My Thoughts To Your Thoughts [X-Men: First Class - Erik/Charles]
Title: My Thoughts To Your Thoughts
Summary: Erik has a thorough afternoon wank.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Words & Warnings: ~1400 / No warnings.
Disclaimer: X-Men and all associated = the property of Marvel and Fox.
Notes: Originally written anonymously for 1stclass_kink. This prompt: Erik using a rest period to have an achingly thorough mid-afternoon wank. And deliberately flooding Charles' telepathic senses with thoughts of images, sounds and sensations in the process; making it impossible for Charles to concentrate on anything but Erik and what he's doing.
Also, yeah, totally the first thing written for the kinkmeme. Should I be so proud? Possibly not. But I still am. :D Also - I am entirely aware of how embarrassing that title is. *shrug* It was the first thing that came to mind. Also at AO3.
Sequel: Your Thoughts To My Thoughts.
When he began to understand the breadth of Charles’ power Erik had wondered if it was always “on” or if Charles was able to control what he saw in other people’s minds. Charles had laughed and answered his question out loud, that he could choose not to listen to people if he wanted but sometimes a person’s thoughts were so loud that he couldn’t ignore them.
“Like your wish for revenge,” Charles had offered as an example, his eyes sliding to one side. Erik didn’t need to be a telepath himself to know that Charles disapproved.
Erik had very quickly learnt to control himself as much as he could though it was often difficult in the face of Charles’ quick smile and expressive hands. He had a feeling that Charles wasn’t exactly against the idea from the way Charles’ eyes lingered on him whenever he walked by.
Charles would need to be goaded, Erik realised when Charles pulled away each time they shared each other’s company too closely, convinced.
Erik stretched out on the ridiculously large bed in the room Charles had provided him. The door was locked and he was barely dry from bathing after a particularly strenuous session (“I am certain that you could fly, Erik, if only you could bend the Earh’s magnetic field in the correct way.”) and his cock was already half hard. He had spent so much time moving from place to place in recent months that he’d forgotten how pleasant it could be to take his time with himself.
Charles was on the other side of the manor, conferring with Hank when Erik last saw him, but Erik wondered what it would be like if Charles came to him in that moment. If perhaps the door wasn’t locked and Charles burst into the room, eyes bright with discovery, only to find Erik there with his eyes closed, hand on his cock.
(Would Charles flee in typical English embarrassment? Erik didn’t think so. Charles’ eyes would darken a little, caught on the sight of Erik’s hand teasing his cock with delicate strokes, and he would close the door behind him. This time Charles would ensure it was locked, make certain they would not be disturbed with one mental command.
Erik would open his eyes then and see Charles and his breath would catch in his throat, his cock jumping to complete hardness almost instantly. Charles would lean against the bedpost, one eyebrow tilted slightly up, as if waiting for Erik to show him something impressive.)
Erik felt the familiar length of his cock in his hands, teased himself in ways only he knew, traced around the head with his thumb and rocked slightly into his fist. He brushed a hand up his side lightly and shivered, the hairs on his skin raising with arousal.
(Would Charles be open with his gaze? Yes, of course he would. Studying Erik’s sprawled form with all the attention he would give a genetic specimen. Erik would spread himself shamelessly, wanting Charles to see all of him in the way that only Charles could, still stroking his cock almost lazily.)
Are you seeing this, Erik almost wanted to ask, do you see what I do for myself whilst thinking of you. Erik looked down his cock disappearing into his hand, the easy pull and glide, the thrust and shift. Can you feel how it feels, Charles? How loudly would Erik have to think to drown out everything else Charles could hear?
(Erik would tilt his chin up at Charles, a challenge in his eyes, asking with his body what Charles would do. Charles would make a frustrated sound, huff out a breath, and walk to the head of the bed. Erik would hold his eyes; daring him to do something, anything.
