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Our War

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For the past few months the weather had been getting colder; grass and trees changed their colouring from vivid greens to reds, browns and yellows; wind decided to team up with nasty looking grey clouds, occupying the sky above the huge and hollow looking Westchester mansion.


“Hank, please -” Charles sighs, glancing from his book to smile gently at the blue furred boy. “I trust your judgement.”

“I am flattered, but it would make me feel better if you'd at least look at it,” the boy huffs and crosses his arms over his chest. He know it makes him look quite intimidating to anyone else, who isn't Professor X. Or Alex, but the blond man is too hard-headed to realize the most obvious things it seems.

“Hank, I get the feeling that this is about something else.”

“You could always read my mind,” Hank says, taking a step forward, urging the man to do so, but he is met with a pair of scrunched brows and a short -


“But -”

“No. Hank - ” Charles' voice grows stern and he puts the book away completely. Hands clasped together in his lap. “Either tell me, or please leave me.”

“You've been cooped up in this room for the last few days,” Hank growls and puts his big hands in his pockets, and a thought, that he'd be the perfect image of petulant teenager if not for the blue fur, crosses Charles mind.

“That's not true,” the man chuckles.

“Professor X... Charles, getting food from the kitchen is hardly considered getting out,” Hank sighs and even with his mental walls up, Charles feels the wave of concern emanating from him.

“Hank,” he says after a moment, voice softer. “In my condition I can't exactly walk freely everywhere.”

“I'm working on that as well,” Hank interrupts him, with a slight growl in his voice that sometimes slip into it, when he is not watching himself. “I'm almost done with the new wheelchair.”

“Thank you, Hank,” Charles says, because he doesn't know what else he can say in this situation.

Thank you Hank, for taking my handicap in consideration, seeing as very clearly I can't deal with it on my own. Thank you for reminding me how pitiful I am, he thinks and feels ashamed at his own thoughts. For once glad, he's the only one in the house, who can read thoughts.

Hank nods and doesn't say anything for a long while, suddenly taking a deep breath – as if for courage – and asks.

“Do you still think about Erik?”

“No,” Charles answers quickly and it's the truth. He doesn't think about Erik, not that often as he used to at least, and for this one thing, he is glad. It hurts less that way.

“I think about Raven,” Hank admits and shuffles his feet, just as he used to do when he was still in his human form.

“Stop then,” Charles says and smiles sadly. “It's easier.”

They don't exchange any more words.


Erik arrives the very same evening, when there is dark and cold outside and wind whistles through windowpanes in Charles' bedroom.

When I finally stop thinking about you, sighs inwardly Charles. You're here.

“Charles,” the man greets and Charles looks up at him, fighting with himself to not look too eager. He takes in the deep red robes that he hasn't seen before and the helmet, repainted to fit the whole outfit. It should look ridiculous, pompous and flashy, but, if Charles is honest with himself, he has to admit that it's a good look Erik. On Magneto.

“Erik,” he greets him finally, putting the book he was reading on the small table and readjusts the chequered blanket on his knees. “Could you please close the window behind you, it's quite chilly at this time.”

“I prefer Magneto,” Erik says, and waves his hand. The windows close swiftly, and Charles, against his better judgement, can't help a small flicker of pride for the other man at this.

“... Magneto then,” he nods and rubs his palms together. “What brings you here?”

“I expected you to be less welcoming towards my presence here,” he says, observing Charles with a calculating look on his face.

“Then you don't know me as well as you thought,” Charles counters.

Otherwise you wouldn't leave.

“No, apparently not,” Erik says and throws a quick glance at Charles' wheelchair and the man in question is glad, that years of honing his telepathic skills are also very useful in hiding his emotions from showing on his face, because he feels ashamed and doesn't want Erik to be here. Not now, not when he finally decided to forget and most definitely not when he's like that.

“That does not answer my question, though -” my friend, he finishes in his mind.

“I came here to face your anger.”

“I am not angry,” he answers and sighs heavily, keeping his voice and gaze steady.

“It is hard for me to believe,” Erik snorts and brushes off the non-existent lint from his crimson cape.

