THE X-MEN FIRST CLASS KINK MEME: PROMPT POST
You know why you're here. You've seen the movie. You're asking yourself, "So where was the gratuitous Emma Frost as White Queen in a corset? When did Mystique totally make it with Beast? WHY IN HEAVENS DID XAVIER AND MAGNETO NEVER MAKE OUT
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And what he wants is Erik’s mouth on his cock. The intensity of it sets Erik back on his heels. Someday, the directness of Charles’ intentions will stop surprising him, but it isn't going to be today. The fantasy is so clear that he realizes immediately that it isn’t new, isn’t something that just occurred to Charles moments ago. Erik feels his mouth water, half from wanting what Charles wants, and half from what he wants himself. Charles’ fingers pull suddenly tight in his hair, and the certainty of the connection falters.
“Erik,” he says, voice strained low with concentration, “Erik, don’t let me make you want it.”
“How would I stop you?” Erik answers, and moves to press the heel of one hand snugly to Charles’ erection through the desperately thin silk of his boxers.
Charles tries to say something but misses his words on the first pass. “I don’t--” He tries a second time, “Erik--”
“Show me again,” Erik demands, so Charles does, resolutely meeting Erik's eyes and brushing his thumb oh-so-lightly to Erik’s temple. Erik gathers Charles’ weight and shifts both of them forward in the chair, sweeps the remaining chess pieces off the table with a flick of his mind before laying Charles back over the checkered board. Charles untangles his legs from Erik’s and from the chair, and Erik presses them apart, sliding to his knees in the dense, soft carpeting.
Charles gasps at the first touch of skin as Erik hitches his pants and shorts down over his hips, then goes silent for Erik’s mouth. Erik nuzzles at his belly, lets anticipation and the warmth of his breath finish the work that necking didn't quite accomplish through the delicious hindrance of the weed. Charles is hard enough to suit him before he's done getting acquainted with the texture of Charles' skin, but that's really no grounds for complaint.
He works as much moisture into his mouth as he can and sucks the head of Charles' cock into his mouth with decisive efficiency.
The pleasure echo throbs at his own dick, then stutters and flares as Charles concentration wavers wildly. They both moan; Charles' legs lurch around Erik's ribs. Erik knows he wants more, moves a hand to wrap around the base of Charles' cock, finds Charles' already there. Charles' other hand clutches at the back of his head.
So bossy, Erik thinks, and goes down until his mouth hits Charles' fist. Charles laughs and gasps and thinks Stubborn at him as a counter-accusation, and Erik thinks that's probably fair, although maybe not at this particular moment. Charles moves his hand in time with Erik's mouth, steady and strong, and it might be the closest a blowjob can possibly get to a slow, stoned fuck.
This is either a very good or a very bad thought to have, because it makes Charles imagine it, and Erik's mind floods with fantasy-blurred glimpses of what it would be like; Charles' legs over his shoulders, the desperate-sharp press of strong fingers against his hips, a swallowed moan and the hot, brilliant hunger of Charles' mouth under his own.
Charles comes.
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