We are who we are behind closed doors...
Pages upon pages never written.
These painted hearts of ours like millions of miles.
Charles slinks down the hall as silently and lightly as he can feeling like an intruder in his own home.
His bare feet brush antique wood and his mind strains to hear what his ears cannot.
Feeling, searching, reaching out.
All voices are quiet except for one.
We turn ourselves inside out.
Red and orange and blue.
All the colors lit up.
Our painted hearts running through and through.
All voices quiet except his.
***
Head lowered, shoulders hunched, eyes screwed up and focused so tight in the dim light of his bedroom.
Everything is beginning to hurt.
Charles blinks away eye strain and weariness commanding his focus back on the page.
From out of the open is new.
Cutting across oceans and skies.
We painted our hearts.
Echoes of voices and truth.
Charles’ eyes wander from his page to the door and to the direction of his voice.
We died exploring them.
We collected everything through and through.
Laid to rest all of the best.
Our painted hearts beating painfully in our chests.
Erik’s voice is like a slow, methodical drum in Charles’ mind.
Charles closes his eyes and listens to Erik read, the meanings almost as beautiful as Erik speaking them.
Charles is still listening as he gets up from his chair. He’s still listening as muscles and limbs move on their own accord and still listening as he slinks out of his room.
***
It’s been building, this feeling.
The foundation has been laid-sturdy, strong and non wavering.
The outline of everything is secured by Erik’s solid presence standing next to him, his fearlessness, his devotion, his support, his companionship and friendship.
And then there are those little things about Erik that Charles doesn’t want to see but does, the little things that actually are big things. These little yet big things fill out the rest which becomes Charles’ heart.
The flash of too many teeth when he smiles, the way he carries himself with his head held high, back straightened and chest puffed out like he has nothing to lose, his laugh, his big hands which have seen hard work, his strong jaw, and the way his eyes view the world with such fierce attention.
Charles sees and knows these things for what they are but chooses to file them away.
It could never be that easy.
Charles catches the too long of gaze or intimate, open looks that Erik sends him and Charles picks up on the snippets of hypothetical scenarios that Erik sees them doing when they’re alone together.
But they’ve never acted on these things.
Charles too files all these away with neither man uttering a word about them.
It’s all been building.
Charles can’t say that he wasn’t warned.
***
Erik’s thoughts are like telecasts, his voice inside Charles’ mind always loud and commanding. Charles never has to try too hard to pick up on what Erik is thinking.
Charles doesn’t know why he’s outside his door but that isn’t true at all.
He’s known. Even if he just made his mind up at that very second or a thousand years ago. He’s always known.
We built nests in our sadness.
Every breath a curse.
Sound trapped in shadow.
Any excuse will do.
Charles knocks once and swiftly opens the door without waiting for a response.
Charles wants to say something clever like: “We should have done this so long ago” or “Those words, your words, any words you speak capture me,” but he doesn’t.
Charles takes a step inside the room and closes the door behind him, his heart thudding violently in his chest.
“You know why I’m here,” Charles finds himself saying.
Erik is sitting up in bed holding the still opened book.
He is wearing a white undershirt, boxers and an expression of calm indifference.
They gaze at each other from across the room, eyes blinking in the dim light and tension builds until it’s rippling between them like a tangible force. Both their mental shields are up and for a brief moment Charles almost forgets who he is-the silence of the house and everyone’s minds like a hole in the earth.
Without breaking eye contact Erik lowers the opened book slowly into his lap resting his knotted hands on top of it.
Charles thinks it’s as much of a sign of submission he’s going to get.
Without a word Charles crosses the room quickly and sits on the bed facing Erik.
Erik’s face arranges itself into a stony look of: “What took you so long?”
Charles tries hard to hide his smile.
Sometimes Charles doesn’t need to read Erik’s mind to know what he’s thinking.
It never occurred to Charles that it could be this simple.
Sometimes you just have to take what you want.
Charles nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden thought from Erik.
Their eyes meet and this time it’s definitely harder for Charles to hide his smile, a blush blooming high on his cheeks.
He really never thought it could be this simple.
***
We painted our hearts.
We’re still guessing at our being.
Painted hearts hold no meaning.
