fic: another lesson to be learned (2/2)
And here is part two!
Title: Another Lesson To Be Learned [2/2] [part one here]
Rating: NC-17 for D/s dynamics, spanking, and sex
Word Count: 8,788 total; 4,703 for this part
Disclaimers: characters’re not mine, only doing this out of affection; title and opening lines from Green Day’s “Blood, Sex, and Booze”
Summary: Charles overdoes things with Cerebro; Erik panics; Erik and Charles have a discussion about what orders Erik can give and what orders Charles can realistically promise to obey. And then there is apologetic sex.
Notes: Okay, at this point there’re probably at least five more stories in this ’verse. Also, the title of this one is a reference to both Charles and Erik needing to learn some things. Series being written for utterlysorbine’s prompt of Erik and Charles are starting to negotiate a budding relationship - as dominant (Erik) and submissive (Charles). Whilst Charles is all for this, as someone who's been bred and raised to be in charge of any given situation, he can't help find the whole thing very awkward. Erik's happy to be patient with him - he just loves him and wants to look after him, even if Charles still isn't comfortable with being looked after.
Charles sits entirely still, and breathes, in and out. He isn’t crying. The cut’s too deep, too all-encompassing, for tears. A single sword-stroke, quick and cleanly edged.
I can’t lose you, Erik says, quietly. When you-you were gone, in my head. I could see you, in the infirmary, lying there, but you weren’t HERE, with me, and I-I had to be angry, when you woke up. Because you woke up and wanted to do it all again and I can’t do that again.
That’s more or less what he’d understood, from Erik’s first reaction in the nest of Cerebro’s heart. It probably means something that Erik’s willing to say the words, but that doesn’t change where they’ve ended up. Here, with acre-wide inches of insufficient military-grey carpet between them, with a locked door.
Erik lifts a hand, hesitates. Can I…touch you?
If you want. Not even bitter. He’s too tired for bitter, deep down in his bones. Too drained. Erik’s words echo as loudly as if they’ve just been proclaimed anew: what do you want, I don’t know how to do this with you…
Not as if he knows, either.
He hears Erik swallow, the sound very clear in all the heavy quiet.
And then that hand reaches out again, tentative. As if Erik’s afraid of possible repercussions, though in which direction Charles doesn’t know. He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t pull away, either.
Erik touches his shoulder, lightly. His hair. One cheekbone. The line of his chin. Charles…?
?
I…am sorry. About this. I didn’t mean-I’ve never done this before. Not admitted as an excuse. Only an explanation. Honesty.
Neither’ve I, Charles says, wearily. He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t need to. Erik’s surprise reflects in their heads, penny-bright and flavored like new copper.
But you know that. You knew that. I told you. I’ve never-when I said I’ve never felt this way with anyone before you-
Oh, Erik breathes, the word raw-edged, a newly-inflicted wound. I thought-I don’t know what I thought. Not really. You seemed-you did all this so…
Naturally? That one is bitter. Erik doesn’t flinch, though. Inches a bit closer to him instead. Slides the arm gingerly around his shoulders, giving him multiple chances to shrug it off.
You want me to be honest with you? Yes. You’re beautiful, Charles. And I love you.
You-
I do. Losing to you at chess, watching you drink tea in the mornings, listening to you lecture about the glories of DNA replication-and, yes, you on your knees, looking up at me-I love you. Please believe that.
That’s not easy, Charles says, also being recklessly honest, unguardedly cynical in the emptiness left by receding emotion. People lie.
Of course-of course they do-but, Charles… Erik takes a deep breath, and visibly sets his own shock at that reply to one side, pushing back the anguish and anger at the reality under the words. Erik knows about lies, knows about evil, knows about unkindness. But from outside his loving family. Not from within. And the paperclips, the pen-tips, the desk-drawer handles, shiver, as Erik hurts for him.
Am I lying to you? About this?
I don’t know.
Yes, you do. You can see that, if you want to. You told me once that you knew everything about me. Everything I am. You didn’t run from me then.
Of course not.
Then don’t run from me now.
I can’t promise what you want me to promise. I can’t be what you want me to be. I said I’d not be good at this and I was right. What more do you want? What else can I-He’s not speaking the words aloud, but his throat closes up anyway. Out of sheer bloodyminded resolution, he forces back the sob.
“Charles,” Erik says, out loud, and voices a colorful string of multilingual profanities in their heads, tart and vivid, “I want you.” I love you. And you love me.
“So bloody arrogant,” Charles says, and then the dam collapses under the weight of surprised normality and he starts laughing, or maybe crying, Erik’s certainty firm as iron and unbreakable as the heart of the world, and Erik’s arm stays around his shoulders while the tears finally fall.
“I know you love me,” Erik murmurs. “Some days I don’t understand why. But I’m selfish enough to take it. To take you. If you want me to.” I do love you. I always will. Even if you say no, if you walk away from me-I’m a better man because of you, Charles. Occasionally against my will, I admit-Humor glinting in the caverns, flint and spark. But that is true.
“You wouldn’t talk to me,” Charles whispers, because that still hurts for so many reasons and he can’t just say yes, not so soon. Erik winces, possibly from guilt or from the glancing encounter with that open wound.
“I know. I didn’t mean-I didn’t realize how badly I-Charles, please look at me.” I’m sorry. I hurt you, and I am sorry. It won’t happen again. Another certainty. Brick and mortar. Iron and steel.
He swallows. Lifts his eyes, reluctantly. Finds Erik looking at him, eyes unguardedly damp around the edges, mirroring his own.
You were afraid. For me.
Yes.
Can you talk to me now?
If that’s what you-if you want-Erik feels uncertain, in their heads, for the first time. Doesn’t say, not in words, if you still want me.
“Of course I want you,” Charles whispers, and changes position, then, leans against that lean body next to his, and Erik’s arms close around him, wordless with relief and joy.
But we do need to talk. And I’m not saying I’m blameless-
You-Charles, I was the one who wouldn’t listen to you-
Then listen to me now. “You weren’t entirely wrong. I was overdoing it. And I did promise you. I hadn’t…I wasn’t taking this seriously. Or I was, but…only when I wanted to. And that’s not fair to you. If we’re doing this, together…then I’m yours. All of me.” He waits, the space of one heartbeat, then adds, because he’s not said it yet, “I do love you, you know.”
