[fic] Currently Untitled.
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Pairing: Charles/Shaw - Implied Charles/Erik
Rating: R/maybe NC-17
Warnings: Implied kidnapping, implied drug use, non-con.
Length: ~1000 words.
Summary: Mini-fill for a prompt on Firstkink that I definitely cannot find anymore. Charles has the perfect sister, the perfect boyfriend, and the perfect fatherly next-door neighbor, but when the perfect boyfriend proposes to Charles, Charles mysteriously vanishes. His car found at the bottom of a lake (or something similar), no one suspects that the owner of the Xavier estate is locked just next door, too drugged out to remember how to move.
tl;dr - Erik proposes to Charles. Shaw has jealously issues.
A/N: Reposting because I legitimately cannot find this prompt anymore, and I really do want to turn this into something longer once I find the time to do it.
----
He wasn’t allowed under the sheets.
But he supposed that was alright.
He didn’t have the coordination to get under them if he tried.
Charles panted as he rolled onto his side, feverishly trying to wipe away the blood that plagued the inside of his forearm. Shaw never liked blood on his sheets. And there were no clothes that he could use to clean up the mess.
He could still feel it. He could feel the needle inside of him, could feel the drug as it made its way through his veins. Panicking always made it worse, he knew, made it work faster, but his skin was already crawling, and his arm was bleeding, and fuck. Fuck. He just wanted it to stop. Please, please, please just fucking stop.
He bit his lip a little harder than he intended, and hiccupped as he held back a startled sob. He had started bleeding from an entirely new wound, but in the small window of clarity that the pain gave him, Charles managed to find that elusive spot on his arm and press his palm to it, doing his best to clean the blood before Shaw returned. This would provide relief. This had to provide relief. He could relax after he cleaned his arm. He was allowed to relax.
Sucking the blood off of his lip, Charles gently tried to smear the mess off of his arm. When he was done, he carefully raised the same shaky hand to his face. He couldn’t judge distance. Not like this. But eventually his palm was close enough, and Charles eagerly licked his hand clean of the blood that threatened him. It was disgusting, tasted like iron, old pennies, but soon enough he was done. He was done. And in celebration he rolled back on his back, staring at what he could see of the ceiling and panting violently and trying to calm himself. He was done. Shaw would be happy. He was done.
But lying on his back did not relax him.
The room was still incredibly hot. He was still sweating. His skin still crawled with all the perfectly terrible things the drug still promised him. It was hard to move, let alone stand, and Charles’s vision was so blurred that he could barely see an inch in front of his own face. He was not restrained. The door probably wasn’t even locked. But every move he made was labored by the incredible heat, by his utter lack of coordination, by his lack of vision, and by his lack of strength. Escape, Erik, his family, his friends. All of them lay just beyond the door, but Charles could not get to them. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get to them. And that, coupled with the heat and his incredible discomfort, caused him to writhe on his back.
For what had to be the fortieth time, Charles tried calling out for help, but all that escaped him was a muted gasp. For what had to be the hundredth time, Charles tried to sit up, but as soon as he tried propping himself up on his hands, he fell back to the mattress with a thud and a whine.
His arm had started bleeding again, but unlike last time Charles did not remember why he cared. Even when it smeared over the comforter, the sheets, his pillow, Charles did not care. He missed Raven. He missed Erik. He needed them. He wanted them. And as the realization hit him, Charles let out a frustrated hiccup as he finally let his tears escape him.
It was so fucking hot.
When the door finally opened, when Shaw finally reentered the room, Charles had exhausted himself. His breathing was as erratic as the small movements he was still able to make. Despite the cool temperature of the room and how cold it must have felt on his naked flesh he was still sweating, every inch of him wet to the touch. His eyes were closed shut, and he was mumbling to himself, incoherent words that probably didn’t even make sense in his own mind.
And it was just the way that Shaw wanted him.
As the older man approached, Charles took no notice, but when the weight on the bed shifted, his eyes snapped open.
“N -“ He started to speak, but Shaw put his fingers to the other man’s lips, quieting him immediately.
“Charles...” Shaw smirked, running his thumb over Charles’s cheek with an insufferable kindness. Charles wanted to pull away. He really did. But at the moment he wasn’t quite sure he remembered how. “I thought we talked about this. I thought you were supposed to be happy to see me.” As he spoke, Shaw’s fingers left Charles’s mouth, trailed down his chin, his neck, his chest and his stomach, until those slender fingers wrapped themselves around Charles’s cock. “So.” He tightened his grip, just slightly, just enough. “Be happy.”
The sweat on his body was enough to let Shaw’s hand slide easily, and as he was stroked, Charles let out a reluctant moan. Even through the drugs he could feel himself getting hard. He could feel Shaw winning. Shaw ran his thumb over the tip of his cock, and Charles threw his head back, panting for an entirely different reason.
The worst part was that he could say nothing. The worst part was that Shaw was unbuttoning his pants. The worst part was that now he was crying, and Shaw was covering his mouth to muffle his hiccups and his sobs. The worst part was the way that Shaw was on top of him, that he was easing his way into him, that it fucking hurt and there was absolutely nothing that Charles could do.
The next cry that escaped him was loud and pained, and in response Shaw shoved his hand so hard against his mouth that Charles had to gasp for breath.
He wanted Raven. He wanted the kids. He wanted Erik. Good God, he wanted Erik.
