Possession - 3/?
Title: Possession
Author: molliexwobbles
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Wordcount: 2301
Rating: hard R
Pairing(s): Charles/Erik
Warning(s): M/M sex scene, possible dubcon, emotional torment
Summary: For the better part of his life, Erik owned only what he could carry on his back or in his hands.
Note: Sorry it's been so long since I last posted! This is the first semi-graphic sex scene I've ever written, so I hope it's satisfactory!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
---------------------------------He thrust the door open before him.
He had never been in Charles’s room (although Charles always seemed to be in and out of his, declaring Erik’s armchair the best seat in the house though there were over a hundred others and the light was weak and Erik was poor reading company, smoking stiffly on the bed until Charles closed his book and padded out, a whispered ‘til next time, my friend as the door closed and Erik sank into the chair before the last of Charles’s warmth fled like he so longed to do). He paid little heed for the space now, except to find the huge four-poster bed, twice the size of Erik’s, too large for one person, within which a knotted mass of sheets and flashes of pale skin revealed Charles, clad in pajamas and stuttering whimpers.
Even in the dim light his brow boiled with trenches, and what could Erik do but close the door and draw the covers aside and lie behind Charles to clutch him tight. Charles, Charles, whose brow was a battlefield and whose narrow arse pressed against Erik with urgency, who had to dig his forehead into the smaller man’s neck to keep from groaning.
He fumbled in the dark, unsure what to do. He had awoken with the conviction that Charles needed him-Charles needed him-but now that he was here he could feel the unnaturalness. He was not one to give comfort. Charles was the strong one, although his arms held none of Erik’s wiry energy and he couldn’t move ten tons of metal with just a thought. Charles’s hand on his shoulder, the doughy hand callused only by the rounded edge of his pen, Erik realized, made him feel safer than all his mighty strength. Oh, he knew that if Shaw burst in at that moment, with Charles distracted and Erik off-guard, he would kill them both with hardly a care. But it would be both.
“Charles, it’s… I’m here, I’m awake, you can stop now. Shaw won’t hurt me anymore, I’m here for you. Charles, please stop hurting for me. You don’t need to. I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to hurt. Calm your mind, Charles. I’m with you. I’m with you.” The words tumbled from his lips like rushing water, and he found himself sitting on his elbow so he could see Charles’s face, run his hand along the man’s jaw and soft cheek and the sweep of his hairline. Charles was no longer thrashing so, but small whimpers came from his throat. At a loss, Erik pressed open-mouthed kisses to Charles’s exposed neck, ignorant in terms of desire but knowing that, for once, he was doing something right.
“I’m with you, Charles. I’m with you,” he murmured, putting an arm on the other side of Charles, kisses more delicate now, moving along his brow and the corner of his eye. He brushed through the soft strands of hair, touched Charles’s throat. The whimpering finally stopped. He raised his head, relieved, and found Charles looking at him.
He froze, and realized that at some point he had swung his leg over as well, and was straddling him. He wore only boxer shorts, his own, which had worn so thin from use he might as well be wearing nothing.
Slowly, the Englishman smiled. “So this is why the dream turned pleasant,” he murmured, running a hand through Erik’s hair, mussed out of its usual order. Charles’s eyes were purple in the dim light. Half his face was red from pressing into the pillow, and the slice of collarbone revealed by his rumpled shirt glowed in the darkness. His lips were plump and slack, and gazed up at Erik. There was wetness on Charles’s cheeks, but Erik did not know whose eyes it had come from.
Erik buried his face in the pillow next to Charles’s head. There was no hesitation. Charles’s arms wrapped around him and their legs settled into a boneless tangle. Erik’s breathing sounded harsh to his own ears, but Charles’s was light and steady. A soft kiss pressed to Erik’s ear.
“What happened, Charles?” Erik asked the pillow, but Charles still heard.
“I couldn’t bear you to be in such agony.”
“Creeping in my mind, were you?”
“No.” Charles turned his head against Erik’s, who pulled up to see him. “You were calling me.”
Erik frowned. “I wasn’t.”
“Maybe not with words. But I heard you.” Charles looked a little dazed. Erik was beginning to fully comprehend how closely their bodies were tangled together. He made no attempt to move. “D’you mind if I…?” Charles asked, his face screwing in on itself. He tilted his chin, suggesting. He looked horribly young, and old, all at once.
Erik licked his bottom lip. He saw Charles watch. A pale hand crept into his hair, and Erik’s eyelids fluttered shut. “You’re a fool, Charles,” he whispered, and slammed their mouths together.
