[fic] xm: fc - looks better on you - r - charles/erik
Title: Looks Better on You
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters: Charles/Erik
Rating: Hard R for vague sexytimes
Length: ~1700
Summary: Charles seeks comfort in Erik's clothes after submitting his thesis. Erik helps him unwind, but not undress.
Notes: Written with this picture of McAvoy in mind. This is... some sort of AU where Charles is finishing up his PhD and Erik's got a grownup job of some sort.
When Erik comes home, the flat is eerily silent, but a different kind of silent. Sure, it's been quiet for the past few weeks as Charles read and studied and wrote and muttered to himself and paced, but this is different--Erik can tell.
Charles is brilliant--probably the smartest person that Erik's ever met. He has conversations on a level that Erik--who's no slouch when it comes to science--can't even comprehend. He gets genuinely excited about research and new developments in his field and he's going to make quite a name for himself one day, Erik can already tell. To get there, though, he needs to finish up his PhD and though even Erik can see it's something he should be able to do in his sleep, he's been putting the finishing touches on his thesis for weeks, rewriting whole sections, tweaking and reworking and turning himself into a sleepless ball of anxiety. Today's the day, though. Today, Charles planned on taking the paper to be bound and then submitting the electronic copies to the appropriate places. He should be celebrating, but Erik has a feeling he's passed out somewhere, recovering.
Charles isn't in the living room or the bedroom. Erik finds him in the office--Erik's office, really, as Charles prefers to sprawl across the living room floor with his things when he's working. Now, though, Charles is curled up in the armchair in the corner with an afghan half wrapped around him, half hanging off. He hasn't shaved in days, but his hair is wet so he's probably showered, at least, which is a relief. Erik had finally put his foot down last night when Charles had stumbled into bed smelling--well, smelling like someone who hadn't showered in nearly a week. Charles had whined and complained, bleary eyed and pouting, until Erik had relented and let him in bed with the stipulation that there would be no kissing and very little touching until Charles bathed himself again.
He still woke up curled around Charles, but he blamed his bastard body and its automatic reactions to being so close to someone so familiar.
"Charles," he murmurs, and Charles snuffles into the blanket. His eyelids flutter and Erik is somewhat relieved to see the dark purple circles that had been under Charles' eyes for weeks are faded. He looks less tired, too, when he opens his eyes and smiles at Erik, still fuzzy around the edges but more present than he's been in over a month.
Erik relaxes muscles that he didn't even realize had been tense for weeks.
"Erik," Charles says. "Hello."
He gets up and rolls his shoulders and there's something about him that's pinging something in Erik's chest, something he can't quite put his finger on. Charles shoves his hands into his pockets and it hits Erik so hard he nearly staggers.
"That's mine," he says. He reaches out and plucks at the maroon v-neck sweater that Charles is wearing. It's clearly too broad in the shoulders and too long in the arms--the sleeves are pushed up past Charles' wrists. The neck, too, dips further than it ought and now all Erik can look at is the smattering of freckles on Charles' chest, his gorgeous collarbones, his throat--
"It is," Charles says. He doesn't blush or even smirk. He just shrugs again. "It's comfortable."
It's...something. It's making Erik want to touch and there's no good reason not to touch now, so he takes another step forward and puts his hands on Charles' hips, right where the sweater meets Charles' ragged old worn jeans. Comfortable. Charles looks comfortable, like he should be curled up around Erik somewhere, warm and happy with no where to go and nothing to do. Erik finds he likes the look, likes the idea that Charles goes to his wardrobe when he wants something familiar, that Charles is so clearly his when he's dressed like this.
"It's all done, then?" Erik asks. He can't hold back then and dips his head to taste Charles' freckles, dragging his tongue down across his collarbone and into the hollow of his throat.
He feels Charles shudder.
"Mm--generally," Charles says. He grasps Erik's upper arms, right under his shoulders, not pushing away or pulling closer, but holding on. "I still need to defend, but I'm done writing and it's submitted. I'm free."
Erik slides his hands up Charles' sides. His skin is soft and clean and still warm from the shower. He must have gotten out not long ago. "Good," he says against Charles' throat.
"It smells like you," Charles says. He tips his head back as Erik kisses his neck, his shoulder, bites because he can and because eventually Charles is going to take the shirt off, but he'll still be Erik's and Erik wants to make sure everyone knows. "That's why I like wearing it. It smells like your cologne, the one I like, the one you don't wear often enough."
"If I wore it every day, we'd never leave the bedroom," Erik says. He slides his hands back down, his thumbs tracing Charles' hips under the waistband of his jeans. Charles shivers again when Erik's lips touch his ear, but he's still not moving, making Erik do all the work himself. Lazy. That's Charles, lazy, maddening, beautiful, workaholic Charles, who's whimpering as Erik thumbs open his jeans and bites his earlobe.
