(no subject)
FANDOM: X-Men: First Class
TITLE: Many Rooms
SUMMARY: For this prompt at the kinkmeme: "It had to have galled Erik to spend a night in Charles' home, so rich and opulent, when he had nothing of the sort."
WORDS: 2062
RATING: PG
Large fingers trace their way over a dusty mantlepiece. Erik's hand pauses on a photo of Charles as a young boy, and he lifts it for a closer look. The charming grin on the young boy's face matches the one of the man that had so recently welcomed him into his home.
Erik places the photo back on the mantle and turns to survey the room. It is dark and elegant, and so very different from the motels and hotels he's spent the better part of his life flitting in and out of. He flicks the metal switch on a stained glass lamp upward. The dim light barely illuminates anything else.
He sets his briefcase down on the velvet bedspread. The bed seems far too large for one man. Erik feels dwarfed in this place. The seemingly unnecessary luxury of not just the room, but of the entire household, makes him slightly uncomfortable. Erik's life has been portable for so long, floating from one tiny room to the next, living out of suitcases, maintaining no real possessions. The idea that Charles owns something this big as well as everything in it seems excessive. What could one man ever do with all of this?
Erik slips off his shoes. Even the plush carpet feels expensive. The carpet alone is probably worth more than anything Erik has ever owned in his life, he broods.
He sits on the edge of the bed, taking in his surroundings. He can see the vast grounds from the large window, only serving to make him feel smaller, trapped in a room where he doesn't belong.
This place feels like a museum.
*
Erik pads through the twisting hallways until he ends up in the kitchen. Bare feet against cold tile, he makes his way to the refrigerator and pulls it open. The thing is stocked to the point of bursting with just about any food imaginable. Doesn't Charles do anything in moderation?
Alcohol. A drink will settle his nerves. If he's ever going to relax enough to be able to sleep in this place, this building that feels more like an exhibition hall than a home, he's going to need a little something else in his system.
"You won't find what you're looking for here."
Erik snaps the refrigerator door shut quickly. Charles is leaning against the wall behind it, smirking. Erik feels a little foolish for being so overwhelmed by the house itself that he didn't even sense the man's presence.
"And what is it you think I'm looking for?" Erik responds, maybe a little too defensively.
"Telepath, remember?" Charles taps the side of his own head. "I thought it best to remove easy access to alcoholic beverages, considering the ages of the new house guests."
"I suppose you have a point," Erik concedes. "What are you doing here?"
"Coming to get you," Charles tells him matter-of-factly, reaching out for his sleeve and pulling him along.
*
"Is this your room?"
Erik takes a look around. This room is obviously a little more lived-in than the one he was provided with, and there's a degree of warmth that the rest of the mansion seems to be lacking. Personal touches - books left open, a coat thrown across the back of a chair, and other possessions scattered about the furniture - divide this one from the rest of the imposing rooms in the mansion.
"Indeed it is. Welcome to my humble abode," Charles says, taking a small bow. Erik raises an eyebrow.
"I'm not sure that word means what you think it does, Charles."
Charles produces a bottle of scotch while Erik is distracted looking at a stack of books on his desk.
"Keep insulting me, and I'll make sure the children aren't the only ones with no access to liquor," Charles teases, pouring them both a glass.
Erik takes the glass from Charles. Brat, he thinks, only half-trying to say it loudly enough for Charles to hear. "Were you spying on me?"
Charles winces at Erik's question. Erik reacts to Charles' mutation like it's a weapon, constantly on guard.
"You seem to have a way of making yourself heard, whether I'm trying to listen or not," Charles explains. "You and I are the only ones awake. My mind is still adjusting to the presence of so much activity in a place where it's usually lacking."
Erik sips his scotch without a comment. Charles eyes him carefully. There's something odd in the set of his shoulders, something distressed.
"What's bothering you, Erik?"
"Why don't you tell me, telepath?" Erik asks, leaning forward. It almost sounds like a threat.
"I want to hear it from you." Not steal it, Charles speaks to Erik inside his head.
