the pressure from the extension of pleasure that runs from his curled toes along the muscles of his legs to the bow of his spine pushing his shoulders into the mattress at an angle too sharp, and his breathing comes in short, sharp pants because of the restriction to his airflow. He likes it when Charles turns his head to watch Erik, even though Charles has one hand buried in his arse and his cock is flushed and red and shiny with precome and he can't touch it without losing his delicate balance, even though Charles doesn't need to look at Erik to see him. Charles knows that Erik likes it, because he wets his lips over and over with the tip of his tongue and his hand tugs roughly around his cock.
And Charles, physically seeing Erik nearing orgasm and mentally feeling the tickle of Erik's arousal against his own, will set his feet further apart on the base, settling his heels against the oak as he risks his free hand to griptwisttug himself to orgasm.
Charles likes to mark.
Erik's body is scarred. He grew up under a brutal regime, and spent much of his life thereafter fighting; it is only to be expected that he bears the physical after effects of such a lifestyle. That doesn't mean that Charles has to like it.
He maps the scars with his fingers the first time, deliberately following their contours and lines originally with his hands and then with his tongue. He has tried to explain to Erik with words that he accepts all that he is, but Erik doesn't like to believe what doesn't match his own world view. Instead, Charles tries to show him with purposeful touches. Once, Erik tried to bat his face away, to push Charles off; Charles nipped sharply at the inside of his wrist, and felt Erik's cock jump beneath his thigh.
Charles likes to push his fingertips into Erik's biceps and shoulders and hips hard enough to leave deep, aching bruises that take over a week to turn yellow. He likes to drag his nails over Erik's skin hard enough to pull blood to the surface, and then again until the skin tears and the blood oozes out in thick, dark droplets that he chases with his tongue to soothe away the sting. He likes to suck solid, revealing marks into Erik's skin, at the dip in his clavicle and the small of his back and just beneath his nipple, where Erik will feel them for days; if anyone saw them, there would be no doubt as to what had made them, as to who had made them.
He likes to fasten his teeth over the smooth, unmarked sections of Erik's skin, where he can leave new indentations that flare scarlet against their backdrop; to follow the tremor of Erik's body up, biting down hard and fast on new areas of skin that he has yet to claim as his own.
"You're obsessed," Erik says, as Charles laves his tongue over a purpling bruise on Erik's collarbone. Charles can hardly take it as an insult, considering the way that Erik is shamelessly rutting against his thigh and his voice cracks in the middle. He hums against Erik's skin, feeling the pulse as - impossibly - more blood floods to Erik's erection at the vibration; the muscles in his arms jump as he makes as if to move them from where Charles has pinned them to either side, but the movement subsided into a twitch of his fingers before it ever really becomes anything solid.
"Making you mine," he murmurs, breath hot and damp; Charles can see the goosebumps erupt over Erik's torso. "All of you."
"All of me?" Erik asks, managing to raise an eyebrow despite the way his eyes were glazing as he approached orgasm.
Charles pushes up on Erik's arms, and fixes his teeth around Erik's chin, biting down hard enough to leave ridged indentations beneath his stubble. "Everything," he says, and it's both a threat and a promise.
title from Julio Cortazar's poem to be read in the interrogative:
Have you known
known in every pore of your skin
how your eyes your hands your sex your soft heart
must be thrown away
must be wept away
must be invented all over again