“Yet it's true,” Charles says, and that's exactly the truth. He does not feel angry. Not with Erik. “I am disappointed, never angry,” and when he's done there is a flash of something in Erik's eyes, but it's gone too fast for him to read and with the forsaken helmet he feels like there is a bulletproof glass wall between them.

It's like the only purpose of Erik coming here is to mock him, at how pitiful and unable to do anything he is.

“Disappointed in me or you?” Erik asks and look him in the eyes and Charles can't help, but snort at that.

“Erik,” he answers, ignoring the indignant huff at the use of his given name. “Whatever you do, whatever your choices are,” he sighs and moves to wheel over to his bed, facing away from Erik. “I can only be disappointed in myself.”

“That's - ” Erik's voice is angry and suddenly Charles' wheelchair turns violently, the man almost tumbling out of it. “Don't patronize me!”

“I would never patronize you Erik,” Charles laughs bitterly, squeezing the armrests of his chair. “You should know it.”

“Then what?! What do you want from me?” The man in crimson growls, propping his hands next to Charles, face co close that Charles can feel his warm breath on his own.

“If you don't know it by now,” Charles whispers angrily. “I can't answer your question.”

If you don't know by now, he repeats in his mind and reaches for Erik's face, but a hand on his wrist stops him and his friend turned enemy straightens, taking a step back.

“Don't,” he says and his breathing is harsh and loud in the empty room, even the wind outside ceased its whistling. “Don't get into my mind,” he finishes and slowly takes off his helmet, putting it on the small table, next to Charles' book. Only now properly noticing the tittle on the cover and snorts softly. “Pride and Prejudice, Charles. Really?”

“Yes,” Charles answers, his throat constricting. “Yes, I enjoy this book.”

Erik nods, but there is unreadable look on his face and Charles wants, god how he wants to get into this brilliant mind, full of anger and sorrow, but also – he's sure of it – hope and compassion, if only Erik would allow him to -

“Erik,” he tries again, reaching with his hand for the man, but Erik just shakes his head and unclasps his cape, letting it fall to the ground.

“Don't Charles,” he says and stands in front of him, only now grasping Charles slightly sweaty palm into his. Dry and hard fingers squeezing for a moment, making Charles' breath stutter in his chest.

Let me in, please, Charles sends him mentally, not trusting his voice.

“No,” Erik answers and Charles can do nothing except to obey, because it's Erik. Because no matter what happens in between them, it's always going to be this way. The telepath is not a fool and he knows very well that he had his chance with this man, but failed, but.

I love you, he thinks and turns his face away, ashamed of letting this one go.

“Don't look away from me Charles,” Erik says, kneeling in front of him and Charles does not know what this means.

“If it's your way of getting on the same level,” he rasps and tries to pull his palm away, but Erik's grip is strong. “Then you're more cruel that I thought you to be, my friend.”

“I am not your friend, Charles,” Erik says and moves his face closer, his lips a breath away from Charles'. “I am your equal.”

Erik's lips are so close that it's only a matter of leaning in the almost small distance and Charles wants to do it. Wants to taste those lips for the very first time, just like he had countless times before, when things were different when he still had the power to move his legs and everything seemed to be easier.

But it is not, therefore all Charles can do, is to lean back and say -

“We're not equal, I'm afraid,” and each word hurts him like a knife to his chest. “I'm a cripple, but then again, it really didn't change much -”

Erik kisses him, their noses bump and Charles is sure that he's tasting blood, but can't say if it's his or the other man's.

“Erik,” he scrunches his nose and tries to push the other away, even thought he doesn't want to. Even though he wants to drink this man in, to steal all his kisses and touches. “If this is some kind of a joke - ”

“You were the one always joking Charles,” Erik gasps against his mouth, kissing the corner of his lips, reaching up with his palms to cradle Charles head. “You were always the one not seeing what you needed to see.”