Charles would kneel on the edge of the bed and brace one hand on the pillow by Erik’s head. He’d lean close, close enough for Erik to feel Charles’ breath on his face, but he would not touch his lips to Erik’s. Instead the first touch would be of his fingers, wrapping around Erik’s where they were around his cock, and Erik would push up into the joint grip.)
Erik let out a moan, seeing it all so clearly. He could almost feel Charles’ fingers on his own, such clever fingers. He lowered his other hand to his balls, rolling them between his fingers, and arched into his own hand.
(Charles would kiss him at last as he moved his fingers lower, tracing over the sensitive spot behind his balls, his tongue sliding easily between Erik’s open lips. This kiss would not be restrained - it would be heat and passion, a breaking of the dam wall drawn between them, and Erik would gasp into his mouth bringing a hand up to twist into Charles’ hair.
Charles would fall against him, the fine texture of his clothes dragging over Erik’s bare chest and eliciting a shiver. He’d tilt Erik’s head with a finger to his jaw so he could press deeper into Erik’s mouth. Erik would suck on Charles’ tongue, making it absolutely clear that there was something he’d much rather suck on.
Charles would break the kiss with a breath of laughter. Later, perhaps, he would say moving to kiss along Erik’s jawline and lick at the soft skin behind his ear. Erik would barely stop himself from wondering how Charles knew where to touch him, how to touch him.)
“I’d expect nothing less,” Erik said to himself, changing the angle of his hand and speeding his stroke. He placed his feet flat against the bed so he could drive up into his own fist.
(Charles would find his pulse-point with unerring aim and suck a mark onto his flesh there. Erik would growl, an unconscious noise, and Charles would laugh again bringing his hand back up to entangle his fingers with Erik’s. He would begin to set the speed, a little faster, his grip a little tighter.
Erik would pull Charles up for another kiss, determined to taste as much of him as he could, and would feel the hard press of Charles’ erection at his side when Charles shifted. That would drive the arousal higher, knowing that Erik had the power to strip Charles of his decorum, as Charles rutted against him with a wordless gasp.)
Erik could feel his climax building up within him, a sharp, bright, wonderful thing, spiralling through his spine and stretching out along his limbs, his body tensing and relaxing in waves.
(Charles would want him to do it, want him to spill all over their hands and his own stomach and Erik would ache from the trembling need of it. Please, he might say, might whisper against Charles’ mouth, skin, hair. I want - but he wouldn’t finish, incapable of expressing exactly what he wanted.
Charles would simply know. Charles would take him up to the dizzying heights and grip him, hold him, as he came back down. It would be that feeling of being known, so exactly and entirely, that would tip Erik over the edge, crying out -)
“Charles,” came unbidden to Erik’s lips but in the world outside his head it was nothing but a strained whisper as he strained into his own hand, the world blurring at the edges as he came, spilling in hot stripes over his fingers and up his stomach and shaking with effort and from release.
(I know, Charles would say, I know. Erik wouldn’t even have the strength to ask what Charles knew. He’d wonder aloud, instead, if that was what it was like to have sex with a telepath.
Oh, my friend, Charles would say, smoothing hair back from Erik’s forehead and placing a kiss there, terrifying in his gentleness, it is so much more than you can ever imagine.)
“I would like to know,” Erik said out loud, thoughtfully, reaching out for his towel to wipe himself down. He mused upon the thought as he drifted off to sleep.
--
At dinner that evening Charles had some difficulty meeting Erik’s eyes and Erik couldn’t stop himself from smiling every time he saw the blush spread pinkly across Charles’ cheeks.
“Why’re you smiling?” Banshee asked, gesturing with a forkful of food. “It’s a bit creepy.”
“Yeah,” Mystique said, smiling slyly. “You haven’t stop smiling since you sat down.”
“It’s nothing, really,” Erik said, fixing his eyes on Charles’ downturned face. “I simply had an excellent…nap, this afternoon. Incredibly satisfactory.”
