X-Men First Class fic: Inevitable Things, 6/6
Title: Inevitable Things
Pairing: Erik/Charles (M/M)
Rating: R
Warnings: Male/male sex. Recollection of ambiguity w/r/t consent. The f-word again.
Author's Notes: HC (hurt/comfort). This fanfic is a birthday present for my dear friend delirium1995 -- I love you oodles! It was beta-read (under light duress and subtle but well-intended coercion) by another friend who shall remain nameless to protect the still-mostly-innocent -- I owe you tons! To new readers: This is the conclusion and the epilogue. All scenes fit within the movie. Previously posted sections are here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 and Part 5.
Inevitable Things: Part Six
The advertising agencies have made it very clear: Travelodges are for budget-conscious travelers who are looking for adventure. They are generally located in downtown areas, conveniently close to churches, shops, and bars. In point of fact, there were two bars and one tavern across the street, and Erik let Charles guide the way to the one that had the nicest people in it. He let him choose their beers -- Erik genuinely wanted to drink whatever Charles wanted him to, which was the first time Charles had ever experienced that particularly circular drink preference. He let him eat the last of the beer nuts, but that was partly because Erik was getting enthralled with the way Charles bit the pad of his thumb when licking the salt off his fingers, and wasn't bothering to try to keep his thoughts quiet about it. He even let Charles win at darts, and there was no explanation for that.
So Charles was pleased when they got back to their room and Erik swore in surprise when he produced the dart from under his sleeve.
"How did you do that? I could feel all the other bits of metal on you all day, but not that until just now."
Charles couldn't help smiling a little, thought he supposed it wasn't exactly a nice smile. "Humor me," he said. He placed the dart in Erik's palm, resisting the urge to leave his fingers curled there, and stepped over to the window. He pulled the curtains away from the wall, used the ballpoint pen he took from the bar to make a small dot on the casement. "Throw the dart there," he said, standing with his shoulder barely two inches from the spot.
He heard the dart's point slide into the wood even as he was turning back to face Erik.
"See? Perfect. Your aim is perfect, even after four pints. I can guarantee you I can't do that, even cold-sober, even if I were only standing a yard away. And yet, tonight I beat you at darts." Charles left the dart where it was, letting the curtain fall over it, hiding it in the folds of fabric. "Care to explain?"
Erik stood tight-lipped, unmoving, undecided. Just like that first night outside the CIA, torn between two things that were impossible to reconcile. The set of his jaw indicated that bullish, immobile, stubborn refusal to give in; so at odds with his eyes, at turns uncertain, scared, hopeful. Charles watched the struggle play out on his features, waiting for the coin to fall, heads or tails, waiting for Erik to decide whether to tell the truth or not.
"Do you want me to hide what I am for you, or not?" Erik finally asked. Asked, not growled, and that in itself was practically an offer.
"No, I don't want you to hide." Charles answered, ruefully, thinking of that elephant again, and how Erik reserves subtlety only for people he doesn't trust. He was grateful that Erik hadn't been the least bit subtle in regards to him. "I don't want you to scare people unnecessarily, I don't want you to risk being hurt by stupid people who only fear what they don't understand, and I don't want you to ever just let me beat you."
Erik opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again…. and finally just settled on a quizzical expression. "Those things don't all go together," he pointed out. "And when we face Shaw and his people, you know some of those are going be impossible."
Charles shrugged. "We can't always get what we want." Charles took a step forward, calmly approaching Erik like he had all the time in the world. "Erik, you should know this about me -- I spend an awful lot of my time trying not to scare people. It may be that it's indistinguishable from hiding as far as anyone else is concerned, but I'm well aware of what I can do, and I never try to hide from myself, or my friends."
"So why do you ask me to explain myself, when you can just read my mind?" Erik stood his ground, his knee grazing the foot of the bed furthest from the window, as though keeping in mind where the furniture was located. Presumably, it meant Erik was on the edge of a fight-or-flight response, looking for exits in case the situation turned into a trap. And since he looked more perplexed than angry, flight was probably the more likely outcome. Why, indeed? It was a fair question. He ran his tongue over his lips and took a deep breath, another step putting him close enough to Erik that he had to lift his chin to maintain eye contact.
"Why should you be lazy and expect me to do all the work?" Charles asked. Why was it always like this the first time, always so nerve-wracking? He closed the gap, stepped sideways so the wall was to his back, and Erik automatically turned to face him so that his back was to the bed. There were plenty of techniques for manipulation that didn't involve telepathy. Were they more fair? Or just more fun?