“Life is not black and white Erik,” Charles moans, and tangles his fingers in his friend's hair, pulling him away, pulling him in. He doesn't know what he's doing. He's loosing his mind, because all that matters is the taste in his mouth, the rough touch and Erik's smell, overwhelming and -

In, Erik. I want in! He pushes against the barriers of the other's mind, harder than before, knowing it has to hurt, knowing that he could take control here, making Erik open up to him. Now, that the helmet is off, he's got the upper hand in it all. But he doesn't want to, not like that. It's not just a random body, nor mind.
This, he thinks. I want to be given freely. Ohgodpleaseletme in!

“No, Charles,” Erik growls angrily and pushes away and sits back on his knees. Breath harsh, cheeks flushes and hair in total disarray. “This,” he lifts his finger and pokes at his forehead. “This one thing you can't take from me.”

“Why are you here Erik,” Charles gasps and tries to turns his wheelchair, but it doesn't budge. Of course, it's metal. It won't budge, until Erik allows it too, and such things should not provoke a swell of pride in his chest. “Are you here to prove me wrong, to make fun of me. To look at how weak and pathetic I am -” his voice raises, but he doesn't dare to shout. “Because, if that's it? Then go ahead, just - ”

I beg you, don't give me false hope that you care.

Erik laughs, it's a throaty sound and Charles remembers the last time he heard it.

There is so much more to you, my friend, he told him then. The happy memory of Erik's that he pulled from the other's head, fresh in his mind, now his as well. How naïve Charles was, thinking that they'd be together, working on coexistence of people and mutants.

“Oh Charles, you fool,” Erik reaches for his face again, thumbing Charles lips in a surprisingly gently manner. “I want you by my side,” he says looking at him intently.

I want you by my side, he repeats, but his lips are not moving and there is a subtle wave, of something heavy and hot, laced with the statement and Charles can't help closing his eyes, embracing the words in his head.

“God,” he whispers, and bits at one of Erik's thumbs. He hears his surprised gasp, but doesn't open his eyes in case -

In case it's all but a dream.

“Look at me,” Erik rasps, moving his palms lower, touching his arms, moving them over his chest, fingers spread, wanting to touch as much as they can. Charles allows him, feeling his arousal getting better of him, even through the clothes. He can still feel the other man's touch and it makes him feel things that should not be mentioned aloud, no matter the company. It's only when Erik's fingers reach the waistband of his trousers, Charles stops him.

“I -” he swallows and huffs a small, nervous laugh. “I don't feel much down there,” he admits and feels Erik's fingers spasm lightly, before moving to his back, pulling him forward, and before Charles knows it, he's being hugged, Erik's face smashed against his stomach.

“Why aren't you angry with me?” Erik mumble, and Charles feels his chest tightening.

Oh, Erik.

“Because it doesn't make a difference, my friend,” he answers and touches the crown of Erik's head, petting the soft, slightly sweaty hair and the man lets him do it, and it's enough. It's enough, he thinks.

But then Erik looks up at him, and moves his face up, licking at Charles' lips, feeling and tasting them, rather than actual kissing.

“Invite me to your bed,” he whispers and with his face still so close, Charles can see how blown up his pupils are, usually grey eyes almost black and it makes a shiver travel down telepath's spine.

“I -” Charles stutters and laughs at himself inwardly. He's certainly not a virgin, but he might as well be, who would've want to bed a cripple. “I'm not sure if I can even get an erection,” he murmurs and flushes, closing his eyes. It's humiliating, how one bullet took so much from him.

His ability to walk.

His inner peace.

Even his bloody sex life. He's glad that at least his bowel and bladder are functioning properly, walking around with a urine bag attached to your leg, would be a nail to the coffin for him. So he should probably consider himself lucky.

Erik's arms tighten and he kisses him again, deeper this time, urging Charles to take the lead, inviting him into his mouth with a series of little growls and sucking on his tongue.

“I want to touch you -” he says and scatters kisses on Charles' cheek, then lower, onto his neck, moving his palms up, touching him through his clothes. “I want to make you feel,” he says, voice low, dangerous and Charles is torn between arousal and fear, because the way his old friend is looking at him is wanton, possessive.