He felt Charles recoil from the harsh strike of teeth, but he did not relent, yanking his head back by the hair so his tongue could thrust deeper, widening his thighs with a brutal knee.
If Charles asked him to stop, he wouldn’t. He had asked the man many times, hundreds of times, to stop. Stop reading his mind. Stop understanding. Stop caring. This was his retribution.
But Charles did not ask him to stop; there was a moment, then two, then his palm met Erik’s arse over the thin cotton, and something in Erik snapped.
He bit Charles’s tongue with all his force, ignoring the cry of pain to pull the member into his mouth, sucking it and running his own tongue over the gashes. He wrenched his head as he pulled away, leaving Charles gaping and reaching for him as he jerked off his boxers and yanked at Charles’s pajama shirt until he became impatient and called a letter-opener from across the room to slash through the buttons in a single sweep and there was Charles, sweet and heaving, and Erik ripped his nails down his abdomen to make him scream again. He grabbed Charles’s hand to wrap round his cock and surged forward to rake frenetic bites across the delicate clavicle, moaning as Charles’s hand tightened under his own. In a whirl of limbs Charles’s pants were off and Erik was kissing him again and arching forward to bring his entrance against Charles’s cock.
“Wait, I don’t know-“
“Hush,” Erik growled, putting his weight on Charles’s biceps and seating himself from tip to hilt.
He had forgotten the lubrication and roared as pain exploded inside him, fierce and hard, but that too was forgotten as Charles sank clawed fingers into Erik’s shoulder, arched his spine, threw his head back and bared the V of his throat to Erik’s teeth, his cock there, there inside him and Erik couldn’t help but begin rocking against it. In moments the burn turned to flame to scouring lightning that raced across his hips and through his cock bleeding cum onto Charles’s belly, and he screwed his eyes and teeth tight, fucking himself with Charles’s grace, pale insistent hands on his waist to keep him moving, lips and teeth biting all that was warm and flesh. Charles gripped Erik’s cock and the back of his neck and a salty taste leaked into his mouth as he roared with a fury, coming with such force that the furnace below the window exploded, blowing dust and iron into the air as his cum splattered across them both.
The tension of orgasm fled and he slumped, dropping his forehead to Charles’s clavicle and gasping violently, choking for air, a black hand wrapped around his chest. Charles had softened inside of him a long time ago, he realized, and eased his hips away to lower Erik to the bed, where Erik’s hands formed iron claws around Charles’s arms. Erik was shaking, eyes blown open and darting, seeing nothing but the certainty that he was dying and drowning in a crush of cinders.
“Charles,” he gasped, tears and sweat darting down his face as he choked for breath and there were the hands, soft and impossibly cool, draping his cheeks with honeyed rain.
“I’m here, I’m right here.”
“What is happening to me?” Erik trembled, locking a hand on the side of Charles’s neck. Charles’s body was pressing against him again and he pulled himself closer, gripping him like a lost child.
“You’re having a panic attack, you need to calm yourself, Erik.”
“I’m dying-don’t go Charles, don’t, don’t leave-”
“I need you to listen to me, Erik.”
“-don’t, don’t, don’t-“
“Look at me.” He shook him. “Look at me, Erik!” Erik fumbled, eyes wide, and finally saw him, irises burning in the gloom. He buried his fingers against Erik’s skull, and Erik could not even blink. “You are safe here, Erik. I am going to keep you safe. I swear it on my life and your life and whatever else you care about in this world, I am here for you. I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed hard against Erik’s jumping body and mind, boring into him with a kind of tunnel vision until all Erik saw and felt and heard and knew was Charles, Charles, Charles.
“I’m not going.” He pressed a kiss to Erik’s mouth, the corner of his eye. “You aren’t alone Erik. It’s the two of us, now-I won’t let you lose yourself, I won’t let you go, not ever. I’ll take care of you.”
“I can’t breathe, Charles.”
“Don’t breathe-listen,” and a stupid, silly thing burst inside of him like the tip-toe of sunshine across a beloved face. He froze, stunned, as a searing light swept behind his eyes, stopped his heart and started anew, and every beat sang of Charles, Charles, the lonely little man who was everything to him, everything, because he remembered what he had been before but it wasn’t what he could be much longer, not with the sun on his face and a strange new world blooming beside his pocket-sized heart.
He blinked and Charles’s face was haloed with light, shimmering through his damp hair like dew on a spider web. Dawn was coming.
“Good?” Charles asked.