He pointed his index finger squarely at Erik's chest and leaned forward and down so that the backs of Erik's knees pressed against the edge of the bed. Erik fell back with a flourish and a quiet whump! when that steadily increasing pressure reached some tipping point. Charles was on him in the next heartbeat, his knees on either side of Erik's thighs, and paused just long enough to project to Erik "This is what I mean when I say--" and said the word "check" out loud before grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck and pulling his head back so Charles could enjoy the stretch of that lovely throat, run his thumb along the line of Erik's jaw and immerse himself in the sheer pleasure Erik felt from being held so firmly in place as he kissed him full on the mouth.
"So are we playing chess now?" Erik wondered, his hands resting on Charles' thighs, pressing down gently but firmly so that his knees sank into the bedspread and their hips pressed together when Erik lifted against him just a little.
"We're always playing chess," Charles thought back, smiling into the kiss in appreciation. "Haven't you noticed?" He leaned back for a moment, appreciating the new color in Erik's lips and considering his next move. "Here you're pinning my king, as it were, so I'd better do something to distract you." He pulled open the third button on his shirt, tugged it and the sweater off in one swift motion and threw them onto the floor. Erik stiffened even more underneath him; but the smile he won from Erik brought to mind the first one he had given him, that night on the ship when the medical officer had unceremoniously stripped Charles naked in front of his future lover.
"I didn't think you could be more beautiful than you were that first night," Erik said. He placed his palm on Charles collarbone, slid it down his chest to his navel, then curved his hand around his waist and pulled him in for another kiss. His other hand reached up over Charles' shoulder, and the radio in the corner turned on and the music of Miles Davis filled the room. Erik's hand found the back of his neck; Charles indulged him and his possessiveness at first, but then pushed forward, forcing Erik back and lower, until his mouth was even with Charles' nipples.
"Romance is all well and good, Erik, but I expect to get some work from you, you know." Erik seemed to divine what Charles wanted, at least in part; his tongue flicked out, teasing Charles' nipple, playing with the contact. "Teeth," Charles hissed, digging his fingers into Erik's back. "Now." Erik pressed his teeth against the sensitive skin and bit down gently -- and it was good, but still not quite enough. "HARDER", Charles thought out loud to Erik, and this time he obliged immediately and just the way he liked it, and Charles moaned with the thrill of it as the heat of arousal raced up his back and left him gasping and shuddering and then it was time to let that one go, before the sensation became truly unbearable. Erik's tongue traced across his breastbone, lapped a circle around his other nipple, and Charles saw his glassy gaze and pulled back sharply.
"What?" Erik asked, once he realized Charles was just out of reach, unaware how delayed his reaction was.
"Just kiss me," Charles muttered, fighting the urge to apologize or beg, and holding himself as tight and as still as he could. Guilt and shame were always there in the back of his mind; the first time he'd had sex with a girl, he realized too late once they were done that there was no way of going back after the fact to find out if she had actually wanted to, before his wanting her to overcame whatever she might have thought or felt before. He thought it would be different with boys, but it wasn't. The only solution seemed to be utter passivity, to want nothing, but that was a lie that he couldn't live, either. "This is why I don't -- I can't-- " he struggled for words as his half-formed plan abandoned him.
"Of course you can." Erik rolled to his side and up to his knees, catching Charles firmly around the waist in one fluid motion like the turn of a waltz, and tugged him closer while he sank back down on his heels, neatly reversing their heights so that Charles was once again leaning down to catch Erik's greedy kisses.
"Bloody fucking hell," Charles swore when he had a chance to catch his breath, "why are we still dressed?" He tugged Erik's turtleneck off, and even as he did so, pulling Erik's arms up over his head, Charles heard belt buckles come undone, zippers releasing. Erik's face was upturned like a supplicant, while his hands roamed all over Charles' bare back, down his hips, gripping his ass, slipping his clothes off and out of the way. Some part of Charles still felt the twist from the turn, recalled the slow rotation and continued it, ending with Erik lying on his back underneath him, kicking his pants off. They ground slowly against each other, skin to skin, Erik still kissing him like he's going to die, like he's drowning and kissing is breathing, like he can't believe how good the world is, and if he opens his eyes the dream will come crashing down. It only made Charles hold him harder, pinning him in place.
He was thinking that as long he kept himself firmly in his own mind, then the rest was still Erik's choice to accept or not when Erik reached down to take them both together in one hand, his long fingers curling around the back of Charles' penis easily and sweeping upwards, finding that spot just under the tip that's particularly sensitive on the first time, and Charles' long intake of breath and tiny whimper at the crest gave him away. He opened his eyes to see Erik smiling at him. God, Charles, your lips, he thought, and muttered aloud "Five fucking days" -- and they were kissing again, and Erik was biting his lower lip hungrily and stroking them and it was just too exquisite to think about anything else.