“I'm afraid,” he says, and touches the side of Erik's face, and the man leans into the cares. “That you don't have to try hard to do that.”

Erik closes his eyes at this and visibly gulps, Charles can feel it, he then kisses the palm caressing his skin and moves back, just looking. Charles feels more on display than if he was standing here naked, but he sees, in the way Erik holds himself, in the way he stares at him, that a decision is being made at this very moment, and Charles allows it. Hoping it's going to be the one, he wants, needs, as well.

The wheels of his chair move, surprising him slightly and he finds himself sideways to his own bed, with Erik standing still, rooted to the same spot, watching him intently. Giving him a last chance to say no and Charles feels obliged to send him -

As if I would, Erik.

The man takes a step forward then, his hands reaching and Charles knows it's his way of offering help, but he glares at those big, nice hands anyway, before uttering a quiet, “No, please.” And Erik freezes mid-step, arms falling to his sides as if Charles' words cut the strings holding them up.

Just, don't look at me for a moment, Charles throws at him and adds a tiny amount of affection, to lighten the sharp edges of his words.

“I want to,” answers immediately Erik. “I want to look, Charles. I want to see,” and there is such desperation to his voice that a thought that maybe it's not such a good idea, maybe he's insane for wanting this so bad when at the same time being so ashamed of his own weak body, crosses Charles mind.

He takes a deep breath at this and throws a look at his neatly made bed, then back at Erik, before smiling, hoping it's at least partially the same smile that he used to show people back in the past.

“You're not exactly the strongman type,” he huffs.

“I can lift a submarine from the sea,” Erik points out and walks closer to Charles, squatting down in front of him, opening his arms in a welcoming gesture that makes Charles much warmer than it should be possible. “I can handle a weight of one man.”

Charles leans into him, although hesitantly, allowing Erik to pull him out of his chair, into a standing position, most of his weight supported by the taller man.

It feels nice, he thinks and Erik's arms pull him tighter against his chest. Charles knows it's not the most comfortable position they could be in, but there are no complains voiced, so he leaves it at that.

“I wish -” Erik starts speaking, but stops himself and noses Charles hair, breathing his smell and the man is momentarily distracted, by the sensuality of a such simple action. He takes a deep breath himself, smelling cigarette smoke and expensive cologne on Erik's skin. It's a soothing, familiar smell.

“This would be more comfortable on the bed,” he murmurs into Erik's shirt and a second later, he is on his back, legs hanging off the bed, with Erik propped over him.

They kiss again, their lips the only points of their bodies touching. It's like they can't get enough of this, of just breathing themselves in. Charles feels dizzy, even laying down, and remembers a book that he used to read as a child, which in turn makes him chuckle. Erik pulls away with a frown, but Charles reaches for him, pulling him back by his neck and whispers, kissing his ear.

“A monster stealing life and love through ones lips.”

Erik, huffs, but there is a fond smile on his face and Charles thinks that he'd die happy if it's the last thing he sees in this life. He traces it with his fingers, overwhelmed by the sudden urge of emotion deep in his chest and bits his lower lip, prying that it won't slip. There is time and place for declarations and this is neither one of them.

“You still want to do it,” He says instead, pulling his fingers from Erik's lips and reaching for his shirt, unbuttoning it slowly.

“Yes,” says Erik and leans back, moving his hands to Charles' waist, teasing, but not really touching. His eyes are intent on Charles agile fingers, undoing button after button, uncovering the soft skin with almost no chest hair. Erik drinks in the view presented before him, his breath growing faster, but he does not say anything, does not urge Charles to move it. He enjoys the almost painful anticipation for what is a new territory for him.

Erik's got just enough patience to wait until Charles' shirt is open, before moving his hands up, exploring hot, slightly sweaty skin that covers shapely bones underneath, so strong, but so easy to break. He knows where to press to cause harm, to hurt, but tonight is not about that. It's about memorizing this lovely body with an even lovelier mind that even when naïve, is so captivating.