I know. Erik sits there on the floor, holding him, Charles practically in his lap now, head resting on one shoulder. One of Erik’s hands strokes through his hair, gently. I know.
I’m sorry, Erik.
No. Never apologize for being right. “You are, you know. Which you’ll probably enjoy. I was afraid. Seeing you on the ground…the way you just-disappeared, in my head…you were bleeding, Charles, and I-” Erik’s hand rests over his temple, in the guise of brushing back rumpled hair. You told me I’d not be alone. That neither of us would have to be.
Charles lifts his own hand, covers Erik’s, presses it against his cheek, indulging himself with the presence. “You’re right, I do enjoy you saying so.” I won’t leave you alone. Just as you won’t leave me. Can we…compromise, perhaps?
New experiences all the time, Erik sighs, but the teasing’s layered over marginally less tension, now. “What did you have in mind?”
“I won’t promise you I’ll stop using Cerebro. No, don’t look at me like that. We both know it’s necessary. To find others like us, to find Sebastian Shaw…”
“That’s my vengeance. Not yours.”
As if I won’t be there with you. “And you’re wrong. Even if I weren’t in love with you, which makes it mine as well, I’d still need to do this. To find him.” He’s not sure how to explain. I know about evil. And I’ve seen your memories. I believe that he needs to be stopped, even if I’m prepared to argue with you about ways and means. And Cerebro is how I can assist with finding him.
You did say compromise… And that’s tacit agreement, in those words.
“I did.” I’ll be careful. Shorter sessions. Breaks in between. And you’ll be there.
“Yes, I will.” And if I ask you to stop, if I think that you need to stop…
I’ll listen. “I might still argue with you afterwards, but I’ll listen to your reasons.” He pauses, as Erik nods. And…I am yours. I want to be. Completely. If you want me.
Of course I want you! “And…I’ll try to listen to you. I…may not be entirely rational regarding your safety, Charles.”
That expressive voice sounds a bit disgruntled: Erik not thrilled with the admission that he’s anything less than ruthlessly calculating at all times. Charles, inexplicably, finds himself smiling.
As long as you know it.
So you can mock me for the sentimentality, you mean?
Only when the occasion calls for it. He won’t, really. Not what Erik needs. “Your paperclips’re all over the floor, you know…you’ll want those, later.”
“I am aware. Right now I am holding you.” I would like to continue holding you.
Charles, who would like that too, settles more comfortably into long arms. The silence, around them, settles itself as well. Even the carpet feels less thin and sparse, though that may just be because he’s snugly in Erik’s lap. Being held.
“So,” Erik murmurs, speaking into his hair, low susurration that travels sweetly down to his toes, “compromise.”
“Mmm…”
“Are you awake?”
“Yes?” Only being happy. He is. It’s a diffuse, bittersweet kind of contentment, the serenity after a hard-won battle, gazing out over the field. Erik’s hand strokes his cheek again, gently; that feels right too. They’ve come out of the fray together.
The fabric of Erik’s shirt is soft. His own left leg, bent crookedly, is starting to complain, but that grumbling, like the rest of the world, fades off someplace distant and irrelevant, when he listens to that heartbeat under his ear and nothing else. The steady beat of oceans. Waves greeting the shore.
“Oceans, indeed.” Erik’s entertained. “Charles, you…”
Voices. Physical voices, outside. Clattering down the corridor. Barging into the moment.
The voices approach, chattering about mindless trivia, the cafeteria food (awful), the current CIA leadership (also awful), fellow female agents who wear short skirts to work (not awful but disgustingly appreciated), and Charles sighs and sits up, prepared to send them away with not an ounce of guilt, but he doesn’t have to; they keep walking all on their own.
Erik has tensed all those muscles, too, but Charles shakes his head. “No one we know. They’re not looking for us.” In any case, we have a very thoroughly locked door.
Erik winces, invisible regret.
“Oh. Sorry.” No, it’s all right. I asked you once not to let me go. You did listen to me.
And Erik, after a second’s startlement, laughs.
Still sitting on the floor, he picks up the closest of Erik’s hands. In the wake of that laughter, kisses the back of it, lips meeting old small scars and tanned skin.
Erik looks at him, and their eyes catch. And Charles thinks, with a kind of peaceful shock, yes, this, exactly. And sees the answering delight in Erik’s gaze.
“So,” Erik asks, carefully, eyes dancing, “you enjoy my hands…” What would you like me to do with my hands, Charles?
You did mention, some time ago…He sends the image, a quick burst of want and need and request: himself bent over the bed, those hands, the exquisite euphoria each time Erik’s hand comes down on him. If you’d like.
Erik stares at him, lips parted, then recovers. “I…would very much like to spank you, Charles.” You-you’re not asking because-
-because I want you to hurt me? No. “But I wasn’t listening to you, properly, earlier. I think…if not for the argument itself…at least for that. If we both agree I deserve it. Sir.”
Both eyebrows fly up. “I thought I asked you to use my name.” If we both agree that we want this, you mean. You asking, and me…punishing you.
“You did, sir.” Yes.
“Oh…” Erik actually grins at him, fierce and feral and happy. Then gets to his feet, keeping his grip on Charles’s wrist, so that Charles has no choice except to follow. I love you. “Clothes off, then. Rapidly.”
“With you holding my arm?” Love you!
“Consider it a challenge. Also…I believe that’s you questioning me. Two more.”
Wait, how many were you planning to begin with?
“Until I tell you we’re done. Do you need me to move this hand? For your shirt?” Ah. Not talking out loud?
You’re fortunate I can still talk at all. I can see what you’re imagining. “Only for a second. Thank you, Erik.”
Thank you, Charles. “And…yes. I do know I am. Come here.”
He does. As ordered. And the compliance makes him shiver, as the weight of the waves closes over him, vast and rolling and deep.
Erik gazes at him, looking spellbound, for a moment. Charles wonders what he’s seeing, with that expression in those eyes.
One graceful finger touches his lips. I’d like to kiss you, Charles.
Yes, Erik.
Erik’s kiss is hot and firm and all-encompassing, tongue sliding kindly but insistently into his mouth, devouring every centimeter of him, filling all his senses, and Charles shuts his eyes and kisses back because Erik wants him to, because he wants to, not passive but embracing the invasion.
He’s entirely naked. Erik’s not. This realization makes him shiver and then silently concur: this is the way they ought to be, if Erik asks him for this.