The pink reached Charles’ ears as Erik watched and it only made his smile wider. Now, at least, he knew how loudly he had to think.
Summary: Erik has a thorough afternoon wank.
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Words & Warnings: ~1400 / No warnings.
Disclaimer: X-Men and all associated = the property of Marvel and Fox.
Notes: Originally written anonymously for 1stclass_kink. This prompt: Erik using a rest period to have an achingly thorough mid-afternoon wank. And deliberately flooding Charles' telepathic senses with thoughts of images, sounds and sensations in the process; making it impossible for Charles to concentrate on anything but Erik and what he's doing.
Also, yeah, totally the first thing written for the kinkmeme. Should I be so proud? Possibly not. But I still am. :D Also - I am entirely aware of how embarrassing that title is. *shrug* It was the first thing that came to mind. Also at AO3.
Sequel: Your Thoughts To My Thoughts.
When he began to understand the breadth of Charles’ power Erik had wondered if it was always “on” or if Charles was able to control what he saw in other people’s minds. Charles had laughed and answered his question out loud, that he could choose not to listen to people if he wanted but sometimes a person’s thoughts were so loud that he couldn’t ignore them.
“Like your wish for revenge,” Charles had offered as an example, his eyes sliding to one side. Erik didn’t need to be a telepath himself to know that Charles disapproved.
Erik had very quickly learnt to control himself as much as he could though it was often difficult in the face of Charles’ quick smile and expressive hands. He had a feeling that Charles wasn’t exactly against the idea from the way Charles’ eyes lingered on him whenever he walked by.
Charles would need to be goaded, Erik realised when Charles pulled away each time they shared each other’s company too closely, convinced.
Erik stretched out on the ridiculously large bed in the room Charles had provided him. The door was locked and he was barely dry from bathing after a particularly strenuous session (“I am certain that you could fly, Erik, if only you could bend the Earh’s magnetic field in the correct way.”) and his cock was already half hard. He had spent so much time moving from place to place in recent months that he’d forgotten how pleasant it could be to take his time with himself.
Charles was on the other side of the manor, conferring with Hank when Erik last saw him, but Erik wondered what it would be like if Charles came to him in that moment. If perhaps the door wasn’t locked and Charles burst into the room, eyes bright with discovery, only to find Erik there with his eyes closed, hand on his cock.
(Would Charles flee in typical English embarrassment? Erik didn’t think so. Charles’ eyes would darken a little, caught on the sight of Erik’s hand teasing his cock with delicate strokes, and he would close the door behind him. This time Charles would ensure it was locked, make certain they would not be disturbed with one mental command.
Erik would open his eyes then and see Charles and his breath would catch in his throat, his cock jumping to complete hardness almost instantly. Charles would lean against the bedpost, one eyebrow tilted slightly up, as if waiting for Erik to show him something impressive.)
Erik felt the familiar length of his cock in his hands, teased himself in ways only he knew, traced around the head with his thumb and rocked slightly into his fist. He brushed a hand up his side lightly and shivered, the hairs on his skin raising with arousal.
(Would Charles be open with his gaze? Yes, of course he would. Studying Erik’s sprawled form with all the attention he would give a genetic specimen. Erik would spread himself shamelessly, wanting Charles to see all of him in the way that only Charles could, still stroking his cock almost lazily.)
Are you seeing this, Erik almost wanted to ask, do you see what I do for myself whilst thinking of you. Erik looked down his cock disappearing into his hand, the easy pull and glide, the thrust and shift. Can you feel how it feels, Charles? How loudly would Erik have to think to drown out everything else Charles could hear?
(Erik would tilt his chin up at Charles, a challenge in his eyes, asking with his body what Charles would do. Charles would make a frustrated sound, huff out a breath, and walk to the head of the bed. Erik would hold his eyes; daring him to do something, anything.