When Charles began to flag, and couldn’t hold himself above Erik anymore because his attention was focused on those bundles of nerves inexorably marching him to the edge and his arms just didn’t seem to care anymore, Erik rolled them over so that Charles was on his back with his head on the pillow and Erik's head was between his legs, alternately sucking and nipping and biting and "Bloody fucking hell, Erik, I can't…" and Erik's tongue slipped lower, and Charles had never felt that before and it was really far more pleasant than it had any right to be. "I can't stay in my head if you keep that up!"
Erik dragged his tongue up to the base of his cock, and then up the length of it, his light blue eyes positively sparkling. "So don't," he said, hovering over the tip. "I'm easy for you, Charles. You don't need permission to use what's yours." He swirled his tongue around the tip and played over the slit, and Charles threw his head back with a groan, struggling not to give in. "What?" Erik asked when he felt Charles' hand on his head pushing him away.
"I need your permission, anyway," Charles said hoarsely. "You know what I can do, so you know what it means."
Erik rolled his eyes and flexed his fingers where they rested on Charles' pelvis, pressing the edges of the nails into his skin just enough to be playful. "Can you hear me, Charles?" he thought, sliding forward slowly.
"Yes," Charles responded, his fingers tracing little circles in Erik's hair.
"Then you have my permission."
"But I always hear you, Erik."
"Then you always have my permission," Erik answered, taking Charles once again in his mouth, but this time in earnest. Charles quickly found himself torn between curling up so he could grip Erik's shoulders (so muscular, becoming slick with sweat, as were his own) or arching back, lifting his hips up, fucking Erik's delicious mouth, good God, but his tongue was amazing, but wouldn't he rather--
"Fuck yes," Erik responded, moving forward again, kissing him, nipping at his throat, trying to catch whatever skin between his teeth he could. "HAVE me, that way, yes!" Charles reached up to place his hands on either side of Erik's face, staring into those lovely intense eyes, making sure they weren't glassy at all, and kissed him long and hard in relief and simple want. Heaven help him, but he hadn't had the opportunity to fuck a man like that since his second year at Oxford, and couldn't stop himself from projecting just how very much he wanted to.
A long shudder went through Erik, and he pressed himself up to his elbows so he had the space to look at Charles in something like wonder, to brush aside his sweaty hair that had fallen in his eyes. "Don't deny yourself," he breathed. "Or me."
Charles slipped a leg out from under Erik, twisted his hip and rolled them over again so that Erik was on his back and Charles was slipping backward off the foot of the bed. He grabbed Erik's legs and pulled them towards him; he felt Erik tucking his lower lip under his teeth as Charles ran his hands up the outside of Erik's thighs, admiring the feel of those strong muscles, before Erik flipped over and pushed his ass nearly within Charles' reach. It was almost the sensation of an itch in the back of his mind that drove Charles to slap Erik's buttcheek, dig his fingers into his hips and tug him the final few inches to be where he wanted him; from Erik he felt only that this was right in the way few things are.
There was barely time to wonder about the logistics of the next step when Erik's small day bag lifted itself onto the bed at his side, the zipper evidently leading the way. Charles could almost feel the fields rippling around his hand as the bag opened to reveal -- tucked between toothbrush and toothpaste and shaving cream and the usual sundries -- a tube of KY.
"You think of everything, my friend," he thought, and the immediate response was a general feeling of happiness suffusing Erik's awareness. Getting from here to there was a matter of moments, and then Charles was riding bareback, and he ought to be ashamed, really, he was being so damn selfish, but pushing into Erik felt so damn amazing, and Erik's thoughts were nothing but Yes, Charles, God, Yes, please, harder, FUCK, and all he's doing is panting and growling something deep and beautiful in the back of his throat, and Charles had one hand on Erik's lower back, pressing him down, and the other reaching forward to the back of his neck and everything was so slippery and so hot it was like being in a fucking furnace, and it was glorious.
Erik's hands grabbed the covers like he would rip them apart, and maybe he would, and then suddenly his hands flattened out wide and it made Charles giddy because he finally managed to find the spot in Erik that could bring him to the brink, and damn it all but he was immensely pleased with himself for having managed to do that even while he lost it and came inside Erik, which he hadn't meant to do at all, and it was all a mess, but Erik was coming, too. His shuddering -- Erik's, Charles', it was nearly impossible to tell at that point which feelings belonged to whom, everything was tangled up together in his mind -- hadn't even subsided when Charles collapsed forward, just barely holding himself up on his hands, one on the bedspread under Erik's arm, the other threatening to slide off Erik's shoulder. He slipped out of Erik as slowly and gently as he could manage, barely feeling the twinge of pain underneath all the sensation Erik's mind was full of -- and even that twinge was sweet, with so much pleasure wrapped up in it.