Oh, is that what you want? Erik pulls back from the kiss, leaving him messy and dazed and craving more, lips wet and swollen with the imprint of that mouth on his. “You want to be mine. Incontrovertibly. You want me to make you feel it all. Tomorrow. The next day. When you sit, when you stand, when you walk around, in public, the marks I leave on your skin…” If you need me to stop, to slow down, all you ever have to do is say the word.
I know, Charles whispers back, and then, all of that, yes, Erik, please.
So polite, asking for this, aren’t you?
I- He’s not certain whether that’s praise, or mockery.
Erik takes a deep breath. Lets it out. Which do you want it to be?
I…don’t know.
All right. We’ll come back to that. Erik traces the curve of his right eyebrow, trails fingertips over his face, skims them across his throat. Leaves them there, quiescent but a harbinger of events to come.
“Have you ever been to a bondage club, Charles? I have. Not for pleasure, certainly not for pain…I was looking for someone. He wasn’t there, but that’s beside the point, at the moment. I looked around, and there was an absolutely beautiful young man in a corner, and he was smiling, and he was wearing a collar, and a leash, and sitting at someone’s feet…” The fingers tap, one-two-three, over his throat. Charles whimpers. Sways on his feet.
“I wondered, at the time, why anyone would do that. Why he’d voluntarily kneel, and wear those things, and smile…and then I went back to my hotel, and stood under the shower, and pictured that smile again, and I didn’t want him, not exactly, but the thought of someone trusting me that much, giving over every last bit of control, for me…I made myself come, my own hand on my cock, under the shower, Charles, imagining that. And now…now I have you.”
Erik, Charles gasps, dizzy. Erik studies him thoughtfully, still not touching him anywhere else, only those fingertips, and every atom of his body throbs with denied craving.
“Would you wear a collar for me? If I asked you to?”
The answer spills out like a flood, like an orgasm, a crescendo: yes yes yours please claim me give me something of yours to wear to belong to you Erik please…
Erik laughs, blushes a little, glances away, as if embarrassed now by the request, by the response, by the strength of that mutual desire. “Well…perhaps. Someday. Maybe…if you earn it.” I love you, Charles. Remember that.
Yes, always. The universe consists, right now, of him and Erik alone. Infinite and spectacular.
“I believe you made a request of me. Because you need it. Here…” Erik walks him over to the bed. Pauses, positions darting in rapid-fire contemplation through their heads-this is a first for him, for them, Charles remembers cloudily-and then sits down, fully dressed, on the end. Rolls up one sleeve, then the other, tantalizingly slow and even more so when he notices Charles breathing faster.
You like watching? Me preparing, ready for what I’m going to do to you?
Yes, sir.
Good. Over my lap, then.
He’s been spanked before, of course. But this, this position, he’s never liked it this way. Too vulnerable. Too intimate. Erik, hearing some of that, looks up at him from the bed. If you need to-
No. I trust you. And I want-He stops. Can’t admit that. Not even to Erik, not yet.
You want that. Erik says it for him. You want to be exposed, and helpless, and held down while I make you feel me, until you feel only me.
Charles gives in, gives up, gives himself over to the rush of embarrassment, arousal, need, and whispers yes.
“Then don’t make me ask again. Come here. Over my lap.”
He leans over Erik’s thighs, slowly. His toes barely brush the floor; not going to be much help for balance. His erection, already heavy and hot, is pinned between his stomach and all that muscle, and it almost hurts caught there but beautifully so.
He stretches both arms above his head, fingers curling into the blanket and ruining Erik’s neatness. He could prop himself up on his elbows, taking back some of his weight, but he doesn’t.
Erik, understanding, smiles back. Sets a hand on the back of his neck, toying with the waves of his hair, and Charles whines into the thick wool, which gathers up the sound and tucks it all away for safekeeping.
Ready?
Yes, Erik.
Despite having said yes, having asked, he’s not prepared for the sensation, the crack of Erik’s hand over bare skin, the sound flying out to echo around the room.
The handprint stings. It’s splendid. He needs it. Needs more.
Good? Erik’s mental voice shakes, only a fraction.
Good. Yes.
Harder? Not as hard? Or is this all right for now?
Harder, I think…not too much harder, please. He can tell when Erik picks up that he’s employing the last word on purpose, because he gets that brilliant grin, both telepathic and not, in reply, even as Erik’s hand lifts and snaps back down, same place, but more, and the lightning explodes under his skin.
Like that?
Yes-oh, yes, please, that-
Erik spanks him hard, as requested, gentleness set aside for the moment; Charles moans and squirms over Erik’s lap, unsure whether he’s trying to get away or ask for more. He can feel the rush of blood beneath tender skin, more sensitive with every open-palmed smack. Erik alternates sides, methodical and unhurried, slightly harder again when Charles whimpers and lifts his hips into the blows.
Still good?
Mmm-yes-It’s right on the edge between pleasure and pain, but that’s the point: he’s Erik’s, here, for this, and he made Erik worry, made Erik displeased with him, and this is right, the sting of it washing away the other hurt.
Yes, Erik says, very softly. I’m not trying to hurt you. Tell me if I do. I only want you to remember. You asked me for this. You want to be mine.
I will-I will, I’ll remember, I promise-The hand comes down with more intent, faster, and Charles rocks his hips into Erik’s lap, up and down, meeting each impact, letting them drive him back down. Erik’s other hand wraps around his wrists, above his head, and squeezes, and Charles hears himself moan. The heat spreads, not only focused in one place now but swirling and glowing throughout his entire body, and he relaxes into it, muscles loose and languid.
He can hear himself making small sounds, openmouthed against the blanket, not quite a pant or a grunt but somewhere in between, as Erik spanks him; his cock, trapped between his stomach and that taut thigh, is hard and leaking, wetness pooling and soaking the fabric of Erik’s slacks. The slickness torments him, and he wriggles, thrusting, cock sliding and slipping through it, the friction unbearable over tingling skin.
“Impatient,” Erik says, amused. “So wet for me, Charles. Do you like this? Feeling what I do to you, knowing you belong here, just like this?”
That’s all he knows, now. He moans, nonverbal affirmation.
Lovely, Erik thinks, loudly, and then rests the hand in place and squeezes, adding pressure to the sting; digs in fingernails, small crescents of red heat, and Charles screams, into the crumpled wool, hips jerking helplessly.