Pairing: Charles/Shaw - Implied Charles/Erik
Rating: R/maybe NC-17
Warnings: Implied kidnapping, implied drug use, non-con.
Length: ~1000 words.
Summary: Mini-fill for a prompt on Firstkink that I definitely cannot find anymore. Charles has the perfect sister, the perfect boyfriend, and the perfect fatherly next-door neighbor, but when the perfect boyfriend proposes to Charles, Charles mysteriously vanishes. His car found at the bottom of a lake (or something similar), no one suspects that the owner of the Xavier estate is locked just next door, too drugged out to remember how to move.
tl;dr - Erik proposes to Charles. Shaw has jealously issues.
A/N: Reposting because I legitimately cannot find this prompt anymore, and I really do want to turn this into something longer once I find the time to do it.
----
He wasn’t allowed under the sheets.
But he supposed that was alright.
He didn’t have the coordination to get under them if he tried.
Charles panted as he rolled onto his side, feverishly trying to wipe away the blood that plagued the inside of his forearm. Shaw never liked blood on his sheets. And there were no clothes that he could use to clean up the mess.
He could still feel it. He could feel the needle inside of him, could feel the drug as it made its way through his veins. Panicking always made it worse, he knew, made it work faster, but his skin was already crawling, and his arm was bleeding, and fuck. Fuck. He just wanted it to stop. Please, please, please just fucking stop.
He bit his lip a little harder than he intended, and hiccupped as he held back a startled sob. He had started bleeding from an entirely new wound, but in the small window of clarity that the pain gave him, Charles managed to find that elusive spot on his arm and press his palm to it, doing his best to clean the blood before Shaw returned. This would provide relief. This had to provide relief. He could relax after he cleaned his arm. He was allowed to relax.
Sucking the blood off of his lip, Charles gently tried to smear the mess off of his arm. When he was done, he carefully raised the same shaky hand to his face. He couldn’t judge distance. Not like this. But eventually his palm was close enough, and Charles eagerly licked his hand clean of the blood that threatened him. It was disgusting, tasted like iron, old pennies, but soon enough he was done. He was done. And in celebration he rolled back on his back, staring at what he could see of the ceiling and panting violently and trying to calm himself. He was done. Shaw would be happy. He was done.
But lying on his back did not relax him.
The room was still incredibly hot. He was still sweating. His skin still crawled with all the perfectly terrible things the drug still promised him. It was hard to move, let alone stand, and Charles’s vision was so blurred that he could barely see an inch in front of his own face. He was not restrained. The door probably wasn’t even locked. But every move he made was labored by the incredible heat, by his utter lack of coordination, by his lack of vision, and by his lack of strength. Escape, Erik, his family, his friends. All of them lay just beyond the door, but Charles could not get to them. No matter how hard he tried, he could not get to them. And that, coupled with the heat and his incredible discomfort, caused him to writhe on his back.
For what had to be the fortieth time, Charles tried calling out for help, but all that escaped him was a muted gasp. For what had to be the hundredth time, Charles tried to sit up, but as soon as he tried propping himself up on his hands, he fell back to the mattress with a thud and a whine.
His arm had started bleeding again, but unlike last time Charles did not remember why he cared. Even when it smeared over the comforter, the sheets, his pillow, Charles did not care. He missed Raven. He missed Erik. He needed them. He wanted them. And as the realization hit him, Charles let out a frustrated hiccup as he finally let his tears escape him.
It was so fucking hot.
When the door finally opened, when Shaw finally reentered the room, Charles had exhausted himself. His breathing was as erratic as the small movements he was still able to make. Despite the cool temperature of the room and how cold it must have felt on his naked flesh he was still sweating, every inch of him wet to the touch. His eyes were closed shut, and he was mumbling to himself, incoherent words that probably didn’t even make sense in his own mind.
And it was just the way that Shaw wanted him.
As the older man approached, Charles took no notice, but when the weight on the bed shifted, his eyes snapped open.
“N -“ He started to speak, but Shaw put his fingers to the other man’s lips, quieting him immediately.
“Charles...” Shaw smirked, running his thumb over Charles’s cheek with an insufferable kindness. Charles wanted to pull away. He really did. But at the moment he wasn’t quite sure he remembered how. “I thought we talked about this. I thought you were supposed to be happy to see me.” As he spoke, Shaw’s fingers left Charles’s mouth, trailed down his chin, his neck, his chest and his stomach, until those slender fingers wrapped themselves around Charles’s cock. “So.” He tightened his grip, just slightly, just enough. “Be happy.”
The sweat on his body was enough to let Shaw’s hand slide easily, and as he was stroked, Charles let out a reluctant moan. Even through the drugs he could feel himself getting hard. He could feel Shaw winning. Shaw ran his thumb over the tip of his cock, and Charles threw his head back, panting for an entirely different reason.
The worst part was that he could say nothing. The worst part was that Shaw was unbuttoning his pants. The worst part was that now he was crying, and Shaw was covering his mouth to muffle his hiccups and his sobs. The worst part was the way that Shaw was on top of him, that he was easing his way into him, that it fucking hurt and there was absolutely nothing that Charles could do.
The next cry that escaped him was loud and pained, and in response Shaw shoved his hand so hard against his mouth that Charles had to gasp for breath.
He wanted Raven. He wanted the kids. He wanted Erik. Good God, he wanted Erik.