"I took a shower just for you," Charles says around a gasp. "I--oh fuck, I've missed you, I've missed--" Erik shoves his jeans down, bites at the skin behind Charles' ear. "I wanted to fuck you, I wanted to spread you open and fuck you and wring you out--"
Erik shivers, now, and squeezes Charles' hips, rubbing against him.
"Still can," he manages to says between quick breaths. "Let's say we take the edge off first, hm?"
Charles moans until Erik swallows the sound, covering Charles' mouth with his own and sliding his hand down the back of Charles' boxers. Charles fumbles with Erik's fly with one hand, the other cradling the back of Erik's skull, tangled in his hair, and it's not long until they're twisting around, kicking off their trousers. Charles pushes off Erik's blazer, pushes up his shirt, and then pushes him back until he's sitting in the arm chair, leaning back so that Charles can crawl onto his lap, straddling his thighs. Charles uses pause to peel Erik's polo off and throw it behind him. When he moves to pull off the borrowed sweater, Erik stills his hands.
"Really?" Charles asks. "That's a bit kinky."
"Do you really have a problem with that?" Erik asks, rubbing his hands up to Charles' shoulders against the sweater.
"No," Charles says. "Not at all."
He leans forward and kisses Erik again and fuck but Erik has missed this. He's missed having Charles' full attention, missed laying his hands on Charles' body, holding him, coaxing these noises and searing looks out of him. They've fucked in the past few weeks, but it was the sort of tired, distracted, perfunctory sex that's satisfying without any real feeling. Erik's missed the feeling, missed staring in Charles' ridiculous blue eyes and seeing hot lust and affection and desire, like he wants Erik specifically instead of just wanting to get off so he can quiet his brain down to a dull roar.
He pulls Charles closer, tighter against him, and, shit, he's never going to be able to wear this sweater again without getting hard, remembering how it looks on Charles, remembering the feeling of it sliding between them as he holds Charles and wraps his hand around their cocks.
Charles whimpers and snaps his hips forward, burying his face in the crook of Erik's neck.
"Yes, yes, please," Charles pleads. "Erik--I missed you, I wanted this, I've been so--I don't--" He stops speaking, panting hotly against Erik's skin, rocking against him, into his grip.
"Fuck," Erik says, the word torn from his throat, hot and sharp. "Charles--that's it, Charles, keep moving, fuck, just like this, just enough, and later--later--" Later he'll let Charles hold him down and kiss every inch of his body, apologize for being so distant and moody and busy and crazed, he'll let Charles fuck him until he sees stars, until they're both wrecked. For now, though, all he needs is this, Charles in his lap, needy and wanting and desperate, Charles in his shirt, Charles trying to crawl inside his skin, here with him, aware and awake and focused for the first time in weeks.
Erik twists his hand, moves it faster, snaps his wrist, tightens his grip, and Charles makes a noise like something in him is breaking before coming into Erik's fist. He collapses against Erik's chest. It's a few more strokes of Erik's hand, looking down at Charles' flushed cheeks, his bright eyes, the way he's still wrapped up in Erik's sweater, too big and dark against his pale skin and then Erik's gone as well, gasping into Charles' hair and squeezing his eyes shut.
They're slow to move again, after. Erik manages to grab the box of tissues from the desk and wipe his hand and stomach clean. Charles is miraculously clean, as is Erik's sweater, and he curls further into Erik's lap, head resting against his shoulder, eyes closed.
"I'm sorry I've been so crazy," Charles murmurs when Erik's breathing returns to normal. "It's just--"
"This dictates the rest of your life, I know," Erik says. He presses a kiss to the crown of Charles' head. "I've missed you, but I'm not upset."
"Done now," Charles says. "I thought I'd never be done. I thought I'd never have a life again."
"Mm, you do now," Erik says. "At least until you start teaching."
Charles groans and hides his face.
"Don't remind me," he says. "Just let me have this, please."
"Of course," Erik says, stroking Charles' hair. "Believe me, I plan on spending as much time with you as I can manage after this. In fact, I don't think you should leave the bed at all for the rest of the week."
Charles laughs and wraps his arms tightly around Erik's chest.
"Okay," he says. "But can we stay here for a little bit longer?"
"Sure," Erik says. "I need you to rest up for tonight, after all. Something about you spreading me open and fucking me into the mattress?"
"I can't wait," Charles says, smirking up at Erik and then closing his eyes, settling in for a nap in Erik's lap, wearing Erik's sweater and looking content for the first time in weeks.