“Do you want to come like this?” Despite the audible words, Erik’s mind brushes his, a gentle whisper of apology for the hurt that turns into surprised delight once Charles’s actual response-it hadn’t been a bad scream-gets through. “Do you want me to let you come, here, over my lap, from me spanking you? Answer me.”
Yes Erik please-
“You have been very good. Not earlier, but now. Taking all of this, everything I…I think you can have what you want.” Come for me, Charles.
That powerful hand cracks down over blazing skin one more time, and Charles hears himself cry out, body rippling with it, climax shivering through him everywhere, cock pulsing in Erik’s lap and Erik’s hand around his wrists and his face buried in the blanket, Erik’s other hand not letting up and spanking him through the waves of orgasm, over and over, until he’s sobbing with the confusion of endorphins and shame and pain and fulfillment and bliss.
Erik moves them both carefully, eases him down onto the bed-Charles whimpers, first at the loss of Erik’s body beneath his and then when his dripping cock, still half-hard, encounters smooth fabric-and then kneels over him, weight settling on his thighs.
He keeps his eyes closed. The world is darkly beautiful, dazzling sparkles and profound silences, every sensation a new discovery. He’s not expecting anything specific, next-he can’t think enough to expect anything-but somehow he’s completely not expecting the light touch of lips behind his shoulderblade, as Erik leans over to kiss him.
“Perfection,” Erik whispers, and the word floats along his skin like silk. Erik’s still dressed, almost entirely, and the fabric rubs over newly tender places, as Erik bends to kiss him again.
Charles moans, inarticulate, and pushes his hips down into the firmness of the mattress. He can’t come again so soon, at least he doesn’t think he can, but the pleasure is everywhere, decadent and relentless, and as he moves, random and unthinking, his cock drags along the bed, and that feels good, so he does it again.
“Charles,” Erik says, amused and aroused, “can you hear me?” Still all right?
Evidently a moan isn’t good enough, because Erik’s weight shifts, and a hand finds his face, turns his head. Charles shudders, head to toe, at being handled and repositioned so easily. “Look at me,” Erik says. Still tropical fruit? Or…?
Pineapple, Charles whispers, after a second, but I can’t-
Just for a moment, then. Please.
With some effort, he opens both eyes. Meets Erik’s concerned pale gaze. Those eyes, so full of love and worry, plunge into his heart, a near-physical impact, and he shivers, and looks down, at the sheets; but he lets Erik feel the acceptance, the reassurance, the agreement: I’m all right. I love you.
Love you, Erik whispers back, and touches his cheek again, fingertip drifting over freckles, and Charles turns his head and nuzzles into the hand and the sensation of being caressed.
He can feel Erik’s rare genuine smile, silvery sunlight through rain, when he closes his eyes again, trustingly.
“All right, then…” Erik shifts position, sits back up. Trails a hand down Charles’s spine, all the way to the curves of his ass, still red-hot and burning, more so when Erik pinches tender flesh, sharply. Charles arches upwards, gasping, and Erik does it again, on the other side, matching spikes of delicious intensity, making him whine and quiver between the bed and Erik’s hands.
Erik says his name, a little desperately, and then there’s a sweep of fabric, and the sound of hands on skin, and Charles can hear it and see it because Erik shows him in their heads, Erik getting himself off above Charles’s trembling body, cock sliding rapidly through his own hand, long and thick and flushed with desire.
Erik leans forward, pressing himself against Charles’s body and his own handprints, so that they both feel each stroke, and the strokes get faster and harder and Charles pushes up against him and then lets Erik shove him down into the bed, and Erik’s orgasm explodes through them both in rolling waves, liquid heat painting reddened skin as Charles shudders deliriously beneath him.
Erik collapses atop him, breathing hard as if he’s just run a marathon; the first-ever marathon, perhaps, to tell the story of victory, of triumph, of wild and breathtaking joy. The weight, the hot breath behind his ear, are very tangible, and present, and true.
Charles, Erik manages, between breaths. Charles?
The words fall into the tempest, and vanish, but not without leaving a hint of solid ground. He lies there sprawled under Erik’s exhausted heaviness, Erik’s come drying sticky over tingling skin, the blanket crumpled tiredly around his fingers, and feels the peace sweep through his body like a waterfall, ceaseless thundering serenity.
Please? A suggestion of concern, this time, under all the worn-out exultation. Charles…
Yes…love you.
You-that-I love you, also, always-are you-all right?
More than all right. He turns his head, far enough to find Erik looking back at him. Smiles. I feel…marvelous.
You are. Erik kisses him again, not hard or demanding; slightly possessive, yes, but tinged with wonder like the shining first rays of sunrise. I love you. “Here…” That lithe weight rolls off of him and to one side; Charles makes a tiny sound, even though he doesn’t mean to, and Erik says “Shh, come here, liebling,” and tucks their bodies back together, Charles as the little spoon, cradled by Erik’s warmth.
“You’re all right. You’re here. And I am here. Just breathe…” Are you…does this hurt you? Did I-are you sore at all? In pain?
He has to think about that for a while. Erik has been quite thorough. Has listened, very definitely, when asked to make things harder. But it’s a pleasant kind of soreness. A delicious, decadent awareness of every particle of his own body.
Surreptitiously, he pushes his hips back into Erik’s behind him, exploring the feeling. Lets Erik feel that too, that answer, not in words.
“Good, then.” Erik coils an arm around him, hand coming to rest over his heart. Charles puts his own atop it, lacing their fingers together; senses the elusive bright gleam of the replying smile. Holding on to me, Charles?
Yes. You’re all mine.
Yes. All yours.
The words float out and bump lightly into the bed, the desk, the whirlwind paperclips. Hang in the hush, and heal one more private piece of the world.
“Charles?”
Yes?
“…I’m still wearing clothes.”
And Charles starts laughing, helplessly, into the blanket. Erik tries to hold out, but eventually has to laugh as well, face buried in Charles’s hair, bed shaking with merriment, and right when the amusement begins dying down Charles twists around and gets them face to face and says “So you are!” and Erik starts laughing again, glorious and unguarded and in love.
Marvelous, Erik says again, shaking his head, grinning, and Charles kisses him there in the disaster they’ve made of the once-tidy bed, rumpled sheets and stained clothing and compromises offered and honored, and answers, yes, we are.