Erik shifts uncomfortably. Whether it's from the previous problem or the closeness of having Charles right there in his mind, it's hard to tell. Charles stares at Erik for a moment, then quickly finishes his scotch. He sets down his glass and scoots onto his bed, patting the spot beside him.
"Are you inviting me into your bed, Charles?"
"Well, when you put it like that…"
A smile plays at the corner of Erik's mouth. Erik has never had anyone he could truly call a friend, least of all one like this. The safe side of the line between friendship and something else still seems a fair distance away, even through the filter of not really knowing how those situations work anyway. He sits on the bed next to Charles and stretches out, mimicking his friend's position. Several inches taller than Charles, his feet just barely have room on the mattress.
Erik wiggles his toes, and Charles laughs. As Charles moves to refill his glass, Erik realizes that he's never felt that before. Charles often admires his power or skill, but Erik can't remember anyone besides his mother having appreciated anything but those aspects of him, especially not something silly. The feeling sinks down inside of him pleasantly, a happy contrast to the reason he left his own room in the first place.
After a moment of silence and the two men simply laying compliant, basking in the other's presence, Charles looks over at Erik once more.
This will begin to feel like home, my friend. I promise, Charles tells Erik, confident. "I know it can seem awfully lonely at first."
"I don't belong here." Uncomfortable thoughts begin to buzz again through Erik's brain. Charles catches the edges of each of them. Lonelyawfulbig home undeserving havenohome emptywrong notmylife. "I'm not going to pretend to be something I'm not."
Charles reaches out for Erik's wrist. He touches it delicately, pressing his thumb gently over the pulse.
"Does it feel like that with me? Pretending?"
Erik looks at where Charles' hand is pressed against his; he follows from Charles' fingers up to his arms up to his chest, his neck, his face, into those eyes, so blue and caring and pleading and offering something so much deeper than he ever knew he could have had or wanted.
"No."
"Then stay, Erik."
Erik snaps his hand away. The utter peace of the previous moment dissipates.
"Don't."
Charles coils back, but not fearfully. Charles doesn't think he could ever be truly scared of Erik, no matter how much power the man contains within him. "Don't what, Erik?"
Erik sits up. "Don't use your powers on me for selfish reasons. For any reasons." He runs a hand through his hair, agitated.
"Is the idea of wanting to stay in one place so foreign to you that you think I had to have manipulated you for you to feel that?" Charles smiles softly. "I didn't give you that thought, Erik. It was all you."
Erik looks angry for a moment, still disbelieving of Charles' words. His jaw is set firm and a storm brews behind his eyes.
All of a sudden, Erik lashes forward, grabbing Charles by the neck and pulling his body to his own. Erik clings to to the other man tightly, knuckles going white from a solid grip, and bears his mouth down on Charles'.
Erik steals a ravenous kiss from Charles, who is pliant and helpless underneath him. One hand on his jaw ensures that Charles' mouth is open to meet his. Charles is warm and gentle, and Erik scrambles to takes what he can, making into battles things that don't need to be so.
"I'll bet you'll tell me that thought was one of my own design, too, wasn't it?" Erik whispers, words springing bitterly off of his tongue. Here and now, he doesn't know who or what he wants or when, and if any of these thoughts can still be claimed as his own. Being around a telepath has caused more doubt and confusion than can be easily tackled in one night.
Erik bites down lightly and tugs at Charles' lower lip, as if to prove a point, before untangling himself from the body underneath his. He sits besides Charles on the bed, trying too hard not to notice how debauched the other man looks.
Charles takes a moment and pulls himself together, hand smoothing down his ruffled hair awkwardly. He was clearly startled by Erik's unexpected behavior. For all of the emotion Erik had been projecting recently, that hadn't really been at the forefront of… well, anything, really. Charles pulls himself up to kneel next to the other man.
"Actually, I had nothing to do with that one, either." Their eyes meet. "Listen, Erik, if you're going to be here with me, and believe me, I do want you by my side, you're going to have to learn to trust me. I've invited you into my home, and even into my bed, but I wouldn't dare assume you've invited me that far into your mind. Whatever thoughts or feelings you have toward me or this place are your own."
Erik processes everything that Charles just told him. There's nothing but honesty in his eyes. The man in front of him is not a man with something to hide.