Charles would kneel on the edge of the bed and brace one hand on the pillow by Erik’s head. He’d lean close, close enough for Erik to feel Charles’ breath on his face, but he would not touch his lips to Erik’s. Instead the first touch would be of his fingers, wrapping around Erik’s where they were around his cock, and Erik would push up into the joint grip.)
Erik let out a moan, seeing it all so clearly. He could almost feel Charles’ fingers on his own, such clever fingers. He lowered his other hand to his balls, rolling them between his fingers, and arched into his own hand.
(Charles would kiss him at last as he moved his fingers lower, tracing over the sensitive spot behind his balls, his tongue sliding easily between Erik’s open lips. This kiss would not be restrained - it would be heat and passion, a breaking of the dam wall drawn between them, and Erik would gasp into his mouth bringing a hand up to twist into Charles’ hair.
Charles would fall against him, the fine texture of his clothes dragging over Erik’s bare chest and eliciting a shiver. He’d tilt Erik’s head with a finger to his jaw so he could press deeper into Erik’s mouth. Erik would suck on Charles’ tongue, making it absolutely clear that there was something he’d much rather suck on.
Charles would break the kiss with a breath of laughter. Later, perhaps, he would say moving to kiss along Erik’s jawline and lick at the soft skin behind his ear. Erik would barely stop himself from wondering how Charles knew where to touch him, how to touch him.)
“I’d expect nothing less,” Erik said to himself, changing the angle of his hand and speeding his stroke. He placed his feet flat against the bed so he could drive up into his own fist.
(Charles would find his pulse-point with unerring aim and suck a mark onto his flesh there. Erik would growl, an unconscious noise, and Charles would laugh again bringing his hand back up to entangle his fingers with Erik’s. He would begin to set the speed, a little faster, his grip a little tighter.
Erik would pull Charles up for another kiss, determined to taste as much of him as he could, and would feel the hard press of Charles’ erection at his side when Charles shifted. That would drive the arousal higher, knowing that Erik had the power to strip Charles of his decorum, as Charles rutted against him with a wordless gasp.)
Erik could feel his climax building up within him, a sharp, bright, wonderful thing, spiralling through his spine and stretching out along his limbs, his body tensing and relaxing in waves.
(Charles would want him to do it, want him to spill all over their hands and his own stomach and Erik would ache from the trembling need of it. Please, he might say, might whisper against Charles’ mouth, skin, hair. I want - but he wouldn’t finish, incapable of expressing exactly what he wanted.
Charles would simply know. Charles would take him up to the dizzying heights and grip him, hold him, as he came back down. It would be that feeling of being known, so exactly and entirely, that would tip Erik over the edge, crying out -)
“Charles,” came unbidden to Erik’s lips but in the world outside his head it was nothing but a strained whisper as he strained into his own hand, the world blurring at the edges as he came, spilling in hot stripes over his fingers and up his stomach and shaking with effort and from release.
(I know, Charles would say, I know. Erik wouldn’t even have the strength to ask what Charles knew. He’d wonder aloud, instead, if that was what it was like to have sex with a telepath.
Oh, my friend, Charles would say, smoothing hair back from Erik’s forehead and placing a kiss there, terrifying in his gentleness, it is so much more than you can ever imagine.)
“I would like to know,” Erik said out loud, thoughtfully, reaching out for his towel to wipe himself down. He mused upon the thought as he drifted off to sleep.
--
At dinner that evening Charles had some difficulty meeting Erik’s eyes and Erik couldn’t stop himself from smiling every time he saw the blush spread pinkly across Charles’ cheeks.
“Why’re you smiling?” Banshee asked, gesturing with a forkful of food. “It’s a bit creepy.”
“Yeah,” Mystique said, smiling slyly. “You haven’t stop smiling since you sat down.”
“It’s nothing, really,” Erik said, fixing his eyes on Charles’ downturned face. “I simply had an excellent…nap, this afternoon. Incredibly satisfactory.”
The pink reached Charles’ ears as Erik watched and it only made his smile wider. Now, at least, he knew how loudly he had to think.