He leaned forward on his shaking arms to kiss the back of Erik's -- his Erik's -- neck, and as he drew back, he finally saw the fine, narrow red lines tracing down from the base of his neck along the inside of the shoulder blade. Made with the point of a very sharp blade, and not yet healed.
"Erik," he thought, placing his thumb on the tiny wounds, letting his fingers curl over the collarbone. He couldn't bring himself to think the words in Erik's mind, though, so he just said them out loud. "I thought that was just a dream."
Erik answered him with muffled laughter, and without moving anything else, placed his hand on Charles'. He muttered something that sounded like it might be "Damn," and then thought If you think that was a dream, then I want to have dreams like yours. Every night.
Charles laid himself down on Erik, carefully keeping to the side away from the angry cuts, placing his lips against Erik's neck and the rest of him stretched out to touch as much of Erik as possible. He had felt Erik use his gifts while in his mind often enough that he could recognize it now in the memories of his dreams, the knife on his back and the fields bending to guide it. Oh Erik, he thought out loud, pressing his eyelids tightly shut, so nothing could slip out. I want you to have dreams like mine.
Erik took a deep breath, contented. "Then share them. Just don't come into my dreams, we talked about that. Here--" He twisted underneath him, dumping Charles on his side, then rolled and curled around him.
Charles smiled in the embrace. "I didn't peg you for the cuddling type."
"I'm not," Erik replied gruffly. "But this way, they have to go through me if they want to get to you."
And Charles knew better than to ask who they were.
EPILOGUE
Oct 21, 1962
11pm
Erik found Charles in the library, well after everyone else had settled in for their first night in the Xavier mansion. He was sitting in an armchair in a pose Erik had never seen him in before -- his leg bent and braced against the arm of the chair, his elbow resting on the knee, his head resting in his hand, an empty glass in the other. Staring at the fire. Listening as Erik closed the door behind him, to the little click of the lock sliding in place as its master padded forward on the carpet quietly, hesitantly.
"Yes, Erik, I'm going to fall over if not for the geometry."
Erik stalked around the chair and the game table in front of it, walking into Charles' line of sight, and took the glass from his hand without saying a word.
"I'm not sulking." Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't want to look at Erik, didn't want to see himself through Erik's eyes -- but he could hardly help it. Even with half the bottle of scotch gone, he couldn't help notice Erik's scent, leather and copper and salt and summer grass. With a side of scotch. "I'm grieving."
Erik stepped quietly back to him, pressed the refilled glass in his hand, tapped his own against it. "For Darwin," he breathed, barely a whisper. Charles opened his eyes to watch him, his… well. His Erik. He watched his Erik settle in the opposing chair, he watched his Erik watch him, and he saw himself as Erik saw him, the light from the fireplace playing tricks, giving him a glow, a little extra illumination; his blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears; beautiful even in sorrow. If I can hear you, I have permission, and I always hear you, Charles thought mostly to himself, but sometimes I just can't agree with what I see with your eyes.
Erik shook his head minutely. "You saw how it happened?" he asked.
Charles took a drink, snorted when he tasted that it had been watered down. He looked back up to find Erik watching him patiently. "Raven asked if she could share the memory with me. She hasn't done that for… since I went to Oxford, really. Then Sean, then Hank. Alex--" he took a break from speaking to finish off the drink and managed not to cough too badly when he accidentally breathed some of it. He waved the glass in the general direction of the table, paused because there wasn't a damn coaster, and hadn't he specifically gotten a coaster when he first sat himself down? But Erik was at his side, taking the glass again, placing it on the floor out of the way, holding his hand so Charles could hold onto something. "Alex will share it with me when he's ready to. It was… I wish it hadn't been him. I wish it hadn't been anyone, but Armando was protecting them, he was doing what we should have been doing, and we weren't there."
"No, we thought we were catching Shaw, and instead, Shaw was trying to catch us. Leaving the kids behind was the best decision given what we knew at the time. Armando is a hero."
"But he shouldn't have been made a dead hero." Charles shook his head. "And because of Angel…" he looked over Erik's head, at the fire. "They trust each other a little less, now. They're afraid that if one of them was willing to go over to Shaw, leaving Armando like that, then any of them might break."
"So we have our work cut out for us," Erik said matter-of-factly. "But they're strong kids. All they need is their teacher back."
"Teachers," Charles corrected, letting his eyelids shut. The fire was warm, Erik's hand in his was solid and such a comfort, and though Erik was a tightly coiled spring on most days, he was his tightly coiled spring, and Charles could rest just a moment, here. The fate of Sebastian Shaw and all those other inevitable things could wait a little longer.