Erik stares at the floor.
"It's not wrong to want something for yourself, Erik. To want to belong, even to," he pauses, soft laughter in Erik's ears, "want someone else," Charles says somewhat timidly. "It's not wrong. Nobody put that in your head."
Damn him. Condescending Charles, trying to take him under his wing like he's one of his new students, one of the children, trying to teach him a lesson… Damn him for being right. Charles has a way of undermining his emotions and making him feel foolish. Is it his power or just his personality? Either way, it's aggravating. But one thing still doesn't make sense.
"If you didn't put that in my head, then why didn't you stop me?"
Charles, still on his knees, leans closer to Erik. He reaches out a hand and tightens his fingers around the other man's arm - firm, but not threatening. Erik turns his head and looks back up at Charles' face and he is there, right there, undeniably blue eyes so close and -
their breath ghosts over each other's lips before they meet in a lingering kiss. The lust burns low inside each of them, molten and heavy, keeping their bodies anchored to the bed as their mouths press against each other. Charles' mouth opens once more for Erik's, and Erik pulls the craving out of him tentatively this time. There's a distinct lack of force missing compared to their earlier kiss. Erik lifts a hand to the back of Charles' neck and rests it against his nape reverently, pulling him closer. The kiss is savory, Erik's warm mouth pressed tight against Charles', both of them reaching out for more and more.
"You don't need to be stopped," Charles whispers into Erik's mouth, before the perfect fit of lips against lips takes over again, their mouths like some kind of erotic puzzle pieces. Erik kisses him to claim him, and Charles lets himself be claimed by the other man, offering up whatever he has obediently.
*
"Stay," Charles had said earlier. Erik didn't know whether he meant the night, or forever; he didn't know if Charles was asking him to simply stick around the mansion or to become a part of his life. Erik couldn't tell if Charles even was asking, or it was some kind of forceful telepathic plea.
"Stay," Charles had said, and it must have worked, because in the morning there are two bodies curled up around each other in Charles Xavier's bed. Just for now, and maybe if it's even just for the time being, Erik Lehnsherr has found a place to belong.
TITLE: Many Rooms
SUMMARY: For this prompt at the kinkmeme: "It had to have galled Erik to spend a night in Charles' home, so rich and opulent, when he had nothing of the sort."
WORDS: 2062
RATING: PG
Large fingers trace their way over a dusty mantlepiece. Erik's hand pauses on a photo of Charles as a young boy, and he lifts it for a closer look. The charming grin on the young boy's face matches the one of the man that had so recently welcomed him into his home.
Erik places the photo back on the mantle and turns to survey the room. It is dark and elegant, and so very different from the motels and hotels he's spent the better part of his life flitting in and out of. He flicks the metal switch on a stained glass lamp upward. The dim light barely illuminates anything else.
He sets his briefcase down on the velvet bedspread. The bed seems far too large for one man. Erik feels dwarfed in this place. The seemingly unnecessary luxury of not just the room, but of the entire household, makes him slightly uncomfortable. Erik's life has been portable for so long, floating from one tiny room to the next, living out of suitcases, maintaining no real possessions. The idea that Charles owns something this big as well as everything in it seems excessive. What could one man ever do with all of this?
Erik slips off his shoes. Even the plush carpet feels expensive. The carpet alone is probably worth more than anything Erik has ever owned in his life, he broods.
He sits on the edge of the bed, taking in his surroundings. He can see the vast grounds from the large window, only serving to make him feel smaller, trapped in a room where he doesn't belong.
This place feels like a museum.
*
Erik pads through the twisting hallways until he ends up in the kitchen. Bare feet against cold tile, he makes his way to the refrigerator and pulls it open. The thing is stocked to the point of bursting with just about any food imaginable. Doesn't Charles do anything in moderation?
Alcohol. A drink will settle his nerves. If he's ever going to relax enough to be able to sleep in this place, this building that feels more like an exhibition hall than a home, he's going to need a little something else in his system.
"You won't find what you're looking for here."
Erik snaps the refrigerator door shut quickly. Charles is leaning against the wall behind it, smirking. Erik feels a little foolish for being so overwhelmed by the house itself that he didn't even sense the man's presence.