Glimpses and glimmers of lies.
We were home.
Erik makes quick work of getting Charles out of his robe.
Erik’s hands are on his skin. Those large, rough hands that he had often found himself staring at are finally on his skin, the heat from his touch hypnotizing him.
Nimble, precise fingers trace the outlines of Charles’ shoulders slowly, trailing down his arms to his wrists where Erik plants a light kiss to each one. Charles realizes he isn’t breathing. He realizes no one has treated his body like this like a thing to behold.
Those hands are on his buttons, undoing them. Erik crowds his space. His heat radiates off of him, so close and his hot breath expels onto Charles’ neck stirring the very insides of Charles’ brain.
Erik swipes his thumb slowly over Charles’ bottom lip.
Erik’s eyes hold the most dark and private looks of desire and his words earlier of taking what you want reverberate deeply through Charles.
Charles pulls Erik down into a needy kiss, his fingers loosing themselves deep within his hair.
His world is his mouth lost to Erik’s, Erik’s too hot of hands exploring his bare skin and the loud clamoring of his mind.
His heart cannot decide if he was alive before this very moment.
***
Charles gently pushes Erik back onto the bed.
Charles crouches over him. His eyes sweep over Erik’s naked form. His fingers have a mind of their own and reach out to touch.
He explores Erik, maps him out with his fingers, and studies his skin like he is an equation to solve. Charles wants to memorize him, every dip and crease, every line and bend, every curve and shape, no detail too small.
His mouth picks up where his fingers leave off and Charles doesn’t know how he would have kept on living without knowing Erik like this, without knowing what he feels or tastes like.
His whole world was a lie before this.
***
Charles parts Erik’s legs, running his fingers down the insides slowly as he goes. Erik writhes on the sheets, his head turned to one side, eyes half closed, face flushed and hair a mess. Charles doesn’t think he’s seen him look more open or beautiful.
Charles’ fingers fan outward to Erik’s thighs. He feels the toned muscles-a product of nomadic years of searching and constantly being on the move.
With his eyes locked on Erik’s he runs his hands down Erik’s thighs slowly, scratching lightly with his nails before slowly sweeping them back up.
Erik’s pupils are blown, his mouth wet, shiny and flushed. Charles doesn’t break their gaze as he lowers his face and licks a long stripe along the inside of Erik’s thigh. An incomprehensible noise escape Erik’s lips and his whole body shudders.
Charles closes his eyes and relishes in the feel of getting lost in Erik’s body.
He licks over the top of the tightly muscled skin back to the more sensitive insides.
Charles nudges his nose into the hair between Erik’s legs, his face bent to the side as he circles his tongue into the inside of his thigh, swirling slowly, his saliva leaving wet, dripping spots on his skin.
He probes and kisses his skin. He traces an area with his tongue moving upward where he sucks and bites.
“This is what you do to me,” Charles breathes before he cannot hear anything else apart from the moans and cries from the man beneath him.
***
Erik is inside him and around him, pushing up into Charles as Charles rides him and his hand coaxes Charles to come. He’s everywhere and the thought trickles into a heavy stream of desire through Charles’ body.
They move together like two perfectly slotted pieces-Erik’s cock all hard, slippery, delicious heat that thrusts up to meet Charles as he grinds back down on it. Erik’s fingers tug and squeeze at Charles’ cock-a hasty rhythm set up.
Erik brings them to climax sending Charles to a place he didn’t know existed like an unsolved scientific equation, a hidden language, like the existence of mutants themselves.
This heart is where you truly live. This heart. Here.
He’s not sure whose thoughts they are.
To Charles it doesn’t matter anymore.
From one and one is now two.
Our painted hearts held captive chasms deep.
As night flame rolls in heated streams.
Poundings of feet.
Every day begins with night.
We were only half alive and somewhere in-between.
***
Erik kisses a freckle on Charles’ neck, running his fingers lightly down to his collarbone.
He leans in close and kisses Charles’ ear making Charles shiver.
“Who were you before I met you?” Erik whispers.
Charles smiles as if it’s coming from somewhere deep and hidden.
“No one.”
***
"This heart is where you truly live. This heart. Here." Is from Harry Potter. The rest is my own :)
These painted hearts of ours like millions of miles.