Pairing: Erik/Charles (M/M)
Rating: R
Warnings: Male/male sex. Recollection of ambiguity w/r/t consent. The f-word again.
Author's Notes: HC (hurt/comfort). This fanfic is a birthday present for my dear friend delirium1995 -- I love you oodles! It was beta-read (under light duress and subtle but well-intended coercion) by another friend who shall remain nameless to protect the still-mostly-innocent -- I owe you tons! To new readers: This is the conclusion and the epilogue. All scenes fit within the movie. Previously posted sections are here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 and Part 5.
Inevitable Things: Part Six
The advertising agencies have made it very clear: Travelodges are for budget-conscious travelers who are looking for adventure. They are generally located in downtown areas, conveniently close to churches, shops, and bars. In point of fact, there were two bars and one tavern across the street, and Erik let Charles guide the way to the one that had the nicest people in it. He let him choose their beers -- Erik genuinely wanted to drink whatever Charles wanted him to, which was the first time Charles had ever experienced that particularly circular drink preference. He let him eat the last of the beer nuts, but that was partly because Erik was getting enthralled with the way Charles bit the pad of his thumb when licking the salt off his fingers, and wasn't bothering to try to keep his thoughts quiet about it. He even let Charles win at darts, and there was no explanation for that.
So Charles was pleased when they got back to their room and Erik swore in surprise when he produced the dart from under his sleeve.
"How did you do that? I could feel all the other bits of metal on you all day, but not that until just now."
Charles couldn't help smiling a little, thought he supposed it wasn't exactly a nice smile. "Humor me," he said. He placed the dart in Erik's palm, resisting the urge to leave his fingers curled there, and stepped over to the window. He pulled the curtains away from the wall, used the ballpoint pen he took from the bar to make a small dot on the casement. "Throw the dart there," he said, standing with his shoulder barely two inches from the spot.
He heard the dart's point slide into the wood even as he was turning back to face Erik.
"See? Perfect. Your aim is perfect, even after four pints. I can guarantee you I can't do that, even cold-sober, even if I were only standing a yard away. And yet, tonight I beat you at darts." Charles left the dart where it was, letting the curtain fall over it, hiding it in the folds of fabric. "Care to explain?"
Erik stood tight-lipped, unmoving, undecided. Just like that first night outside the CIA, torn between two things that were impossible to reconcile. The set of his jaw indicated that bullish, immobile, stubborn refusal to give in; so at odds with his eyes, at turns uncertain, scared, hopeful. Charles watched the struggle play out on his features, waiting for the coin to fall, heads or tails, waiting for Erik to decide whether to tell the truth or not.
"Do you want me to hide what I am for you, or not?" Erik finally asked. Asked, not growled, and that in itself was practically an offer.
"No, I don't want you to hide." Charles answered, ruefully, thinking of that elephant again, and how Erik reserves subtlety only for people he doesn't trust. He was grateful that Erik hadn't been the least bit subtle in regards to him. "I don't want you to scare people unnecessarily, I don't want you to risk being hurt by stupid people who only fear what they don't understand, and I don't want you to ever just let me beat you."
Erik opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again…. and finally just settled on a quizzical expression. "Those things don't all go together," he pointed out. "And when we face Shaw and his people, you know some of those are going be impossible."
Charles shrugged. "We can't always get what we want." Charles took a step forward, calmly approaching Erik like he had all the time in the world. "Erik, you should know this about me -- I spend an awful lot of my time trying not to scare people. It may be that it's indistinguishable from hiding as far as anyone else is concerned, but I'm well aware of what I can do, and I never try to hide from myself, or my friends."
"So why do you ask me to explain myself, when you can just read my mind?" Erik stood his ground, his knee grazing the foot of the bed furthest from the window, as though keeping in mind where the furniture was located. Presumably, it meant Erik was on the edge of a fight-or-flight response, looking for exits in case the situation turned into a trap. And since he looked more perplexed than angry, flight was probably the more likely outcome. Why, indeed? It was a fair question. He ran his tongue over his lips and took a deep breath, another step putting him close enough to Erik that he had to lift his chin to maintain eye contact.
"Why should you be lazy and expect me to do all the work?" Charles asked. Why was it always like this the first time, always so nerve-wracking? He closed the gap, stepped sideways so the wall was to his back, and Erik automatically turned to face him so that his back was to the bed. There were plenty of techniques for manipulation that didn't involve telepathy. Were they more fair? Or just more fun?