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters: Charles/Erik
Rating: Hard R for vague sexytimes
Length: ~1700
Summary: Charles seeks comfort in Erik's clothes after submitting his thesis. Erik helps him unwind, but not undress.
Notes: Written with this picture of McAvoy in mind. This is... some sort of AU where Charles is finishing up his PhD and Erik's got a grownup job of some sort.
When Erik comes home, the flat is eerily silent, but a different kind of silent. Sure, it's been quiet for the past few weeks as Charles read and studied and wrote and muttered to himself and paced, but this is different--Erik can tell.
Charles is brilliant--probably the smartest person that Erik's ever met. He has conversations on a level that Erik--who's no slouch when it comes to science--can't even comprehend. He gets genuinely excited about research and new developments in his field and he's going to make quite a name for himself one day, Erik can already tell. To get there, though, he needs to finish up his PhD and though even Erik can see it's something he should be able to do in his sleep, he's been putting the finishing touches on his thesis for weeks, rewriting whole sections, tweaking and reworking and turning himself into a sleepless ball of anxiety. Today's the day, though. Today, Charles planned on taking the paper to be bound and then submitting the electronic copies to the appropriate places. He should be celebrating, but Erik has a feeling he's passed out somewhere, recovering.
Charles isn't in the living room or the bedroom. Erik finds him in the office--Erik's office, really, as Charles prefers to sprawl across the living room floor with his things when he's working. Now, though, Charles is curled up in the armchair in the corner with an afghan half wrapped around him, half hanging off. He hasn't shaved in days, but his hair is wet so he's probably showered, at least, which is a relief. Erik had finally put his foot down last night when Charles had stumbled into bed smelling--well, smelling like someone who hadn't showered in nearly a week. Charles had whined and complained, bleary eyed and pouting, until Erik had relented and let him in bed with the stipulation that there would be no kissing and very little touching until Charles bathed himself again.
He still woke up curled around Charles, but he blamed his bastard body and its automatic reactions to being so close to someone so familiar.
"Charles," he murmurs, and Charles snuffles into the blanket. His eyelids flutter and Erik is somewhat relieved to see the dark purple circles that had been under Charles' eyes for weeks are faded. He looks less tired, too, when he opens his eyes and smiles at Erik, still fuzzy around the edges but more present than he's been in over a month.
Erik relaxes muscles that he didn't even realize had been tense for weeks.
"Erik," Charles says. "Hello."
He gets up and rolls his shoulders and there's something about him that's pinging something in Erik's chest, something he can't quite put his finger on. Charles shoves his hands into his pockets and it hits Erik so hard he nearly staggers.
"That's mine," he says. He reaches out and plucks at the maroon v-neck sweater that Charles is wearing. It's clearly too broad in the shoulders and too long in the arms--the sleeves are pushed up past Charles' wrists. The neck, too, dips further than it ought and now all Erik can look at is the smattering of freckles on Charles' chest, his gorgeous collarbones, his throat--
"It is," Charles says. He doesn't blush or even smirk. He just shrugs again. "It's comfortable."
It's...something. It's making Erik want to touch and there's no good reason not to touch now, so he takes another step forward and puts his hands on Charles' hips, right where the sweater meets Charles' ragged old worn jeans. Comfortable. Charles looks comfortable, like he should be curled up around Erik somewhere, warm and happy with no where to go and nothing to do. Erik finds he likes the look, likes the idea that Charles goes to his wardrobe when he wants something familiar, that Charles is so clearly his when he's dressed like this.
"It's all done, then?" Erik asks. He can't hold back then and dips his head to taste Charles' freckles, dragging his tongue down across his collarbone and into the hollow of his throat.
He feels Charles shudder.
"Mm--generally," Charles says. He grasps Erik's upper arms, right under his shoulders, not pushing away or pulling closer, but holding on. "I still need to defend, but I'm done writing and it's submitted. I'm free."
Erik slides his hands up Charles' sides. His skin is soft and clean and still warm from the shower. He must have gotten out not long ago. "Good," he says against Charles' throat.
"It smells like you," Charles says. He tips his head back as Erik kisses his neck, his shoulder, bites because he can and because eventually Charles is going to take the shirt off, but he'll still be Erik's and Erik wants to make sure everyone knows. "That's why I like wearing it. It smells like your cologne, the one I like, the one you don't wear often enough."
"If I wore it every day, we'd never leave the bedroom," Erik says. He slides his hands back down, his thumbs tracing Charles' hips under the waistband of his jeans. Charles shivers again when Erik's lips touch his ear, but he's still not moving, making Erik do all the work himself. Lazy. That's Charles, lazy, maddening, beautiful, workaholic Charles, who's whimpering as Erik thumbs open his jeans and bites his earlobe.