Charles slinks down the hall as silently and lightly as he can feeling like an intruder in his own home.
His bare feet brush antique wood and his mind strains to hear what his ears cannot.
Feeling, searching, reaching out.
All voices are quiet except for one.
We turn ourselves inside out.
Red and orange and blue.
All the colors lit up.
Our painted hearts running through and through.
All voices quiet except his.
***
Head lowered, shoulders hunched, eyes screwed up and focused so tight in the dim light of his bedroom.
Everything is beginning to hurt.
Charles blinks away eye strain and weariness commanding his focus back on the page.
From out of the open is new.
Cutting across oceans and skies.
We painted our hearts.
Echoes of voices and truth.
Charles’ eyes wander from his page to the door and to the direction of his voice.
We died exploring them.
We collected everything through and through.
Laid to rest all of the best.
Our painted hearts beating painfully in our chests.
Erik’s voice is like a slow, methodical drum in Charles’ mind.
Charles closes his eyes and listens to Erik read, the meanings almost as beautiful as Erik speaking them.
Charles is still listening as he gets up from his chair. He’s still listening as muscles and limbs move on their own accord and still listening as he slinks out of his room.
***
It’s been building, this feeling.
The foundation has been laid-sturdy, strong and non wavering.
The outline of everything is secured by Erik’s solid presence standing next to him, his fearlessness, his devotion, his support, his companionship and friendship.
And then there are those little things about Erik that Charles doesn’t want to see but does, the little things that actually are big things. These little yet big things fill out the rest which becomes Charles’ heart.
The flash of too many teeth when he smiles, the way he carries himself with his head held high, back straightened and chest puffed out like he has nothing to lose, his laugh, his big hands which have seen hard work, his strong jaw, and the way his eyes view the world with such fierce attention.
Charles sees and knows these things for what they are but chooses to file them away.
It could never be that easy.
Charles catches the too long of gaze or intimate, open looks that Erik sends him and Charles picks up on the snippets of hypothetical scenarios that Erik sees them doing when they’re alone together.
But they’ve never acted on these things.
Charles too files all these away with neither man uttering a word about them.
It’s all been building.
Charles can’t say that he wasn’t warned.
***
Erik’s thoughts are like telecasts, his voice inside Charles’ mind always loud and commanding. Charles never has to try too hard to pick up on what Erik is thinking.
Charles doesn’t know why he’s outside his door but that isn’t true at all.
He’s known. Even if he just made his mind up at that very second or a thousand years ago. He’s always known.
We built nests in our sadness.
Every breath a curse.
Sound trapped in shadow.
Any excuse will do.
Charles knocks once and swiftly opens the door without waiting for a response.
Charles wants to say something clever like: “We should have done this so long ago” or “Those words, your words, any words you speak capture me,” but he doesn’t.
Charles takes a step inside the room and closes the door behind him, his heart thudding violently in his chest.
“You know why I’m here,” Charles finds himself saying.
Erik is sitting up in bed holding the still opened book.
He is wearing a white undershirt, boxers and an expression of calm indifference.
They gaze at each other from across the room, eyes blinking in the dim light and tension builds until it’s rippling between them like a tangible force. Both their mental shields are up and for a brief moment Charles almost forgets who he is-the silence of the house and everyone’s minds like a hole in the earth.
Without breaking eye contact Erik lowers the opened book slowly into his lap resting his knotted hands on top of it.
Charles thinks it’s as much of a sign of submission he’s going to get.
Without a word Charles crosses the room quickly and sits on the bed facing Erik.
Erik’s face arranges itself into a stony look of: “What took you so long?”
Charles tries hard to hide his smile.
Sometimes Charles doesn’t need to read Erik’s mind to know what he’s thinking.
It never occurred to Charles that it could be this simple.
Sometimes you just have to take what you want.
Charles nearly jumps out of his skin at the sudden thought from Erik.
Their eyes meet and this time it’s definitely harder for Charles to hide his smile, a blush blooming high on his cheeks.
He really never thought it could be this simple.
***
We painted our hearts.
We’re still guessing at our being.
Painted hearts hold no meaning.
