(X-Men) Offering
Title: Offering
Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairings: Erik/Charles, Erik/Mystique
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1029
Timeline: Pre-X1
Notes: For 50_smutlets, prompt "sight".
Summary: Mystique's research was flawless.
She was talented, Erik could appreciate that. She’d clearly done her research, and considering how busy they had been, he was impressed she’d made such an effort. His mind bristled at how she may have found the photographs, what her sources may have been, knowing his own collection had long since been destroyed. Yet he felt an odd surge of affection for her and her perseverance.
Their relationship was still new, but he was already certain that he could count on her passion. Her dedication to their cause, her hatred of the race that had suppressed her.
He suspected that he was supposed to accept her advances as a gift, a thank you for rescuing her, for introducing her to the promise of a better future. However, their minds were just a mite too similar for him to be fooled so easily. There was no gift, nothing for his benefit. Instead, Mystique was testing him, and he could accept that as fair, after the way he had tested her during their first meeting. After the way he had continually tested her since. She was searching for leverage, something she could hold over him. She was pressing against his weaknesses, and he would expect no less from her, because a woman as strong as herself did not deserve to submit to a weak leader.
Erik would not disappoint her, of course. Would not shun the offer, would not want to appear rude. Simply would not allow any emotion to seep into the encounter, treat it as a brief respite from planning a long-overdue war.
She had walked into the room, all sinewy grace and endless legs, rich blue skin and flashing eyes. Had stopped before him, smirk tugging at her lips, and he had known what she had planned a second before her image shifted.
Charles in his early twenties had been exquisite. Piercing eyes that held nothing but warmth, a secret smile reserved just for Erik. Tall, proud posture, broad shoulders, athletic and strong. Intelligence an almost physical aura around him, that young desire to prove himself. Feet planted firm and head held high and gaze level. Naked, and unashamed, and aroused, and Erik could guess that desire belonged to Mystique as much as it did to the fantasy she was weaving.
“Erik,” Charles murmured, and the voice was perfect, lighter and airier than it had grown of late, yet still coloured by a maturity beyond his years. Erik smiled, amused and impressed, and inclined his head slightly. Acknowledgment and consent.
Charles moved towards him, slow and deliberate, circling the desk. Eyes bright with something that had gradually extinguished with age. A playful smile on his lips, and a young Charles had been rather guarded with just who he chose to be playful with, but Erik had always been judged worthy. Erik did not shift his chair back, but allowed Charles to slip up onto the desk. Watched as he swung his hips around, planted his feet on each arm of Erik’s chair, spread wantonly and without a shred of self-doubt. Young smooth skin, and if Erik were a lesser man, he may have been tempted to touch. Instead, he simply smiled, leaning back into his seat, and motioned for Charles to continue.
The smile Charles rewarded him with was just a touch too sharp to fit with Erik’s memory, none of the usual warmth there. It suited him, however, and Erik almost allowed himself to wonder how differently things may have turned out if Charles truly had been a man who could smile like that. Charles’ hand, however, wrapped around his erection, firm sure grip, and Erik was content to allow his ever-busy mind to settle, and to simply enjoy the show.
Strong strokes, familiarity, and his eyes searched Erik’s face, drifting over his eyes, his lips. Sheen of sweat of his brow, flush spreading down his chest. One hand braced itself on the desk, allowing the leverage to thrust up into his own grip, and Erik watched the leaking pleasure and did not allow his mind to dwell on memory.
Charles’ head tilted back, line of his throat exposed. Eyelids fluttered shut, glimpse of a wet tongue as it snaked out to touch hungry lips. His concentration was obvious, but there was an ease to the way his thumb pressed against the crown, pushing at the softer skin, drawing out more moisture. Well-practiced, loving hold of the flushed flesh. No hesitance, and that had always suited Charles best, when his mind was set to a task and could not be wavered.
Soft groan, one that sounded almost like a chuckle, and that put Erik more in mind of their encounters than the image before him. Charles’ voice, always surprised at first, but their touches had been so natural, and Erik was surprised at the ease with which the thoughts crept up on him, but he allowed nothing to show on his face.
Clearly drawing closer, mouth open and panting and the sound seemed to encompass the entire room, echoed off of the high walls. Erik smirked, watching and waiting, Charles’ desire climbing before him, reaching a crescendo, and Charles shuddered forcefully enough that his feet rocked Erik’s chair slightly, a slight hiss escaped his mouth before all other sound was bitten down, and his stomach glistened, painted with his release.
Erik gave Charles a moment, watched the parody of vulnerability as Charles trembled and gasped and collected himself. And then those eyes were boring into his own once more, an arrogance there that contradicted the loose sprawl of limbs.
“Beautiful, my dear,” Erik purred. Charles smiled back, slid from the desk. Walked away without another word, point made. Moved towards the door, granting Erik some privacy, and the swing of his naked hips was all about femininity and blue skin.
Erik waited until the door had clicked shut, before allowing himself a wistful sigh, amusement rumbling in his throat. He wondered if Mystique had found what she was looking for in him, what she had expected. A fine addition to his Brotherhood, and Erik settled back, enjoying the unique magnetism of arousal that simmered in his veins.
