Mind Games (X-Men: First Class)
It was times like these that Charles wished he could truly shut everything out, not just people’s thoughts. It was an impossibility, like trying to separate sound from language. It must be nice, he thought, to be able to put a space between the sounds of the world and the sounds of the self; never having to struggle to keep one’s thoughts separate from his, never having to keep the blues of hunger separate from the high-pitched violins of his own worries.
Worst of all, Erik’s mind was the loudest. Strawberries intermingled with champagne tickled the back of Charles’ mind. He cast a sidelong glance at Erik. Yes, that’s what his friend was eating. He could taste the pleasure as Erik chewed, and felt it vanish quickly to be replaced by a long sigh.
Well, at least he’s bored too, Charles smiled to himself.
Erik looked back at Charles, twirling his fork in his hands, letting it glide between his fingers, over, under… a bit too effortlessly, Charles noted. How had he missed that Erik was fooling around with his powers? He raised a cautious eyebrow at him. Erik simply grinned and caught the fork in his hands.
Careful, Charles spoke to Erik’s mind, you don’t want to end up giving a demonstration, do you, hmm? Lab rat?
Erik’s smile turned to a scowl. He stabbed his uneaten steak bitterly. Charles winced as the utensil made contact-so much anger there.
Erik started drumming his fingers on the table. Each tap stirred impatience within Charles, tapping on his temple, brimming closer and closer to a point of overflowing emotion.
Erik, stop that. It’s more annoying than the music.
Erik laughed aloud despite himself. Why should I? he challenged, and continued drumming.
Trust me, my friend, you don’t want to know.
Erik paused drumming for a moment, only to give Charles the most indignant look: his eyes were narrowed in disbelief, the rest of his face stoic and bitter.
Charles shifted uncomfortably in his seat, adjusting his tuxedo. Erik’s eyes were still on him, stern and challenging.
He could feel Erik giving him images and he tried to block them. He tried to focus hard on something else in the room, but all that came to him was the screeching of small talk, the griminess of talk of the weather, the chalkiness of faux laughter… and behind it all, a gentle, prodding touch on his arm, gently moving up to his shoulders.
Charles shuddered, feeling the goosebumps on his back fighting the flecks of nausea in his stomach.
Erik, stop it.
But Erik just grinned from across the table, a light dancing in his eyes that Charles had seen before, and it made him afraid--afraid of what Erik was going to do and how he would have to control himself and Erik in order to keep their secret world in check.
And he was hit again with a barrage of thought: Erik’s fingertips on the back of his neck, massaging him; strawberries again; an empty library.
Charles had to imagine a solid brick wall between the two of them in order to snap himself out of it. The library was fading from his mind now.
Erik was laughing softly, low and playfully sinister. Charles leaned across the table.
“You bastard,” was all he could manage.
“Come on,” Erik replied, grinning. “You know it’s the most interesting thing to happen to you all night.”
Charles leaned back in his chair, determined not to give Erik the advantage.
“It’s not nearly enough to keep me interested,” he shot back, glancing nonchalantly across the room at nothing in particular.
Erik leaned in slightly, casting Charles a slightly dark look.
“You have anything better?” he challenged.
Charles chuckled softly. “I always have something better.”
“Try me.”
Charles sighed and took a deep breath before plunging himself into his own thoughts, dragging Erik’s mind with him. He could feel Erik’s apprehension and eagerness on the left side of his head, lingering there in the midst of determination.
Charles dug for that image of that empty library and put a piano in there.
Now it was the piano keys, bare feet dangling from atop the piano, someone’s hands on the keys but only lightly tracing their surface. Then it was the wood of the piano itself, the squeaking of skin against the varnished surface. Hands clasped together, one dragging the other in agonizing rhythm. Notes pounded with each thrust.
Charles felt Erik’s surprise causing him to distance himself from Charles’ mind, but Charles let his mind seep into Erik’s, flooding it.
There was the sliding of a tuxedo jacket across the top of the piano, hands fumbling to undo a bowtie, a long draught of air through the nostrils combined with firm lips meeting each other. Erik throwing Charles off of him, the force of his strength sending him stumbling backwards into the bookshelves. The pain of bruises on Charles' lower back and his neck, now calmed and made worse as Erik’s hand pressed itself into the back of his neck, holding him there against the shelves.