He pointed his index finger squarely at Erik's chest and leaned forward and down so that the backs of Erik's knees pressed against the edge of the bed. Erik fell back with a flourish and a quiet whump! when that steadily increasing pressure reached some tipping point. Charles was on him in the next heartbeat, his knees on either side of Erik's thighs, and paused just long enough to project to Erik "This is what I mean when I say--" and said the word "check" out loud before grabbing the hair at the nape of his neck and pulling his head back so Charles could enjoy the stretch of that lovely throat, run his thumb along the line of Erik's jaw and immerse himself in the sheer pleasure Erik felt from being held so firmly in place as he kissed him full on the mouth.
"So are we playing chess now?" Erik wondered, his hands resting on Charles' thighs, pressing down gently but firmly so that his knees sank into the bedspread and their hips pressed together when Erik lifted against him just a little.
"We're always playing chess," Charles thought back, smiling into the kiss in appreciation. "Haven't you noticed?" He leaned back for a moment, appreciating the new color in Erik's lips and considering his next move. "Here you're pinning my king, as it were, so I'd better do something to distract you." He pulled open the third button on his shirt, tugged it and the sweater off in one swift motion and threw them onto the floor. Erik stiffened even more underneath him; but the smile he won from Erik brought to mind the first one he had given him, that night on the ship when the medical officer had unceremoniously stripped Charles naked in front of his future lover.
"I didn't think you could be more beautiful than you were that first night," Erik said. He placed his palm on Charles collarbone, slid it down his chest to his navel, then curved his hand around his waist and pulled him in for another kiss. His other hand reached up over Charles' shoulder, and the radio in the corner turned on and the music of Miles Davis filled the room. Erik's hand found the back of his neck; Charles indulged him and his possessiveness at first, but then pushed forward, forcing Erik back and lower, until his mouth was even with Charles' nipples.
"Romance is all well and good, Erik, but I expect to get some work from you, you know." Erik seemed to divine what Charles wanted, at least in part; his tongue flicked out, teasing Charles' nipple, playing with the contact. "Teeth," Charles hissed, digging his fingers into Erik's back. "Now." Erik pressed his teeth against the sensitive skin and bit down gently -- and it was good, but still not quite enough. "HARDER", Charles thought out loud to Erik, and this time he obliged immediately and just the way he liked it, and Charles moaned with the thrill of it as the heat of arousal raced up his back and left him gasping and shuddering and then it was time to let that one go, before the sensation became truly unbearable. Erik's tongue traced across his breastbone, lapped a circle around his other nipple, and Charles saw his glassy gaze and pulled back sharply.
"What?" Erik asked, once he realized Charles was just out of reach, unaware how delayed his reaction was.
"Just kiss me," Charles muttered, fighting the urge to apologize or beg, and holding himself as tight and as still as he could. Guilt and shame were always there in the back of his mind; the first time he'd had sex with a girl, he realized too late once they were done that there was no way of going back after the fact to find out if she had actually wanted to, before his wanting her to overcame whatever she might have thought or felt before. He thought it would be different with boys, but it wasn't. The only solution seemed to be utter passivity, to want nothing, but that was a lie that he couldn't live, either. "This is why I don't -- I can't-- " he struggled for words as his half-formed plan abandoned him.
"Of course you can." Erik rolled to his side and up to his knees, catching Charles firmly around the waist in one fluid motion like the turn of a waltz, and tugged him closer while he sank back down on his heels, neatly reversing their heights so that Charles was once again leaning down to catch Erik's greedy kisses.
"Bloody fucking hell," Charles swore when he had a chance to catch his breath, "why are we still dressed?" He tugged Erik's turtleneck off, and even as he did so, pulling Erik's arms up over his head, Charles heard belt buckles come undone, zippers releasing. Erik's face was upturned like a supplicant, while his hands roamed all over Charles' bare back, down his hips, gripping his ass, slipping his clothes off and out of the way. Some part of Charles still felt the twist from the turn, recalled the slow rotation and continued it, ending with Erik lying on his back underneath him, kicking his pants off. They ground slowly against each other, skin to skin, Erik still kissing him like he's going to die, like he's drowning and kissing is breathing, like he can't believe how good the world is, and if he opens his eyes the dream will come crashing down. It only made Charles hold him harder, pinning him in place.
He was thinking that as long he kept himself firmly in his own mind, then the rest was still Erik's choice to accept or not when Erik reached down to take them both together in one hand, his long fingers curling around the back of Charles' penis easily and sweeping upwards, finding that spot just under the tip that's particularly sensitive on the first time, and Charles' long intake of breath and tiny whimper at the crest gave him away. He opened his eyes to see Erik smiling at him. God, Charles, your lips, he thought, and muttered aloud "Five fucking days" -- and they were kissing again, and Erik was biting his lower lip hungrily and stroking them and it was just too exquisite to think about anything else.