Title: Another Lesson To Be Learned [2/2] [part one here]
Rating: NC-17 for D/s dynamics, spanking, and sex
Word Count: 8,788 total; 4,703 for this part
Disclaimers: characters’re not mine, only doing this out of affection; title and opening lines from Green Day’s “Blood, Sex, and Booze”
Summary: Charles overdoes things with Cerebro; Erik panics; Erik and Charles have a discussion about what orders Erik can give and what orders Charles can realistically promise to obey. And then there is apologetic sex.
Notes: Okay, at this point there’re probably at least five more stories in this ’verse. Also, the title of this one is a reference to both Charles and Erik needing to learn some things. Series being written for utterlysorbine’s prompt of Erik and Charles are starting to negotiate a budding relationship - as dominant (Erik) and submissive (Charles). Whilst Charles is all for this, as someone who's been bred and raised to be in charge of any given situation, he can't help find the whole thing very awkward. Erik's happy to be patient with him - he just loves him and wants to look after him, even if Charles still isn't comfortable with being looked after.
Charles sits entirely still, and breathes, in and out. He isn’t crying. The cut’s too deep, too all-encompassing, for tears. A single sword-stroke, quick and cleanly edged.
I can’t lose you, Erik says, quietly. When you-you were gone, in my head. I could see you, in the infirmary, lying there, but you weren’t HERE, with me, and I-I had to be angry, when you woke up. Because you woke up and wanted to do it all again and I can’t do that again.
That’s more or less what he’d understood, from Erik’s first reaction in the nest of Cerebro’s heart. It probably means something that Erik’s willing to say the words, but that doesn’t change where they’ve ended up. Here, with acre-wide inches of insufficient military-grey carpet between them, with a locked door.
Erik lifts a hand, hesitates. Can I…touch you?
If you want. Not even bitter. He’s too tired for bitter, deep down in his bones. Too drained. Erik’s words echo as loudly as if they’ve just been proclaimed anew: what do you want, I don’t know how to do this with you…
Not as if he knows, either.
He hears Erik swallow, the sound very clear in all the heavy quiet.
And then that hand reaches out again, tentative. As if Erik’s afraid of possible repercussions, though in which direction Charles doesn’t know. He doesn’t move, but he doesn’t pull away, either.
Erik touches his shoulder, lightly. His hair. One cheekbone. The line of his chin. Charles…?
?
I…am sorry. About this. I didn’t mean-I’ve never done this before. Not admitted as an excuse. Only an explanation. Honesty.
Neither’ve I, Charles says, wearily. He doesn’t look up. He doesn’t need to. Erik’s surprise reflects in their heads, penny-bright and flavored like new copper.
But you know that. You knew that. I told you. I’ve never-when I said I’ve never felt this way with anyone before you-
Oh, Erik breathes, the word raw-edged, a newly-inflicted wound. I thought-I don’t know what I thought. Not really. You seemed-you did all this so…
Naturally? That one is bitter. Erik doesn’t flinch, though. Inches a bit closer to him instead. Slides the arm gingerly around his shoulders, giving him multiple chances to shrug it off.
You want me to be honest with you? Yes. You’re beautiful, Charles. And I love you.
You-
I do. Losing to you at chess, watching you drink tea in the mornings, listening to you lecture about the glories of DNA replication-and, yes, you on your knees, looking up at me-I love you. Please believe that.
That’s not easy, Charles says, also being recklessly honest, unguardedly cynical in the emptiness left by receding emotion. People lie.
Of course-of course they do-but, Charles… Erik takes a deep breath, and visibly sets his own shock at that reply to one side, pushing back the anguish and anger at the reality under the words. Erik knows about lies, knows about evil, knows about unkindness. But from outside his loving family. Not from within. And the paperclips, the pen-tips, the desk-drawer handles, shiver, as Erik hurts for him.
Am I lying to you? About this?
I don’t know.
Yes, you do. You can see that, if you want to. You told me once that you knew everything about me. Everything I am. You didn’t run from me then.
Of course not.
Then don’t run from me now.
I can’t promise what you want me to promise. I can’t be what you want me to be. I said I’d not be good at this and I was right. What more do you want? What else can I-He’s not speaking the words aloud, but his throat closes up anyway. Out of sheer bloodyminded resolution, he forces back the sob.
“Charles,” Erik says, out loud, and voices a colorful string of multilingual profanities in their heads, tart and vivid, “I want you.” I love you. And you love me.
“So bloody arrogant,” Charles says, and then the dam collapses under the weight of surprised normality and he starts laughing, or maybe crying, Erik’s certainty firm as iron and unbreakable as the heart of the world, and Erik’s arm stays around his shoulders while the tears finally fall.
“I know you love me,” Erik murmurs. “Some days I don’t understand why. But I’m selfish enough to take it. To take you. If you want me to.” I do love you. I always will. Even if you say no, if you walk away from me-I’m a better man because of you, Charles. Occasionally against my will, I admit-Humor glinting in the caverns, flint and spark. But that is true.
“You wouldn’t talk to me,” Charles whispers, because that still hurts for so many reasons and he can’t just say yes, not so soon. Erik winces, possibly from guilt or from the glancing encounter with that open wound.
“I know. I didn’t mean-I didn’t realize how badly I-Charles, please look at me.” I’m sorry. I hurt you, and I am sorry. It won’t happen again. Another certainty. Brick and mortar. Iron and steel.
He swallows. Lifts his eyes, reluctantly. Finds Erik looking at him, eyes unguardedly damp around the edges, mirroring his own.
You were afraid. For me.
Yes.
Can you talk to me now?
If that’s what you-if you want-Erik feels uncertain, in their heads, for the first time. Doesn’t say, not in words, if you still want me.
“Of course I want you,” Charles whispers, and changes position, then, leans against that lean body next to his, and Erik’s arms close around him, wordless with relief and joy.
But we do need to talk. And I’m not saying I’m blameless-
You-Charles, I was the one who wouldn’t listen to you-
Then listen to me now. “You weren’t entirely wrong. I was overdoing it. And I did promise you. I hadn’t…I wasn’t taking this seriously. Or I was, but…only when I wanted to. And that’s not fair to you. If we’re doing this, together…then I’m yours. All of me.” He waits, the space of one heartbeat, then adds, because he’s not said it yet, “I do love you, you know.”