"I took a shower just for you," Charles says around a gasp. "I--oh fuck, I've missed you, I've missed--" Erik shoves his jeans down, bites at the skin behind Charles' ear. "I wanted to fuck you, I wanted to spread you open and fuck you and wring you out--"
Erik shivers, now, and squeezes Charles' hips, rubbing against him.
"Still can," he manages to says between quick breaths. "Let's say we take the edge off first, hm?"
Charles moans until Erik swallows the sound, covering Charles' mouth with his own and sliding his hand down the back of Charles' boxers. Charles fumbles with Erik's fly with one hand, the other cradling the back of Erik's skull, tangled in his hair, and it's not long until they're twisting around, kicking off their trousers. Charles pushes off Erik's blazer, pushes up his shirt, and then pushes him back until he's sitting in the arm chair, leaning back so that Charles can crawl onto his lap, straddling his thighs. Charles uses pause to peel Erik's polo off and throw it behind him. When he moves to pull off the borrowed sweater, Erik stills his hands.
"Really?" Charles asks. "That's a bit kinky."
"Do you really have a problem with that?" Erik asks, rubbing his hands up to Charles' shoulders against the sweater.
"No," Charles says. "Not at all."
He leans forward and kisses Erik again and fuck but Erik has missed this. He's missed having Charles' full attention, missed laying his hands on Charles' body, holding him, coaxing these noises and searing looks out of him. They've fucked in the past few weeks, but it was the sort of tired, distracted, perfunctory sex that's satisfying without any real feeling. Erik's missed the feeling, missed staring in Charles' ridiculous blue eyes and seeing hot lust and affection and desire, like he wants Erik specifically instead of just wanting to get off so he can quiet his brain down to a dull roar.
He pulls Charles closer, tighter against him, and, shit, he's never going to be able to wear this sweater again without getting hard, remembering how it looks on Charles, remembering the feeling of it sliding between them as he holds Charles and wraps his hand around their cocks.
Charles whimpers and snaps his hips forward, burying his face in the crook of Erik's neck.
"Yes, yes, please," Charles pleads. "Erik--I missed you, I wanted this, I've been so--I don't--" He stops speaking, panting hotly against Erik's skin, rocking against him, into his grip.
"Fuck," Erik says, the word torn from his throat, hot and sharp. "Charles--that's it, Charles, keep moving, fuck, just like this, just enough, and later--later--" Later he'll let Charles hold him down and kiss every inch of his body, apologize for being so distant and moody and busy and crazed, he'll let Charles fuck him until he sees stars, until they're both wrecked. For now, though, all he needs is this, Charles in his lap, needy and wanting and desperate, Charles in his shirt, Charles trying to crawl inside his skin, here with him, aware and awake and focused for the first time in weeks.
Erik twists his hand, moves it faster, snaps his wrist, tightens his grip, and Charles makes a noise like something in him is breaking before coming into Erik's fist. He collapses against Erik's chest. It's a few more strokes of Erik's hand, looking down at Charles' flushed cheeks, his bright eyes, the way he's still wrapped up in Erik's sweater, too big and dark against his pale skin and then Erik's gone as well, gasping into Charles' hair and squeezing his eyes shut.
They're slow to move again, after. Erik manages to grab the box of tissues from the desk and wipe his hand and stomach clean. Charles is miraculously clean, as is Erik's sweater, and he curls further into Erik's lap, head resting against his shoulder, eyes closed.
"I'm sorry I've been so crazy," Charles murmurs when Erik's breathing returns to normal. "It's just--"
"This dictates the rest of your life, I know," Erik says. He presses a kiss to the crown of Charles' head. "I've missed you, but I'm not upset."
"Done now," Charles says. "I thought I'd never be done. I thought I'd never have a life again."
"Mm, you do now," Erik says. "At least until you start teaching."
Charles groans and hides his face.
"Don't remind me," he says. "Just let me have this, please."
"Of course," Erik says, stroking Charles' hair. "Believe me, I plan on spending as much time with you as I can manage after this. In fact, I don't think you should leave the bed at all for the rest of the week."
Charles laughs and wraps his arms tightly around Erik's chest.
"Okay," he says. "But can we stay here for a little bit longer?"
"Sure," Erik says. "I need you to rest up for tonight, after all. Something about you spreading me open and fucking me into the mattress?"
"I can't wait," Charles says, smirking up at Erik and then closing his eyes, settling in for a nap in Erik's lap, wearing Erik's sweater and looking content for the first time in weeks.