When Charles began to flag, and couldn’t hold himself above Erik anymore because his attention was focused on those bundles of nerves inexorably marching him to the edge and his arms just didn’t seem to care anymore, Erik rolled them over so that Charles was on his back with his head on the pillow and Erik's head was between his legs, alternately sucking and nipping and biting and "Bloody fucking hell, Erik, I can't…" and Erik's tongue slipped lower, and Charles had never felt that before and it was really far more pleasant than it had any right to be. "I can't stay in my head if you keep that up!"
Erik dragged his tongue up to the base of his cock, and then up the length of it, his light blue eyes positively sparkling. "So don't," he said, hovering over the tip. "I'm easy for you, Charles. You don't need permission to use what's yours." He swirled his tongue around the tip and played over the slit, and Charles threw his head back with a groan, struggling not to give in. "What?" Erik asked when he felt Charles' hand on his head pushing him away.
"I need your permission, anyway," Charles said hoarsely. "You know what I can do, so you know what it means."
Erik rolled his eyes and flexed his fingers where they rested on Charles' pelvis, pressing the edges of the nails into his skin just enough to be playful. "Can you hear me, Charles?" he thought, sliding forward slowly.
"Yes," Charles responded, his fingers tracing little circles in Erik's hair.
"Then you have my permission."
"But I always hear you, Erik."
"Then you always have my permission," Erik answered, taking Charles once again in his mouth, but this time in earnest. Charles quickly found himself torn between curling up so he could grip Erik's shoulders (so muscular, becoming slick with sweat, as were his own) or arching back, lifting his hips up, fucking Erik's delicious mouth, good God, but his tongue was amazing, but wouldn't he rather--
"Fuck yes," Erik responded, moving forward again, kissing him, nipping at his throat, trying to catch whatever skin between his teeth he could. "HAVE me, that way, yes!" Charles reached up to place his hands on either side of Erik's face, staring into those lovely intense eyes, making sure they weren't glassy at all, and kissed him long and hard in relief and simple want. Heaven help him, but he hadn't had the opportunity to fuck a man like that since his second year at Oxford, and couldn't stop himself from projecting just how very much he wanted to.
A long shudder went through Erik, and he pressed himself up to his elbows so he had the space to look at Charles in something like wonder, to brush aside his sweaty hair that had fallen in his eyes. "Don't deny yourself," he breathed. "Or me."
Charles slipped a leg out from under Erik, twisted his hip and rolled them over again so that Erik was on his back and Charles was slipping backward off the foot of the bed. He grabbed Erik's legs and pulled them towards him; he felt Erik tucking his lower lip under his teeth as Charles ran his hands up the outside of Erik's thighs, admiring the feel of those strong muscles, before Erik flipped over and pushed his ass nearly within Charles' reach. It was almost the sensation of an itch in the back of his mind that drove Charles to slap Erik's buttcheek, dig his fingers into his hips and tug him the final few inches to be where he wanted him; from Erik he felt only that this was right in the way few things are.
There was barely time to wonder about the logistics of the next step when Erik's small day bag lifted itself onto the bed at his side, the zipper evidently leading the way. Charles could almost feel the fields rippling around his hand as the bag opened to reveal -- tucked between toothbrush and toothpaste and shaving cream and the usual sundries -- a tube of KY.
"You think of everything, my friend," he thought, and the immediate response was a general feeling of happiness suffusing Erik's awareness. Getting from here to there was a matter of moments, and then Charles was riding bareback, and he ought to be ashamed, really, he was being so damn selfish, but pushing into Erik felt so damn amazing, and Erik's thoughts were nothing but Yes, Charles, God, Yes, please, harder, FUCK, and all he's doing is panting and growling something deep and beautiful in the back of his throat, and Charles had one hand on Erik's lower back, pressing him down, and the other reaching forward to the back of his neck and everything was so slippery and so hot it was like being in a fucking furnace, and it was glorious.
Erik's hands grabbed the covers like he would rip them apart, and maybe he would, and then suddenly his hands flattened out wide and it made Charles giddy because he finally managed to find the spot in Erik that could bring him to the brink, and damn it all but he was immensely pleased with himself for having managed to do that even while he lost it and came inside Erik, which he hadn't meant to do at all, and it was all a mess, but Erik was coming, too. His shuddering -- Erik's, Charles', it was nearly impossible to tell at that point which feelings belonged to whom, everything was tangled up together in his mind -- hadn't even subsided when Charles collapsed forward, just barely holding himself up on his hands, one on the bedspread under Erik's arm, the other threatening to slide off Erik's shoulder. He slipped out of Erik as slowly and gently as he could manage, barely feeling the twinge of pain underneath all the sensation Erik's mind was full of -- and even that twinge was sweet, with so much pleasure wrapped up in it.