Glimpses and glimmers of lies.
We were home.
Erik makes quick work of getting Charles out of his robe.
Erik’s hands are on his skin. Those large, rough hands that he had often found himself staring at are finally on his skin, the heat from his touch hypnotizing him.
Nimble, precise fingers trace the outlines of Charles’ shoulders slowly, trailing down his arms to his wrists where Erik plants a light kiss to each one. Charles realizes he isn’t breathing. He realizes no one has treated his body like this like a thing to behold.
Those hands are on his buttons, undoing them. Erik crowds his space. His heat radiates off of him, so close and his hot breath expels onto Charles’ neck stirring the very insides of Charles’ brain.
Erik swipes his thumb slowly over Charles’ bottom lip.
Erik’s eyes hold the most dark and private looks of desire and his words earlier of taking what you want reverberate deeply through Charles.
Charles pulls Erik down into a needy kiss, his fingers loosing themselves deep within his hair.
His world is his mouth lost to Erik’s, Erik’s too hot of hands exploring his bare skin and the loud clamoring of his mind.
His heart cannot decide if he was alive before this very moment.
***
Charles gently pushes Erik back onto the bed.
Charles crouches over him. His eyes sweep over Erik’s naked form. His fingers have a mind of their own and reach out to touch.
He explores Erik, maps him out with his fingers, and studies his skin like he is an equation to solve. Charles wants to memorize him, every dip and crease, every line and bend, every curve and shape, no detail too small.
His mouth picks up where his fingers leave off and Charles doesn’t know how he would have kept on living without knowing Erik like this, without knowing what he feels or tastes like.
His whole world was a lie before this.
***
Charles parts Erik’s legs, running his fingers down the insides slowly as he goes. Erik writhes on the sheets, his head turned to one side, eyes half closed, face flushed and hair a mess. Charles doesn’t think he’s seen him look more open or beautiful.
Charles’ fingers fan outward to Erik’s thighs. He feels the toned muscles-a product of nomadic years of searching and constantly being on the move.
With his eyes locked on Erik’s he runs his hands down Erik’s thighs slowly, scratching lightly with his nails before slowly sweeping them back up.
Erik’s pupils are blown, his mouth wet, shiny and flushed. Charles doesn’t break their gaze as he lowers his face and licks a long stripe along the inside of Erik’s thigh. An incomprehensible noise escape Erik’s lips and his whole body shudders.
Charles closes his eyes and relishes in the feel of getting lost in Erik’s body.
He licks over the top of the tightly muscled skin back to the more sensitive insides.
Charles nudges his nose into the hair between Erik’s legs, his face bent to the side as he circles his tongue into the inside of his thigh, swirling slowly, his saliva leaving wet, dripping spots on his skin.
He probes and kisses his skin. He traces an area with his tongue moving upward where he sucks and bites.
“This is what you do to me,” Charles breathes before he cannot hear anything else apart from the moans and cries from the man beneath him.
***
Erik is inside him and around him, pushing up into Charles as Charles rides him and his hand coaxes Charles to come. He’s everywhere and the thought trickles into a heavy stream of desire through Charles’ body.
They move together like two perfectly slotted pieces-Erik’s cock all hard, slippery, delicious heat that thrusts up to meet Charles as he grinds back down on it. Erik’s fingers tug and squeeze at Charles’ cock-a hasty rhythm set up.
Erik brings them to climax sending Charles to a place he didn’t know existed like an unsolved scientific equation, a hidden language, like the existence of mutants themselves.
This heart is where you truly live. This heart. Here.
He’s not sure whose thoughts they are.
To Charles it doesn’t matter anymore.
From one and one is now two.
Our painted hearts held captive chasms deep.
As night flame rolls in heated streams.
Poundings of feet.
Every day begins with night.
We were only half alive and somewhere in-between.
***
Erik kisses a freckle on Charles’ neck, running his fingers lightly down to his collarbone.
He leans in close and kisses Charles’ ear making Charles shiver.
“Who were you before I met you?” Erik whispers.
Charles smiles as if it’s coming from somewhere deep and hidden.
“No one.”
***
"This heart is where you truly live. This heart. Here." Is from Harry Potter. The rest is my own :)