“Good,” Erik answered. He rolled to his back, wiping at his face. Charles produced a handkerchief and he accepted it gratefully. He lay on his elbow, looking down at him.
Erik sniffed sharply and moved to get up, but a tentative touch on his arm stopped him. It was only a brushing of fingers, retracted as soon as it met flesh, but it caused him to look in Charles’s eyes and see something-see how lonely he had been, all these years in this big bed, adrift in an ocean of wealth while the braver fish swam for warmer waters, listening to his parents and the help and even his sister coupling in their rooms while he hovered like a wraith, wringing his hands, hoping to keep them from harm. Suddenly, Erik knew that Charles had never been fucked in this house before; there were cheap motels, debauched dorm rooms, girls with soft hair and simple minds who left him a pot of coffee in the morning. Sometimes they even stayed to make sure he left.
For once, it was Charles who looked vulnerable. “You don’t have to leave.” He bit his lip, scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”
Erik looked at him, and his eyes drifted for the first time to a line of livid marks on his pale collarbone, a stain of brown at the corner of his mouth where blood from his bitten tongue had congealed. Erik swallowed, wet his thumb, and wiped the crust away. Charles blinked at him, closed his eyes as Erik’s thumb moved across his lips, pressing down in the center to make them part. A trembling sigh rolled out of Charles, and he closed his upper lip around Erik’s fingernail. Eyes hooded, he gave the tiniest bit of suction, and pressed his tongue against the warm flesh. Erik felt himself begin to harden again.
“I won’t be here forever, Charles,” he said softly. “You told me yourself. You can’t stop me from leaving.”
Charles took Erik’s hand from his mouth and folded it between his palms. “That is so. I’ll just have to take what I can in the time we have, yes?”
Erik closed his eyes and lay down in answer, feeling suddenly all the sleepless nights he had taken at the mansion. It had been rare for him to get even a few hours sleep for years, but he had never felt it as he did now.
Maybe it was the soft dawn light drifting through the curtains, or the warm weight of Charles’s downy body as he settled beside him, not quite in an embrace but not quite out of it.
Or maybe it was the realization, proven by the perfect fit of his hand over Erik’s heart, the sweetness of his breath, the rightness he felt as their foreheads touched, that for perhaps the first time in their days together, Charles was wrong.
Author: molliexwobbles
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Wordcount: 2301
Rating: hard R
Pairing(s): Charles/Erik
Warning(s): M/M sex scene, possible dubcon, emotional torment
Summary: For the better part of his life, Erik owned only what he could carry on his back or in his hands.
Note: Sorry it's been so long since I last posted! This is the first semi-graphic sex scene I've ever written, so I hope it's satisfactory!
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
---------------------------------He thrust the door open before him.
He had never been in Charles’s room (although Charles always seemed to be in and out of his, declaring Erik’s armchair the best seat in the house though there were over a hundred others and the light was weak and Erik was poor reading company, smoking stiffly on the bed until Charles closed his book and padded out, a whispered ‘til next time, my friend as the door closed and Erik sank into the chair before the last of Charles’s warmth fled like he so longed to do). He paid little heed for the space now, except to find the huge four-poster bed, twice the size of Erik’s, too large for one person, within which a knotted mass of sheets and flashes of pale skin revealed Charles, clad in pajamas and stuttering whimpers.
Even in the dim light his brow boiled with trenches, and what could Erik do but close the door and draw the covers aside and lie behind Charles to clutch him tight. Charles, Charles, whose brow was a battlefield and whose narrow arse pressed against Erik with urgency, who had to dig his forehead into the smaller man’s neck to keep from groaning.
He fumbled in the dark, unsure what to do. He had awoken with the conviction that Charles needed him-Charles needed him-but now that he was here he could feel the unnaturalness. He was not one to give comfort. Charles was the strong one, although his arms held none of Erik’s wiry energy and he couldn’t move ten tons of metal with just a thought. Charles’s hand on his shoulder, the doughy hand callused only by the rounded edge of his pen, Erik realized, made him feel safer than all his mighty strength. Oh, he knew that if Shaw burst in at that moment, with Charles distracted and Erik off-guard, he would kill them both with hardly a care. But it would be both.
“Charles, it’s… I’m here, I’m awake, you can stop now. Shaw won’t hurt me anymore, I’m here for you. Charles, please stop hurting for me. You don’t need to. I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to hurt. Calm your mind, Charles. I’m with you. I’m with you.” The words tumbled from his lips like rushing water, and he found himself sitting on his elbow so he could see Charles’s face, run his hand along the man’s jaw and soft cheek and the sweep of his hairline. Charles was no longer thrashing so, but small whimpers came from his throat. At a loss, Erik pressed open-mouthed kisses to Charles’s exposed neck, ignorant in terms of desire but knowing that, for once, he was doing something right.