I want to remember all of it, he thinks as one of his palms stop above Charles' heart, feeling the slightly irregular beat. He presses against this point on Charles' chest, enjoying the other's reaction to it, a small stutter of breath, coming right out of those red lips, so vivid now, against his pale skin, even with flushed cheeks.

Kiss me again, Charles sends him and props himself on his elbows. Erik compels immediately, meeting him halfway, keeping his hand on the man's heart. The room is definitely hotter now and he feels overdressed, and if the impatient tugging at his shirt is the indicator, Charles shares his sentiment. He pushes the man back down, shuddering at the breathy growl he gets for this.

“Bloody hell, Charles,” he breathes back and pulls his shirt over his head, throwing it on the floor, not caring where it goes, already leaning back down. “Gorgeous,” he mouths against Charles' skin, before kissing and licking up his chest.

Charles by no means stays idle, his hands find their way around Erik's upper torso, touching and scratching red lines into the older man's skin. He wishes he could move his legs, to embrace Erik properly and pull him into himself. He wishes there was a way for them to be one, conscious mind. The thought scares and excites him at the same time, and makes Erik's banning him from his mind even more painful.

It's a bitter sweet feeling when the man gives him so much, touches and crowds him desperately, needing this as much as Charles' himself, but avoids the most important thing in Charles' opinion. The skin contact is still not enough. It's wonderful, breathtaking and it would be unfair to think otherwise, but -

But I am a very greedy man, he thinks, just as a shudder goes through him, when Erik's lips latch onto his nipple, sucking and scraping it gently with his teeth.

“Erik,” he hisses, back angling his chest to push against Erik's mouth, as much as his body allows him to. “My clothes,” he gasps a moment later, and pulls the man's face back to his own, kissing him like a starving man.

Erik hums into the kiss, biting at Charles' lower lip, before sliding down his body to kneel on the bedroom floor. He reaches for one of Charles legs and pulls it onto his lap, making sure Charles has a good view of him. He then slowly unlaces the leather shoe, making a show of it, slipping it off, the sock following, before leaning down and kissing the top of Charles' foot.

“I know you can't feel it,” he says and looks up at Charles, making a decision.

I want you to feel it too, he thinks and reaches with his mind for Charles'. But keep to the surface, please.

Charles doesn't ask if Erik is sure about it. He selfishly doesn't want to, instantly diving into the man's mind, ecstatic for being given permission, even if only for the surface. He cannot contain the moan of pleasure when he synchronizes Erik's brain waves with his own. It feels overwhelming, feels -

Like I belong, he wants to send Erik, but is distracted by a wave of arousal even bigger than his own and realizes it's the other's feelings, flooding his brain and rendering him barely coherent and he feels his legs.

He feels his legs, because Erik is touching them, feeling their shape and kissing like he was born to do this. He'd never take Erik to have a foot fetish, Charles thinks and immediately flushes harder when Erik chuckles at him, hearing the thought.

In case you're interested, Erik sends him and looks up, smiling like a handsome shark. I don't have a foot fetish.

“It's just you, Charles,” he murmurs and moves up, his palms rubbing at Charles' legs, the direction they're moving in obvious, and Charles is torn between feeling detached and incredibly turned on, because having Erik like this, it's like seeing a predator in its natural habitat and Charles thinks that perhaps he ought to be taking notes, for future references, but then his mind turns blank, because Erik's lips are sealed over his again, kissing him mercilessly and flushing their naked chest together, rubbing and creating a delicious friction.

Charles might be a bit underhanded here, but it doesn't change the fact that he gives as good as he gets, kissing back with the same ferocity Erik does and busies his hands with mapping each dent and scar on the man's back.

“Clothes, off,” Erik hisses against Charles lips when they come up for air, and props himself on hand, reaching with the other one between their bodies, unzipping their fasteners.

I want to see all of you, he sends Charles and moves off of the man, to pull at his trousers, leaning down to kiss his knees, before reaching for his underwear as well. Charles' hand stop him and when he looks up he sees that the telepath looks unsure. “What is it?” He asks and rubs one of his palm on Charles' stomach in a soothing manner.