"And what is it you think I'm looking for?" Erik responds, maybe a little too defensively.
"Telepath, remember?" Charles taps the side of his own head. "I thought it best to remove easy access to alcoholic beverages, considering the ages of the new house guests."
"I suppose you have a point," Erik concedes. "What are you doing here?"
"Coming to get you," Charles tells him matter-of-factly, reaching out for his sleeve and pulling him along.
*
"Is this your room?"
Erik takes a look around. This room is obviously a little more lived-in than the one he was provided with, and there's a degree of warmth that the rest of the mansion seems to be lacking. Personal touches - books left open, a coat thrown across the back of a chair, and other possessions scattered about the furniture - divide this one from the rest of the imposing rooms in the mansion.
"Indeed it is. Welcome to my humble abode," Charles says, taking a small bow. Erik raises an eyebrow.
"I'm not sure that word means what you think it does, Charles."
Charles produces a bottle of scotch while Erik is distracted looking at a stack of books on his desk.
"Keep insulting me, and I'll make sure the children aren't the only ones with no access to liquor," Charles teases, pouring them both a glass.
Erik takes the glass from Charles. Brat, he thinks, only half-trying to say it loudly enough for Charles to hear. "Were you spying on me?"
Charles winces at Erik's question. Erik reacts to Charles' mutation like it's a weapon, constantly on guard.
"You seem to have a way of making yourself heard, whether I'm trying to listen or not," Charles explains. "You and I are the only ones awake. My mind is still adjusting to the presence of so much activity in a place where it's usually lacking."
Erik sips his scotch without a comment. Charles eyes him carefully. There's something odd in the set of his shoulders, something distressed.
"What's bothering you, Erik?"
"Why don't you tell me, telepath?" Erik asks, leaning forward. It almost sounds like a threat.
"I want to hear it from you." Not steal it, Charles speaks to Erik inside his head.
Erik shifts uncomfortably. Whether it's from the previous problem or the closeness of having Charles right there in his mind, it's hard to tell. Charles stares at Erik for a moment, then quickly finishes his scotch. He sets down his glass and scoots onto his bed, patting the spot beside him.
"Are you inviting me into your bed, Charles?"
"Well, when you put it like that…"
A smile plays at the corner of Erik's mouth. Erik has never had anyone he could truly call a friend, least of all one like this. The safe side of the line between friendship and something else still seems a fair distance away, even through the filter of not really knowing how those situations work anyway. He sits on the bed next to Charles and stretches out, mimicking his friend's position. Several inches taller than Charles, his feet just barely have room on the mattress.
Erik wiggles his toes, and Charles laughs. As Charles moves to refill his glass, Erik realizes that he's never felt that before. Charles often admires his power or skill, but Erik can't remember anyone besides his mother having appreciated anything but those aspects of him, especially not something silly. The feeling sinks down inside of him pleasantly, a happy contrast to the reason he left his own room in the first place.
After a moment of silence and the two men simply laying compliant, basking in the other's presence, Charles looks over at Erik once more.
This will begin to feel like home, my friend. I promise, Charles tells Erik, confident. "I know it can seem awfully lonely at first."
"I don't belong here." Uncomfortable thoughts begin to buzz again through Erik's brain. Charles catches the edges of each of them. Lonelyawfulbig home undeserving havenohome emptywrong notmylife. "I'm not going to pretend to be something I'm not."
Charles reaches out for Erik's wrist. He touches it delicately, pressing his thumb gently over the pulse.
"Does it feel like that with me? Pretending?"
Erik looks at where Charles' hand is pressed against his; he follows from Charles' fingers up to his arms up to his chest, his neck, his face, into those eyes, so blue and caring and pleading and offering something so much deeper than he ever knew he could have had or wanted.
"No."
"Then stay, Erik."
Erik snaps his hand away. The utter peace of the previous moment dissipates.
"Don't."
Charles coils back, but not fearfully. Charles doesn't think he could ever be truly scared of Erik, no matter how much power the man contains within him. "Don't what, Erik?"
Erik sits up. "Don't use your powers on me for selfish reasons. For any reasons." He runs a hand through his hair, agitated.
