Erik is normally excellent at controlling his impulses - his life has depended on that skill, on more than one occasion - and yet, as the afternoon progresses, despite his best attempts, he finds his gaze returning again and again to the body besides him in the passenger seat of the black sedan.
Charles gives him a few arch looks, at first, but otherwise politely ignores Erik's lapses. He's dressed in a twin set and a black skirt, conservative without crossing the line over into prim. Erik doesn't know where he got the clothes. Charles had disappeared after dinner last night, still in his newly ill-fitting sweater and slacks, and returned with a feminine wardrobe, far more than Erik thought seemed necessary. It was true, perhaps, that they didn't know how long Charles's transformation would last, but Erik couldn't imagine it would be long enough to justify the amount of money Charles had to have spent on clothing. His attention to detail was complete; Erik had watched him dress this morning with some fascination, noting without surprise that Charles seemed much more familiar with the complicated workings of brassieres and garters than Erik has ever been.
Truthfully, Erik suspects Charles is rather more disturbed about this unintended change to his body than his cool, matter-of-fact manner might imply. It is ridiculous, and unreal, and however good his facade might be, somewhere deep in that huge and powerful brain of his, Erik is almost certain Charles is disturbed beyond belief. Perhaps taking comfort in the outer rituals comforts him in some way. Erik knows he hasn't the right to judge whatever methods others might use to cope.
The fact remains, though, that Erik is very, very intrigued.
It's Charles's fault, he tells himself. Before these last few weeks, it had been ... Erik isn't even sure how long it had been, since the last time he had touched another person with desire. None of the (very few) times he had been with someone before had been particularly satisfying, at any rate. And yet, touching Charles, even that first night at the CIA base, it was as if he had discovered new nerve endings on his skin, sensations that sang of pleasure and not just pain or endurance. He understands, now, what all the books he read had spoken of when they spoke of lust.
It is amazing how quickly a body could grow used to something. He has grown used to wanting, and to wanting Charles, in particular. As it turns out, that desire is no less intense just because some hapless mutant has temporarily changed Charles's body into that of a woman.
Looking straight ahead at the road, Erik reaches out, across the suddenly too-vast expanse of the front seat, and places one palm on Charles's knee.
"Hands on the wheel," Charles says, after a moment. This is an argument they have had multiple times upon this trip. Obviously Erik does not require his hands to keep complete and utter control over the metal vehicle they ride in, and he finds it slightly insulting for Charles to insist upon it, but Charles claims it gives him a sense of security, as silly as it is.
Instead of pursuing the point once again, though, Erik merely says, "I still have one hand on it." He squeezes Charles's knee, as if in counterpoint to his statement.
Charles lets out a soft breath. "So you do," he agrees.
Charles's stockings end just above his knee; Erik traces along the hem, where the fabric digs into the firm, soft flesh of Charles's thigh. If they were in bed, Erik imagines, if he had Charles laid out before him, he could roll the stockings down slowly, and kiss the pale marks left behind, pressed into his skin.
The scenery passes before them in an undistinguished haze of trees and asphalt and occasional outposts of civilization. There are other cars on the road, but they might as well be nonexistant for the care Erik feels towards them. Erik slides his hand further up Charles's thigh, hiking the skirt hem gently up with the movement. When he sneaks a look away from the road, the paleness of Charles's skin seems to glow almost decadently between them.
"Hmm," Charles says quietly, or perhaps it is "mmm." He moves a little, shifting in his seat, and then his legs are spreading, pushing his knee out towards Erik. An invitation (an unladylike one, Erik thinks moronically, immediately hoping it is not a thought Charles overheard) and one that Erik immediately takes him up on.
He strokes his fingertips across Charles's inner thigh, and Charles lets out a wet, breathy sigh. With his other hand, Erik is gripping the steering wheel so tightly it's actively painful. He's completely erect in his underwear, his cock straining up terribly against the fly of his pants. He should pull over, he thinks suddenly, a rest stop, a parking lot, the shoulder of the road, anywhere, where he can pull Charles to him and do this properly, stop teasing--
Don't, Charles says inside his mind. Please. Keep going.
Charles's hand sets down on Erik's forearm, nails digging down into his wrist. Erik takes a deep breath and allows himself another quick glance out of the corner of his eye - Charles's head is thrown back against the back of the seat, and his breasts are straining, just a little, against his sweater as he breathes heavily.
Erik stares forward blankly at the road as his fingers graze up further to the juncture between Charles's legs. Charles, as it turns out, is not wearing any panties beneath his skirt, a fact that Erik is not quite sure how he missed this morning. It puts rather a different complexion on things, he feels.
In fact... he wonders, did Charles somehow foresee this? Erik had no idea until just a few minutes ago that he would reach out to Charles like this. Are Charles's powers that intense, then, that he can see into Erik's mind and not only read his thoughts but -- but know Erik so well, better even than Erik knows himself? It's a thought that's frightening to Erik, almost beyond imagining, and he can't quite even see to the edges of its implications.
And yet, frightening as Charles might be - as the connection between them might be - it does nothing whatsoever to dampen Erik's ardor. More the opposite, in fact.
There is heat, and wetness. Erik can't see what he's doing, but he's not entirely sure it would make a difference if he could. He's never had to learn how to give a woman pleasure like this; his only liasions with women before were short and straightfoward, simple fucking, when he was still young and inexperienced and selfish enough not to even realize it could be good for them too.
He strokes blindly, listening to the changes in Charles's breathing, to the small sounds that Charles makes, pulled out of him like a sweet pain. Eventually Charles either takes pity on him or merely becomes impatient, and his grip on Erik changes to a guide, pulling and shoving Erik's fingers and hand into place the way he wants him, rocking up against Erik's knuckles, thighs so tightly clenched Erik imagines they could break his wrist.
He has two fingers in Charles's body and all he can think about is what it would feel like to push his cock deep in there instead.
It is a wonder, really, that he doesn't crash the car. He keeps one hand firm on the wheel through the entire thing, though, even as Charles finally cries out, inner muscles fluttering and pulsing for a long moment.
Erik does pull over to the side of the road, then, finally. After a minute, Charles relaxes in a boneless slump, releasing Erik from his grip. There's a cramp in Erik's hand from holding it in the same position like that, and he shakes it out for a few seconds while Charles watches him with half-lidded eyes and a secret smile. Erik brings his fingers up to his mouth next, tasting Charles's juices. He's not sure entirely what he is expecting, but they taste good, if strange, and so blatantly sexual and earthy that it makes his already strained erection jump a little in his pants. He could learn to like that very much, he thinks, just as he's learned to like the taste of Charles's prick and his seed.
"Well," Charles says, and even if his voice is different, this is the same, the way it changes post-coitally, into something raspier and self-satisfied, "that was unexpected."
There is no response to that, so Erik doesn't bother to try to give one.
Charles smiles at him and says, "Both hands on the wheel, now," and Erik narrows his eyes at him, but he's feeling desperate enough now in his lust that he does it, anyway. When Charles says, "Close your eyes, darling," he does that too.
It turns out that Charles's hands in this body feel much smaller as they undo Erik's trousers and wrap around his cock. His mouth, on the other hand, feels exactly the same.