I know. Erik sits there on the floor, holding him, Charles practically in his lap now, head resting on one shoulder. One of Erik’s hands strokes through his hair, gently. I know.
I’m sorry, Erik.
No. Never apologize for being right. “You are, you know. Which you’ll probably enjoy. I was afraid. Seeing you on the ground…the way you just-disappeared, in my head…you were bleeding, Charles, and I-” Erik’s hand rests over his temple, in the guise of brushing back rumpled hair. You told me I’d not be alone. That neither of us would have to be.
Charles lifts his own hand, covers Erik’s, presses it against his cheek, indulging himself with the presence. “You’re right, I do enjoy you saying so.” I won’t leave you alone. Just as you won’t leave me. Can we…compromise, perhaps?
New experiences all the time, Erik sighs, but the teasing’s layered over marginally less tension, now. “What did you have in mind?”
“I won’t promise you I’ll stop using Cerebro. No, don’t look at me like that. We both know it’s necessary. To find others like us, to find Sebastian Shaw…”
“That’s my vengeance. Not yours.”
As if I won’t be there with you. “And you’re wrong. Even if I weren’t in love with you, which makes it mine as well, I’d still need to do this. To find him.” He’s not sure how to explain. I know about evil. And I’ve seen your memories. I believe that he needs to be stopped, even if I’m prepared to argue with you about ways and means. And Cerebro is how I can assist with finding him.
You did say compromise… And that’s tacit agreement, in those words.
“I did.” I’ll be careful. Shorter sessions. Breaks in between. And you’ll be there.
“Yes, I will.” And if I ask you to stop, if I think that you need to stop…
I’ll listen. “I might still argue with you afterwards, but I’ll listen to your reasons.” He pauses, as Erik nods. And…I am yours. I want to be. Completely. If you want me.
Of course I want you! “And…I’ll try to listen to you. I…may not be entirely rational regarding your safety, Charles.”
That expressive voice sounds a bit disgruntled: Erik not thrilled with the admission that he’s anything less than ruthlessly calculating at all times. Charles, inexplicably, finds himself smiling.
As long as you know it.
So you can mock me for the sentimentality, you mean?
Only when the occasion calls for it. He won’t, really. Not what Erik needs. “Your paperclips’re all over the floor, you know…you’ll want those, later.”
“I am aware. Right now I am holding you.” I would like to continue holding you.
Charles, who would like that too, settles more comfortably into long arms. The silence, around them, settles itself as well. Even the carpet feels less thin and sparse, though that may just be because he’s snugly in Erik’s lap. Being held.
“So,” Erik murmurs, speaking into his hair, low susurration that travels sweetly down to his toes, “compromise.”
“Mmm…”
“Are you awake?”
“Yes?” Only being happy. He is. It’s a diffuse, bittersweet kind of contentment, the serenity after a hard-won battle, gazing out over the field. Erik’s hand strokes his cheek again, gently; that feels right too. They’ve come out of the fray together.
The fabric of Erik’s shirt is soft. His own left leg, bent crookedly, is starting to complain, but that grumbling, like the rest of the world, fades off someplace distant and irrelevant, when he listens to that heartbeat under his ear and nothing else. The steady beat of oceans. Waves greeting the shore.
“Oceans, indeed.” Erik’s entertained. “Charles, you…”
Voices. Physical voices, outside. Clattering down the corridor. Barging into the moment.
The voices approach, chattering about mindless trivia, the cafeteria food (awful), the current CIA leadership (also awful), fellow female agents who wear short skirts to work (not awful but disgustingly appreciated), and Charles sighs and sits up, prepared to send them away with not an ounce of guilt, but he doesn’t have to; they keep walking all on their own.
Erik has tensed all those muscles, too, but Charles shakes his head. “No one we know. They’re not looking for us.” In any case, we have a very thoroughly locked door.
Erik winces, invisible regret.
“Oh. Sorry.” No, it’s all right. I asked you once not to let me go. You did listen to me.
And Erik, after a second’s startlement, laughs.
Still sitting on the floor, he picks up the closest of Erik’s hands. In the wake of that laughter, kisses the back of it, lips meeting old small scars and tanned skin.
Erik looks at him, and their eyes catch. And Charles thinks, with a kind of peaceful shock, yes, this, exactly. And sees the answering delight in Erik’s gaze.
“So,” Erik asks, carefully, eyes dancing, “you enjoy my hands…” What would you like me to do with my hands, Charles?
You did mention, some time ago…He sends the image, a quick burst of want and need and request: himself bent over the bed, those hands, the exquisite euphoria each time Erik’s hand comes down on him. If you’d like.
Erik stares at him, lips parted, then recovers. “I…would very much like to spank you, Charles.” You-you’re not asking because-
-because I want you to hurt me? No. “But I wasn’t listening to you, properly, earlier. I think…if not for the argument itself…at least for that. If we both agree I deserve it. Sir.”
Both eyebrows fly up. “I thought I asked you to use my name.” If we both agree that we want this, you mean. You asking, and me…punishing you.
“You did, sir.” Yes.
“Oh…” Erik actually grins at him, fierce and feral and happy. Then gets to his feet, keeping his grip on Charles’s wrist, so that Charles has no choice except to follow. I love you. “Clothes off, then. Rapidly.”
“With you holding my arm?” Love you!
“Consider it a challenge. Also…I believe that’s you questioning me. Two more.”
Wait, how many were you planning to begin with?
“Until I tell you we’re done. Do you need me to move this hand? For your shirt?” Ah. Not talking out loud?
You’re fortunate I can still talk at all. I can see what you’re imagining. “Only for a second. Thank you, Erik.”
Thank you, Charles. “And…yes. I do know I am. Come here.”
He does. As ordered. And the compliance makes him shiver, as the weight of the waves closes over him, vast and rolling and deep.
Erik gazes at him, looking spellbound, for a moment. Charles wonders what he’s seeing, with that expression in those eyes.
One graceful finger touches his lips. I’d like to kiss you, Charles.
Yes, Erik.
Erik’s kiss is hot and firm and all-encompassing, tongue sliding kindly but insistently into his mouth, devouring every centimeter of him, filling all his senses, and Charles shuts his eyes and kisses back because Erik wants him to, because he wants to, not passive but embracing the invasion.
He’s entirely naked. Erik’s not. This realization makes him shiver and then silently concur: this is the way they ought to be, if Erik asks him for this.