He leaned forward on his shaking arms to kiss the back of Erik's -- his Erik's -- neck, and as he drew back, he finally saw the fine, narrow red lines tracing down from the base of his neck along the inside of the shoulder blade. Made with the point of a very sharp blade, and not yet healed.
"Erik," he thought, placing his thumb on the tiny wounds, letting his fingers curl over the collarbone. He couldn't bring himself to think the words in Erik's mind, though, so he just said them out loud. "I thought that was just a dream."
Erik answered him with muffled laughter, and without moving anything else, placed his hand on Charles'. He muttered something that sounded like it might be "Damn," and then thought If you think that was a dream, then I want to have dreams like yours. Every night.
Charles laid himself down on Erik, carefully keeping to the side away from the angry cuts, placing his lips against Erik's neck and the rest of him stretched out to touch as much of Erik as possible. He had felt Erik use his gifts while in his mind often enough that he could recognize it now in the memories of his dreams, the knife on his back and the fields bending to guide it. Oh Erik, he thought out loud, pressing his eyelids tightly shut, so nothing could slip out. I want you to have dreams like mine.
Erik took a deep breath, contented. "Then share them. Just don't come into my dreams, we talked about that. Here--" He twisted underneath him, dumping Charles on his side, then rolled and curled around him.
Charles smiled in the embrace. "I didn't peg you for the cuddling type."
"I'm not," Erik replied gruffly. "But this way, they have to go through me if they want to get to you."
And Charles knew better than to ask who they were.
EPILOGUE
Oct 21, 1962
11pm
Erik found Charles in the library, well after everyone else had settled in for their first night in the Xavier mansion. He was sitting in an armchair in a pose Erik had never seen him in before -- his leg bent and braced against the arm of the chair, his elbow resting on the knee, his head resting in his hand, an empty glass in the other. Staring at the fire. Listening as Erik closed the door behind him, to the little click of the lock sliding in place as its master padded forward on the carpet quietly, hesitantly.
"Yes, Erik, I'm going to fall over if not for the geometry."
Erik stalked around the chair and the game table in front of it, walking into Charles' line of sight, and took the glass from his hand without saying a word.
"I'm not sulking." Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut. He didn't want to look at Erik, didn't want to see himself through Erik's eyes -- but he could hardly help it. Even with half the bottle of scotch gone, he couldn't help notice Erik's scent, leather and copper and salt and summer grass. With a side of scotch. "I'm grieving."
Erik stepped quietly back to him, pressed the refilled glass in his hand, tapped his own against it. "For Darwin," he breathed, barely a whisper. Charles opened his eyes to watch him, his… well. His Erik. He watched his Erik settle in the opposing chair, he watched his Erik watch him, and he saw himself as Erik saw him, the light from the fireplace playing tricks, giving him a glow, a little extra illumination; his blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears; beautiful even in sorrow. If I can hear you, I have permission, and I always hear you, Charles thought mostly to himself, but sometimes I just can't agree with what I see with your eyes.
Erik shook his head minutely. "You saw how it happened?" he asked.
Charles took a drink, snorted when he tasted that it had been watered down. He looked back up to find Erik watching him patiently. "Raven asked if she could share the memory with me. She hasn't done that for… since I went to Oxford, really. Then Sean, then Hank. Alex--" he took a break from speaking to finish off the drink and managed not to cough too badly when he accidentally breathed some of it. He waved the glass in the general direction of the table, paused because there wasn't a damn coaster, and hadn't he specifically gotten a coaster when he first sat himself down? But Erik was at his side, taking the glass again, placing it on the floor out of the way, holding his hand so Charles could hold onto something. "Alex will share it with me when he's ready to. It was… I wish it hadn't been him. I wish it hadn't been anyone, but Armando was protecting them, he was doing what we should have been doing, and we weren't there."
"No, we thought we were catching Shaw, and instead, Shaw was trying to catch us. Leaving the kids behind was the best decision given what we knew at the time. Armando is a hero."
"But he shouldn't have been made a dead hero." Charles shook his head. "And because of Angel…" he looked over Erik's head, at the fire. "They trust each other a little less, now. They're afraid that if one of them was willing to go over to Shaw, leaving Armando like that, then any of them might break."
"So we have our work cut out for us," Erik said matter-of-factly. "But they're strong kids. All they need is their teacher back."
"Teachers," Charles corrected, letting his eyelids shut. The fire was warm, Erik's hand in his was solid and such a comfort, and though Erik was a tightly coiled spring on most days, he was his tightly coiled spring, and Charles could rest just a moment, here. The fate of Sebastian Shaw and all those other inevitable things could wait a little longer.