“I’m with you, Charles. I’m with you,” he murmured, putting an arm on the other side of Charles, kisses more delicate now, moving along his brow and the corner of his eye. He brushed through the soft strands of hair, touched Charles’s throat. The whimpering finally stopped. He raised his head, relieved, and found Charles looking at him.
He froze, and realized that at some point he had swung his leg over as well, and was straddling him. He wore only boxer shorts, his own, which had worn so thin from use he might as well be wearing nothing.
Slowly, the Englishman smiled. “So this is why the dream turned pleasant,” he murmured, running a hand through Erik’s hair, mussed out of its usual order. Charles’s eyes were purple in the dim light. Half his face was red from pressing into the pillow, and the slice of collarbone revealed by his rumpled shirt glowed in the darkness. His lips were plump and slack, and gazed up at Erik. There was wetness on Charles’s cheeks, but Erik did not know whose eyes it had come from.
Erik buried his face in the pillow next to Charles’s head. There was no hesitation. Charles’s arms wrapped around him and their legs settled into a boneless tangle. Erik’s breathing sounded harsh to his own ears, but Charles’s was light and steady. A soft kiss pressed to Erik’s ear.
“What happened, Charles?” Erik asked the pillow, but Charles still heard.
“I couldn’t bear you to be in such agony.”
“Creeping in my mind, were you?”
“No.” Charles turned his head against Erik’s, who pulled up to see him. “You were calling me.”
Erik frowned. “I wasn’t.”
“Maybe not with words. But I heard you.” Charles looked a little dazed. Erik was beginning to fully comprehend how closely their bodies were tangled together. He made no attempt to move. “D’you mind if I…?” Charles asked, his face screwing in on itself. He tilted his chin, suggesting. He looked horribly young, and old, all at once.
Erik licked his bottom lip. He saw Charles watch. A pale hand crept into his hair, and Erik’s eyelids fluttered shut. “You’re a fool, Charles,” he whispered, and slammed their mouths together.
He felt Charles recoil from the harsh strike of teeth, but he did not relent, yanking his head back by the hair so his tongue could thrust deeper, widening his thighs with a brutal knee.
If Charles asked him to stop, he wouldn’t. He had asked the man many times, hundreds of times, to stop. Stop reading his mind. Stop understanding. Stop caring. This was his retribution.
But Charles did not ask him to stop; there was a moment, then two, then his palm met Erik’s arse over the thin cotton, and something in Erik snapped.
He bit Charles’s tongue with all his force, ignoring the cry of pain to pull the member into his mouth, sucking it and running his own tongue over the gashes. He wrenched his head as he pulled away, leaving Charles gaping and reaching for him as he jerked off his boxers and yanked at Charles’s pajama shirt until he became impatient and called a letter-opener from across the room to slash through the buttons in a single sweep and there was Charles, sweet and heaving, and Erik ripped his nails down his abdomen to make him scream again. He grabbed Charles’s hand to wrap round his cock and surged forward to rake frenetic bites across the delicate clavicle, moaning as Charles’s hand tightened under his own. In a whirl of limbs Charles’s pants were off and Erik was kissing him again and arching forward to bring his entrance against Charles’s cock.
“Wait, I don’t know-“
“Hush,” Erik growled, putting his weight on Charles’s biceps and seating himself from tip to hilt.
He had forgotten the lubrication and roared as pain exploded inside him, fierce and hard, but that too was forgotten as Charles sank clawed fingers into Erik’s shoulder, arched his spine, threw his head back and bared the V of his throat to Erik’s teeth, his cock there, there inside him and Erik couldn’t help but begin rocking against it. In moments the burn turned to flame to scouring lightning that raced across his hips and through his cock bleeding cum onto Charles’s belly, and he screwed his eyes and teeth tight, fucking himself with Charles’s grace, pale insistent hands on his waist to keep him moving, lips and teeth biting all that was warm and flesh. Charles gripped Erik’s cock and the back of his neck and a salty taste leaked into his mouth as he roared with a fury, coming with such force that the furnace below the window exploded, blowing dust and iron into the air as his cum splattered across them both.