Oh, is that what you want? Erik pulls back from the kiss, leaving him messy and dazed and craving more, lips wet and swollen with the imprint of that mouth on his. “You want to be mine. Incontrovertibly. You want me to make you feel it all. Tomorrow. The next day. When you sit, when you stand, when you walk around, in public, the marks I leave on your skin…” If you need me to stop, to slow down, all you ever have to do is say the word.
I know, Charles whispers back, and then, all of that, yes, Erik, please.
So polite, asking for this, aren’t you?
I- He’s not certain whether that’s praise, or mockery.
Erik takes a deep breath. Lets it out. Which do you want it to be?
I…don’t know.
All right. We’ll come back to that. Erik traces the curve of his right eyebrow, trails fingertips over his face, skims them across his throat. Leaves them there, quiescent but a harbinger of events to come.
“Have you ever been to a bondage club, Charles? I have. Not for pleasure, certainly not for pain…I was looking for someone. He wasn’t there, but that’s beside the point, at the moment. I looked around, and there was an absolutely beautiful young man in a corner, and he was smiling, and he was wearing a collar, and a leash, and sitting at someone’s feet…” The fingers tap, one-two-three, over his throat. Charles whimpers. Sways on his feet.
“I wondered, at the time, why anyone would do that. Why he’d voluntarily kneel, and wear those things, and smile…and then I went back to my hotel, and stood under the shower, and pictured that smile again, and I didn’t want him, not exactly, but the thought of someone trusting me that much, giving over every last bit of control, for me…I made myself come, my own hand on my cock, under the shower, Charles, imagining that. And now…now I have you.”
Erik, Charles gasps, dizzy. Erik studies him thoughtfully, still not touching him anywhere else, only those fingertips, and every atom of his body throbs with denied craving.
“Would you wear a collar for me? If I asked you to?”
The answer spills out like a flood, like an orgasm, a crescendo: yes yes yours please claim me give me something of yours to wear to belong to you Erik please…
Erik laughs, blushes a little, glances away, as if embarrassed now by the request, by the response, by the strength of that mutual desire. “Well…perhaps. Someday. Maybe…if you earn it.” I love you, Charles. Remember that.
Yes, always. The universe consists, right now, of him and Erik alone. Infinite and spectacular.
“I believe you made a request of me. Because you need it. Here…” Erik walks him over to the bed. Pauses, positions darting in rapid-fire contemplation through their heads-this is a first for him, for them, Charles remembers cloudily-and then sits down, fully dressed, on the end. Rolls up one sleeve, then the other, tantalizingly slow and even more so when he notices Charles breathing faster.
You like watching? Me preparing, ready for what I’m going to do to you?
Yes, sir.
Good. Over my lap, then.
He’s been spanked before, of course. But this, this position, he’s never liked it this way. Too vulnerable. Too intimate. Erik, hearing some of that, looks up at him from the bed. If you need to-
No. I trust you. And I want-He stops. Can’t admit that. Not even to Erik, not yet.
You want that. Erik says it for him. You want to be exposed, and helpless, and held down while I make you feel me, until you feel only me.
Charles gives in, gives up, gives himself over to the rush of embarrassment, arousal, need, and whispers yes.
“Then don’t make me ask again. Come here. Over my lap.”
He leans over Erik’s thighs, slowly. His toes barely brush the floor; not going to be much help for balance. His erection, already heavy and hot, is pinned between his stomach and all that muscle, and it almost hurts caught there but beautifully so.
He stretches both arms above his head, fingers curling into the blanket and ruining Erik’s neatness. He could prop himself up on his elbows, taking back some of his weight, but he doesn’t.
Erik, understanding, smiles back. Sets a hand on the back of his neck, toying with the waves of his hair, and Charles whines into the thick wool, which gathers up the sound and tucks it all away for safekeeping.
Ready?
Yes, Erik.
Despite having said yes, having asked, he’s not prepared for the sensation, the crack of Erik’s hand over bare skin, the sound flying out to echo around the room.
The handprint stings. It’s splendid. He needs it. Needs more.
Good? Erik’s mental voice shakes, only a fraction.
Good. Yes.
Harder? Not as hard? Or is this all right for now?
Harder, I think…not too much harder, please. He can tell when Erik picks up that he’s employing the last word on purpose, because he gets that brilliant grin, both telepathic and not, in reply, even as Erik’s hand lifts and snaps back down, same place, but more, and the lightning explodes under his skin.
Like that?
Yes-oh, yes, please, that-
Erik spanks him hard, as requested, gentleness set aside for the moment; Charles moans and squirms over Erik’s lap, unsure whether he’s trying to get away or ask for more. He can feel the rush of blood beneath tender skin, more sensitive with every open-palmed smack. Erik alternates sides, methodical and unhurried, slightly harder again when Charles whimpers and lifts his hips into the blows.
Still good?
Mmm-yes-It’s right on the edge between pleasure and pain, but that’s the point: he’s Erik’s, here, for this, and he made Erik worry, made Erik displeased with him, and this is right, the sting of it washing away the other hurt.
Yes, Erik says, very softly. I’m not trying to hurt you. Tell me if I do. I only want you to remember. You asked me for this. You want to be mine.
I will-I will, I’ll remember, I promise-The hand comes down with more intent, faster, and Charles rocks his hips into Erik’s lap, up and down, meeting each impact, letting them drive him back down. Erik’s other hand wraps around his wrists, above his head, and squeezes, and Charles hears himself moan. The heat spreads, not only focused in one place now but swirling and glowing throughout his entire body, and he relaxes into it, muscles loose and languid.
He can hear himself making small sounds, openmouthed against the blanket, not quite a pant or a grunt but somewhere in between, as Erik spanks him; his cock, trapped between his stomach and that taut thigh, is hard and leaking, wetness pooling and soaking the fabric of Erik’s slacks. The slickness torments him, and he wriggles, thrusting, cock sliding and slipping through it, the friction unbearable over tingling skin.
“Impatient,” Erik says, amused. “So wet for me, Charles. Do you like this? Feeling what I do to you, knowing you belong here, just like this?”
That’s all he knows, now. He moans, nonverbal affirmation.
Lovely, Erik thinks, loudly, and then rests the hand in place and squeezes, adding pressure to the sting; digs in fingernails, small crescents of red heat, and Charles screams, into the crumpled wool, hips jerking helplessly.