"Is the idea of wanting to stay in one place so foreign to you that you think I had to have manipulated you for you to feel that?" Charles smiles softly. "I didn't give you that thought, Erik. It was all you."
Erik looks angry for a moment, still disbelieving of Charles' words. His jaw is set firm and a storm brews behind his eyes.
All of a sudden, Erik lashes forward, grabbing Charles by the neck and pulling his body to his own. Erik clings to to the other man tightly, knuckles going white from a solid grip, and bears his mouth down on Charles'.
Erik steals a ravenous kiss from Charles, who is pliant and helpless underneath him. One hand on his jaw ensures that Charles' mouth is open to meet his. Charles is warm and gentle, and Erik scrambles to takes what he can, making into battles things that don't need to be so.
"I'll bet you'll tell me that thought was one of my own design, too, wasn't it?" Erik whispers, words springing bitterly off of his tongue. Here and now, he doesn't know who or what he wants or when, and if any of these thoughts can still be claimed as his own. Being around a telepath has caused more doubt and confusion than can be easily tackled in one night.
Erik bites down lightly and tugs at Charles' lower lip, as if to prove a point, before untangling himself from the body underneath his. He sits besides Charles on the bed, trying too hard not to notice how debauched the other man looks.
Charles takes a moment and pulls himself together, hand smoothing down his ruffled hair awkwardly. He was clearly startled by Erik's unexpected behavior. For all of the emotion Erik had been projecting recently, that hadn't really been at the forefront of… well, anything, really. Charles pulls himself up to kneel next to the other man.
"Actually, I had nothing to do with that one, either." Their eyes meet. "Listen, Erik, if you're going to be here with me, and believe me, I do want you by my side, you're going to have to learn to trust me. I've invited you into my home, and even into my bed, but I wouldn't dare assume you've invited me that far into your mind. Whatever thoughts or feelings you have toward me or this place are your own."
Erik processes everything that Charles just told him. There's nothing but honesty in his eyes. The man in front of him is not a man with something to hide.
Erik stares at the floor.
"It's not wrong to want something for yourself, Erik. To want to belong, even to," he pauses, soft laughter in Erik's ears, "want someone else," Charles says somewhat timidly. "It's not wrong. Nobody put that in your head."
Damn him. Condescending Charles, trying to take him under his wing like he's one of his new students, one of the children, trying to teach him a lesson… Damn him for being right. Charles has a way of undermining his emotions and making him feel foolish. Is it his power or just his personality? Either way, it's aggravating. But one thing still doesn't make sense.
"If you didn't put that in my head, then why didn't you stop me?"
Charles, still on his knees, leans closer to Erik. He reaches out a hand and tightens his fingers around the other man's arm - firm, but not threatening. Erik turns his head and looks back up at Charles' face and he is there, right there, undeniably blue eyes so close and -
their breath ghosts over each other's lips before they meet in a lingering kiss. The lust burns low inside each of them, molten and heavy, keeping their bodies anchored to the bed as their mouths press against each other. Charles' mouth opens once more for Erik's, and Erik pulls the craving out of him tentatively this time. There's a distinct lack of force missing compared to their earlier kiss. Erik lifts a hand to the back of Charles' neck and rests it against his nape reverently, pulling him closer. The kiss is savory, Erik's warm mouth pressed tight against Charles', both of them reaching out for more and more.
"You don't need to be stopped," Charles whispers into Erik's mouth, before the perfect fit of lips against lips takes over again, their mouths like some kind of erotic puzzle pieces. Erik kisses him to claim him, and Charles lets himself be claimed by the other man, offering up whatever he has obediently.
*
"Stay," Charles had said earlier. Erik didn't know whether he meant the night, or forever; he didn't know if Charles was asking him to simply stick around the mansion or to become a part of his life. Erik couldn't tell if Charles even was asking, or it was some kind of forceful telepathic plea.
"Stay," Charles had said, and it must have worked, because in the morning there are two bodies curled up around each other in Charles Xavier's bed. Just for now, and maybe if it's even just for the time being, Erik Lehnsherr has found a place to belong.