Outside this world, Charles could hear Erik drawing his breath. Charles pressed on.
The fury of knots made by hands determined to find their hold in slick hair. Dust littering the air, hands splayed across the bookshelves, desperately holding in emotion and holding on. Moans and whimpers. Someone laughing into someone else’s lips.
Charles’ images now were being pushed aside, replaced by the familiar, brighter colors and raging heat of Erik’s thoughts.
“Charles,” Erik’s voice was low and threatening. Charles was unsure whether or not it came from his throat or his mind, but he didn’t have time to think--
Blurry sensations of the rug against someone’s bare back-it didn’t matter whose-sweat seeping through Charles’ shirt, sticking to Erik’s chest, ragged breathing, books falling with a clunk, two heart rates making a constant pulsation of blood being pulled like a magnet to the heart, Erik tugging Charles’ head back as he gave a start in agonized pleasure, the silhouette of Erik’s face so close to his, and the clattering of silverware.
Charles snapped out of their mind with a start. The real world swam back into vision, and he could feel the wisps of Erik’s thoughts leaving him. He shivered.
He took a deep breath and realized he felt dizzy. He focused on the floor, and noticed a clump of silverware that had been knotted into one long chain. Erik’s way of channeling frustration, no doubt. Charles realized that he wasn’t sorry. Instead, he grinned. But he could not ignore the stares of people around them, pouring into his brain.
He threw down his napkin and left the dining hall, pinching his nose bridge. He closed the door behind him and stood in the hallway, sighing heavily. The entryway was empty and lit only by the small windows in the door that connected the two rooms. Seconds later, there was a creaking noise as Erik swung the door open. Charles jumped as the door slammed shut behind him, trembling like him. Erik was striding towards him, his eyes wide, his jaw set. He brought himself closer and closer, until Charles' shoulders gently grazed the shelves behind him. He looked determinedly back at Erik, although he could feel Erik’s anger trembling. He swallowed nervously, glancing up at Erik with guilt.
He was waiting for the rage.
And was met with firm lips and a hissing of air, and a small shove that undulated from their kiss to the floor. Books shifted and thudded around them. Charles whimpered in shock, clasping the side of Erik's face to steady himself. He began to push back, urging him on, but Erik broke away.
“The next time you do that to me," Erik's voice was barely audible, "make sure there’s actually a library in the place.” And he grabbed Charles’ face to kiss him once more.
Worst of all, Erik’s mind was the loudest. Strawberries intermingled with champagne tickled the back of Charles’ mind. He cast a sidelong glance at Erik. Yes, that’s what his friend was eating. He could taste the pleasure as Erik chewed, and felt it vanish quickly to be replaced by a long sigh.
Well, at least he’s bored too, Charles smiled to himself.
Erik looked back at Charles, twirling his fork in his hands, letting it glide between his fingers, over, under… a bit too effortlessly, Charles noted. How had he missed that Erik was fooling around with his powers? He raised a cautious eyebrow at him. Erik simply grinned and caught the fork in his hands.
Careful, Charles spoke to Erik’s mind, you don’t want to end up giving a demonstration, do you, hmm? Lab rat?
Erik’s smile turned to a scowl. He stabbed his uneaten steak bitterly. Charles winced as the utensil made contact-so much anger there.
Erik started drumming his fingers on the table. Each tap stirred impatience within Charles, tapping on his temple, brimming closer and closer to a point of overflowing emotion.
Erik, stop that. It’s more annoying than the music.
Erik laughed aloud despite himself. Why should I? he challenged, and continued drumming.
Trust me, my friend, you don’t want to know.
Erik paused drumming for a moment, only to give Charles the most indignant look: his eyes were narrowed in disbelief, the rest of his face stoic and bitter.
Charles shifted uncomfortably in his seat, adjusting his tuxedo. Erik’s eyes were still on him, stern and challenging.
He could feel Erik giving him images and he tried to block them. He tried to focus hard on something else in the room, but all that came to him was the screeching of small talk, the griminess of talk of the weather, the chalkiness of faux laughter… and behind it all, a gentle, prodding touch on his arm, gently moving up to his shoulders.
Charles shuddered, feeling the goosebumps on his back fighting the flecks of nausea in his stomach.
Erik, stop it.
But Erik just grinned from across the table, a light dancing in his eyes that Charles had seen before, and it made him afraid--afraid of what Erik was going to do and how he would have to control himself and Erik in order to keep their secret world in check.