“Do you want to come like this?” Despite the audible words, Erik’s mind brushes his, a gentle whisper of apology for the hurt that turns into surprised delight once Charles’s actual response-it hadn’t been a bad scream-gets through. “Do you want me to let you come, here, over my lap, from me spanking you? Answer me.”
Yes Erik please-
“You have been very good. Not earlier, but now. Taking all of this, everything I…I think you can have what you want.” Come for me, Charles.
That powerful hand cracks down over blazing skin one more time, and Charles hears himself cry out, body rippling with it, climax shivering through him everywhere, cock pulsing in Erik’s lap and Erik’s hand around his wrists and his face buried in the blanket, Erik’s other hand not letting up and spanking him through the waves of orgasm, over and over, until he’s sobbing with the confusion of endorphins and shame and pain and fulfillment and bliss.
Erik moves them both carefully, eases him down onto the bed-Charles whimpers, first at the loss of Erik’s body beneath his and then when his dripping cock, still half-hard, encounters smooth fabric-and then kneels over him, weight settling on his thighs.
He keeps his eyes closed. The world is darkly beautiful, dazzling sparkles and profound silences, every sensation a new discovery. He’s not expecting anything specific, next-he can’t think enough to expect anything-but somehow he’s completely not expecting the light touch of lips behind his shoulderblade, as Erik leans over to kiss him.
“Perfection,” Erik whispers, and the word floats along his skin like silk. Erik’s still dressed, almost entirely, and the fabric rubs over newly tender places, as Erik bends to kiss him again.
Charles moans, inarticulate, and pushes his hips down into the firmness of the mattress. He can’t come again so soon, at least he doesn’t think he can, but the pleasure is everywhere, decadent and relentless, and as he moves, random and unthinking, his cock drags along the bed, and that feels good, so he does it again.
“Charles,” Erik says, amused and aroused, “can you hear me?” Still all right?
Evidently a moan isn’t good enough, because Erik’s weight shifts, and a hand finds his face, turns his head. Charles shudders, head to toe, at being handled and repositioned so easily. “Look at me,” Erik says. Still tropical fruit? Or…?
Pineapple, Charles whispers, after a second, but I can’t-
Just for a moment, then. Please.
With some effort, he opens both eyes. Meets Erik’s concerned pale gaze. Those eyes, so full of love and worry, plunge into his heart, a near-physical impact, and he shivers, and looks down, at the sheets; but he lets Erik feel the acceptance, the reassurance, the agreement: I’m all right. I love you.
Love you, Erik whispers back, and touches his cheek again, fingertip drifting over freckles, and Charles turns his head and nuzzles into the hand and the sensation of being caressed.
He can feel Erik’s rare genuine smile, silvery sunlight through rain, when he closes his eyes again, trustingly.
“All right, then…” Erik shifts position, sits back up. Trails a hand down Charles’s spine, all the way to the curves of his ass, still red-hot and burning, more so when Erik pinches tender flesh, sharply. Charles arches upwards, gasping, and Erik does it again, on the other side, matching spikes of delicious intensity, making him whine and quiver between the bed and Erik’s hands.
Erik says his name, a little desperately, and then there’s a sweep of fabric, and the sound of hands on skin, and Charles can hear it and see it because Erik shows him in their heads, Erik getting himself off above Charles’s trembling body, cock sliding rapidly through his own hand, long and thick and flushed with desire.
Erik leans forward, pressing himself against Charles’s body and his own handprints, so that they both feel each stroke, and the strokes get faster and harder and Charles pushes up against him and then lets Erik shove him down into the bed, and Erik’s orgasm explodes through them both in rolling waves, liquid heat painting reddened skin as Charles shudders deliriously beneath him.
Erik collapses atop him, breathing hard as if he’s just run a marathon; the first-ever marathon, perhaps, to tell the story of victory, of triumph, of wild and breathtaking joy. The weight, the hot breath behind his ear, are very tangible, and present, and true.
Charles, Erik manages, between breaths. Charles?
The words fall into the tempest, and vanish, but not without leaving a hint of solid ground. He lies there sprawled under Erik’s exhausted heaviness, Erik’s come drying sticky over tingling skin, the blanket crumpled tiredly around his fingers, and feels the peace sweep through his body like a waterfall, ceaseless thundering serenity.
Please? A suggestion of concern, this time, under all the worn-out exultation. Charles…
Yes…love you.
You-that-I love you, also, always-are you-all right?
More than all right. He turns his head, far enough to find Erik looking back at him. Smiles. I feel…marvelous.
You are. Erik kisses him again, not hard or demanding; slightly possessive, yes, but tinged with wonder like the shining first rays of sunrise. I love you. “Here…” That lithe weight rolls off of him and to one side; Charles makes a tiny sound, even though he doesn’t mean to, and Erik says “Shh, come here, liebling,” and tucks their bodies back together, Charles as the little spoon, cradled by Erik’s warmth.
“You’re all right. You’re here. And I am here. Just breathe…” Are you…does this hurt you? Did I-are you sore at all? In pain?
He has to think about that for a while. Erik has been quite thorough. Has listened, very definitely, when asked to make things harder. But it’s a pleasant kind of soreness. A delicious, decadent awareness of every particle of his own body.
Surreptitiously, he pushes his hips back into Erik’s behind him, exploring the feeling. Lets Erik feel that too, that answer, not in words.
“Good, then.” Erik coils an arm around him, hand coming to rest over his heart. Charles puts his own atop it, lacing their fingers together; senses the elusive bright gleam of the replying smile. Holding on to me, Charles?
Yes. You’re all mine.
Yes. All yours.
The words float out and bump lightly into the bed, the desk, the whirlwind paperclips. Hang in the hush, and heal one more private piece of the world.
“Charles?”
Yes?
“…I’m still wearing clothes.”
And Charles starts laughing, helplessly, into the blanket. Erik tries to hold out, but eventually has to laugh as well, face buried in Charles’s hair, bed shaking with merriment, and right when the amusement begins dying down Charles twists around and gets them face to face and says “So you are!” and Erik starts laughing again, glorious and unguarded and in love.
Marvelous, Erik says again, shaking his head, grinning, and Charles kisses him there in the disaster they’ve made of the once-tidy bed, rumpled sheets and stained clothing and compromises offered and honored, and answers, yes, we are.