The tension of orgasm fled and he slumped, dropping his forehead to Charles’s clavicle and gasping violently, choking for air, a black hand wrapped around his chest. Charles had softened inside of him a long time ago, he realized, and eased his hips away to lower Erik to the bed, where Erik’s hands formed iron claws around Charles’s arms. Erik was shaking, eyes blown open and darting, seeing nothing but the certainty that he was dying and drowning in a crush of cinders.
“Charles,” he gasped, tears and sweat darting down his face as he choked for breath and there were the hands, soft and impossibly cool, draping his cheeks with honeyed rain.
“I’m here, I’m right here.”
“What is happening to me?” Erik trembled, locking a hand on the side of Charles’s neck. Charles’s body was pressing against him again and he pulled himself closer, gripping him like a lost child.
“You’re having a panic attack, you need to calm yourself, Erik.”
“I’m dying-don’t go Charles, don’t, don’t leave-”
“I need you to listen to me, Erik.”
“-don’t, don’t, don’t-“
“Look at me.” He shook him. “Look at me, Erik!” Erik fumbled, eyes wide, and finally saw him, irises burning in the gloom. He buried his fingers against Erik’s skull, and Erik could not even blink. “You are safe here, Erik. I am going to keep you safe. I swear it on my life and your life and whatever else you care about in this world, I am here for you. I’m not going anywhere.” He pressed hard against Erik’s jumping body and mind, boring into him with a kind of tunnel vision until all Erik saw and felt and heard and knew was Charles, Charles, Charles.
“I’m not going.” He pressed a kiss to Erik’s mouth, the corner of his eye. “You aren’t alone Erik. It’s the two of us, now-I won’t let you lose yourself, I won’t let you go, not ever. I’ll take care of you.”
“I can’t breathe, Charles.”
“Don’t breathe-listen,” and a stupid, silly thing burst inside of him like the tip-toe of sunshine across a beloved face. He froze, stunned, as a searing light swept behind his eyes, stopped his heart and started anew, and every beat sang of Charles, Charles, the lonely little man who was everything to him, everything, because he remembered what he had been before but it wasn’t what he could be much longer, not with the sun on his face and a strange new world blooming beside his pocket-sized heart.
He blinked and Charles’s face was haloed with light, shimmering through his damp hair like dew on a spider web. Dawn was coming.
“Good?” Charles asked.
“Good,” Erik answered. He rolled to his back, wiping at his face. Charles produced a handkerchief and he accepted it gratefully. He lay on his elbow, looking down at him.
Erik sniffed sharply and moved to get up, but a tentative touch on his arm stopped him. It was only a brushing of fingers, retracted as soon as it met flesh, but it caused him to look in Charles’s eyes and see something-see how lonely he had been, all these years in this big bed, adrift in an ocean of wealth while the braver fish swam for warmer waters, listening to his parents and the help and even his sister coupling in their rooms while he hovered like a wraith, wringing his hands, hoping to keep them from harm. Suddenly, Erik knew that Charles had never been fucked in this house before; there were cheap motels, debauched dorm rooms, girls with soft hair and simple minds who left him a pot of coffee in the morning. Sometimes they even stayed to make sure he left.
For once, it was Charles who looked vulnerable. “You don’t have to leave.” He bit his lip, scrubbed a hand through his hair. “I wouldn’t mind the company.”
Erik looked at him, and his eyes drifted for the first time to a line of livid marks on his pale collarbone, a stain of brown at the corner of his mouth where blood from his bitten tongue had congealed. Erik swallowed, wet his thumb, and wiped the crust away. Charles blinked at him, closed his eyes as Erik’s thumb moved across his lips, pressing down in the center to make them part. A trembling sigh rolled out of Charles, and he closed his upper lip around Erik’s fingernail. Eyes hooded, he gave the tiniest bit of suction, and pressed his tongue against the warm flesh. Erik felt himself begin to harden again.
“I won’t be here forever, Charles,” he said softly. “You told me yourself. You can’t stop me from leaving.”
Charles took Erik’s hand from his mouth and folded it between his palms. “That is so. I’ll just have to take what I can in the time we have, yes?”
Erik closed his eyes and lay down in answer, feeling suddenly all the sleepless nights he had taken at the mansion. It had been rare for him to get even a few hours sleep for years, but he had never felt it as he did now.
Maybe it was the soft dawn light drifting through the curtains, or the warm weight of Charles’s downy body as he settled beside him, not quite in an embrace but not quite out of it.
Or maybe it was the realization, proven by the perfect fit of his hand over Erik’s heart, the sweetness of his breath, the rightness he felt as their foreheads touched, that for perhaps the first time in their days together, Charles was wrong.