And he was hit again with a barrage of thought: Erik’s fingertips on the back of his neck, massaging him; strawberries again; an empty library.
Charles had to imagine a solid brick wall between the two of them in order to snap himself out of it. The library was fading from his mind now.
Erik was laughing softly, low and playfully sinister. Charles leaned across the table.
“You bastard,” was all he could manage.
“Come on,” Erik replied, grinning. “You know it’s the most interesting thing to happen to you all night.”
Charles leaned back in his chair, determined not to give Erik the advantage.
“It’s not nearly enough to keep me interested,” he shot back, glancing nonchalantly across the room at nothing in particular.
Erik leaned in slightly, casting Charles a slightly dark look.
“You have anything better?” he challenged.
Charles chuckled softly. “I always have something better.”
“Try me.”
Charles sighed and took a deep breath before plunging himself into his own thoughts, dragging Erik’s mind with him. He could feel Erik’s apprehension and eagerness on the left side of his head, lingering there in the midst of determination.
Charles dug for that image of that empty library and put a piano in there.
Now it was the piano keys, bare feet dangling from atop the piano, someone’s hands on the keys but only lightly tracing their surface. Then it was the wood of the piano itself, the squeaking of skin against the varnished surface. Hands clasped together, one dragging the other in agonizing rhythm. Notes pounded with each thrust.
Charles felt Erik’s surprise causing him to distance himself from Charles’ mind, but Charles let his mind seep into Erik’s, flooding it.
There was the sliding of a tuxedo jacket across the top of the piano, hands fumbling to undo a bowtie, a long draught of air through the nostrils combined with firm lips meeting each other. Erik throwing Charles off of him, the force of his strength sending him stumbling backwards into the bookshelves. The pain of bruises on Charles' lower back and his neck, now calmed and made worse as Erik’s hand pressed itself into the back of his neck, holding him there against the shelves.
Outside this world, Charles could hear Erik drawing his breath. Charles pressed on.
The fury of knots made by hands determined to find their hold in slick hair. Dust littering the air, hands splayed across the bookshelves, desperately holding in emotion and holding on. Moans and whimpers. Someone laughing into someone else’s lips.
Charles’ images now were being pushed aside, replaced by the familiar, brighter colors and raging heat of Erik’s thoughts.
“Charles,” Erik’s voice was low and threatening. Charles was unsure whether or not it came from his throat or his mind, but he didn’t have time to think--
Blurry sensations of the rug against someone’s bare back-it didn’t matter whose-sweat seeping through Charles’ shirt, sticking to Erik’s chest, ragged breathing, books falling with a clunk, two heart rates making a constant pulsation of blood being pulled like a magnet to the heart, Erik tugging Charles’ head back as he gave a start in agonized pleasure, the silhouette of Erik’s face so close to his, and the clattering of silverware.
Charles snapped out of their mind with a start. The real world swam back into vision, and he could feel the wisps of Erik’s thoughts leaving him. He shivered.
He took a deep breath and realized he felt dizzy. He focused on the floor, and noticed a clump of silverware that had been knotted into one long chain. Erik’s way of channeling frustration, no doubt. Charles realized that he wasn’t sorry. Instead, he grinned. But he could not ignore the stares of people around them, pouring into his brain.
He threw down his napkin and left the dining hall, pinching his nose bridge. He closed the door behind him and stood in the hallway, sighing heavily. The entryway was empty and lit only by the small windows in the door that connected the two rooms. Seconds later, there was a creaking noise as Erik swung the door open. Charles jumped as the door slammed shut behind him, trembling like him. Erik was striding towards him, his eyes wide, his jaw set. He brought himself closer and closer, until Charles' shoulders gently grazed the shelves behind him. He looked determinedly back at Erik, although he could feel Erik’s anger trembling. He swallowed nervously, glancing up at Erik with guilt.
He was waiting for the rage.
And was met with firm lips and a hissing of air, and a small shove that undulated from their kiss to the floor. Books shifted and thudded around them. Charles whimpered in shock, clasping the side of Erik's face to steady himself. He began to push back, urging him on, but Erik broke away.
“The next time you do that to me," Erik's voice was barely audible, "make sure there’s actually a library in the place.” And he grabbed Charles’ face to kiss him once more.