Fandom: X-Men (movieverse)
Pairings: Erik/Charles, Erik/Mystique
Rating: NC-17
Words: 1029
Timeline: Pre-X1
Notes: For 50_smutlets, prompt "sight".
Summary: Mystique's research was flawless.
She was talented, Erik could appreciate that. She’d clearly done her research, and considering how busy they had been, he was impressed she’d made such an effort. His mind bristled at how she may have found the photographs, what her sources may have been, knowing his own collection had long since been destroyed. Yet he felt an odd surge of affection for her and her perseverance.
Their relationship was still new, but he was already certain that he could count on her passion. Her dedication to their cause, her hatred of the race that had suppressed her.
He suspected that he was supposed to accept her advances as a gift, a thank you for rescuing her, for introducing her to the promise of a better future. However, their minds were just a mite too similar for him to be fooled so easily. There was no gift, nothing for his benefit. Instead, Mystique was testing him, and he could accept that as fair, after the way he had tested her during their first meeting. After the way he had continually tested her since. She was searching for leverage, something she could hold over him. She was pressing against his weaknesses, and he would expect no less from her, because a woman as strong as herself did not deserve to submit to a weak leader.
Erik would not disappoint her, of course. Would not shun the offer, would not want to appear rude. Simply would not allow any emotion to seep into the encounter, treat it as a brief respite from planning a long-overdue war.
She had walked into the room, all sinewy grace and endless legs, rich blue skin and flashing eyes. Had stopped before him, smirk tugging at her lips, and he had known what she had planned a second before her image shifted.
Charles in his early twenties had been exquisite. Piercing eyes that held nothing but warmth, a secret smile reserved just for Erik. Tall, proud posture, broad shoulders, athletic and strong. Intelligence an almost physical aura around him, that young desire to prove himself. Feet planted firm and head held high and gaze level. Naked, and unashamed, and aroused, and Erik could guess that desire belonged to Mystique as much as it did to the fantasy she was weaving.
“Erik,” Charles murmured, and the voice was perfect, lighter and airier than it had grown of late, yet still coloured by a maturity beyond his years. Erik smiled, amused and impressed, and inclined his head slightly. Acknowledgment and consent.
Charles moved towards him, slow and deliberate, circling the desk. Eyes bright with something that had gradually extinguished with age. A playful smile on his lips, and a young Charles had been rather guarded with just who he chose to be playful with, but Erik had always been judged worthy. Erik did not shift his chair back, but allowed Charles to slip up onto the desk. Watched as he swung his hips around, planted his feet on each arm of Erik’s chair, spread wantonly and without a shred of self-doubt. Young smooth skin, and if Erik were a lesser man, he may have been tempted to touch. Instead, he simply smiled, leaning back into his seat, and motioned for Charles to continue.
The smile Charles rewarded him with was just a touch too sharp to fit with Erik’s memory, none of the usual warmth there. It suited him, however, and Erik almost allowed himself to wonder how differently things may have turned out if Charles truly had been a man who could smile like that. Charles’ hand, however, wrapped around his erection, firm sure grip, and Erik was content to allow his ever-busy mind to settle, and to simply enjoy the show.
Strong strokes, familiarity, and his eyes searched Erik’s face, drifting over his eyes, his lips. Sheen of sweat of his brow, flush spreading down his chest. One hand braced itself on the desk, allowing the leverage to thrust up into his own grip, and Erik watched the leaking pleasure and did not allow his mind to dwell on memory.
Charles’ head tilted back, line of his throat exposed. Eyelids fluttered shut, glimpse of a wet tongue as it snaked out to touch hungry lips. His concentration was obvious, but there was an ease to the way his thumb pressed against the crown, pushing at the softer skin, drawing out more moisture. Well-practiced, loving hold of the flushed flesh. No hesitance, and that had always suited Charles best, when his mind was set to a task and could not be wavered.
Soft groan, one that sounded almost like a chuckle, and that put Erik more in mind of their encounters than the image before him. Charles’ voice, always surprised at first, but their touches had been so natural, and Erik was surprised at the ease with which the thoughts crept up on him, but he allowed nothing to show on his face.
Clearly drawing closer, mouth open and panting and the sound seemed to encompass the entire room, echoed off of the high walls. Erik smirked, watching and waiting, Charles’ desire climbing before him, reaching a crescendo, and Charles shuddered forcefully enough that his feet rocked Erik’s chair slightly, a slight hiss escaped his mouth before all other sound was bitten down, and his stomach glistened, painted with his release.
Erik gave Charles a moment, watched the parody of vulnerability as Charles trembled and gasped and collected himself. And then those eyes were boring into his own once more, an arrogance there that contradicted the loose sprawl of limbs.
“Beautiful, my dear,” Erik purred. Charles smiled back, slid from the desk. Walked away without another word, point made. Moved towards the door, granting Erik some privacy, and the swing of his naked hips was all about femininity and blue skin.
Erik waited until the door had clicked shut, before allowing himself a wistful sigh, amusement rumbling in his throat. He wondered if Mystique had found what she was looking for in him, what she had expected. A fine addition to his Brotherhood, and Erik settled back, enjoying the unique magnetism of arousal that simmered in his veins.