I'm not hard, as I though it may be impossible to for me to, ah, have an erection, he sends Erik and turns his face away, his doubts coming right back at him. He knows it's useless to push them away, when the other have probably already read them.

“Charles,” there are many things we can do that might please you. At this, the Brit turns back to face Erik, who looks positively smug as if daring Charles to try and prove him wrong.

“Such as?” He asks, keeping his eyes on Erik's face. His last resort to keep his mind at task and not getting distracted by the handsome body, strong male scent and a very well visible bulge in Erik's unfastened trousers just in front of him.

Erik licks his lips and reaches for Charles' underwear again, “Let me show you.”

This time Charles allows Erik to pull down his underwear, eyes following long, rough fingers sliding them slowly down his immobile legs with care.

“You're gorgeous,” Erik says after a beat, his eyes moving over Charles' body, now of full display and he believes him, because the words are echoing not only in his ears, but also in his mind, loud and clear.

Charles breathes harder then, Erik's view of his body overlapping with his own, creating a blurry image of something slightly inhuman, almost untouchable and it only heightens his arousal, their arousal, because they're kissing again. Slick sounds of their tongues dancing together, mixing with heady growls and urgent gasps. That neither can tell, whose they're.

They stop, but only to get rid of the last barrier between them, Erik urgently pulling off his trousers and underwear, going back to Charles' open arms, pulling them both further onto the bed, practically melding into one person.

I'm going to show you so much, Charles, and even Erik's voice in his head sounds out of breath as they fumble to touch each other as much as they can. There is so much I want to show you, Erik's mind runs wild and Charles finds it joyful, basking in a knowledge that he's not the only one loosing control, being overwhelmed by all of the emotions and sensations. He doesn't know if Erik has been with a man before, he never asked. It's not a exactly a topic in conversation one would breach freely.

It certainly is Charles' first time. He'd been with women before all this, many of them frankly speaking. Young, pretty things, who felt flattered with his flirtatious and slightly nerdy lines, finding him charming even with the knowledge, they'll be only a part of his past the very next day.

Erik must've listened onto his thoughts, because he stops the kiss and glances at him hotly, eyes glazed.

“It's your first time with a man then?” He gasps out a question, and Charles feels another wave of possession and something very akin to happiness.

“Yes,” he answers truthfully, because he knows better than to lie now.

“Do you know, how -” Erik starts saying” and slides one of his hands down Charles' torso, tracing patterns with his fingers. “Two men make love?”

Charles knows, of course. He'd read about it in the past, but it's not the reason his heart almost stops. It's because of the words Erik used, make love. It's so much more than sex then, he thinks with relief. A large weight off his chest that he didn't even know was there in the first place.

“Show me,” my friend, my precious. Show me then.

“I'm going to need some slick,” Erik nods then and Charles thinks about the Vaseline jar that he hasn't been touching in months. When Erik moves to find it, a goosebumps raise on Charles' skin, already missing the other warm body, already so used to the closeness.

The next few minutes is a rush of fumbling limbs and quick kisses, to calm both of their racing hearts a bit before moving forward, but the technique is failing, because Erik for some reason thinks it's a good idea to start projecting to Charles, what he's going to do with him, how he's going to touch and it's only amplifying the already existing pleasure.

It's like drowning, Charles thinks and feel Erik's fingers trailing gently over his flaccid erection, balls and circling his anus.

Still with me, Charles? Erik asks and looks up at him, waiting for him to get used to Erik's hands being here. Can you feel my touch?

Yes, he answers and takes a deep breath, calming himself down. And yes Erik, I trust you.

Erik slicks his fingers some more, before pushing one of them in, slowly. Mindful not to hurt Charles.

“It may be a bit uncomfortable at first,” he says, concentrating fully on Charles, sending him calm thoughts to relax, kissing and massaging his stomach and chest, making sure the man concentrates only on pleasure.

Soon, Erik can add another finger, it's getting easier with each minute, but the feeling on not exactly pain still lingers, so he pushes himself upward and mouths nonsensical words into Charles skin, kissing his temple, his eyelids and lips. He never wants to stop doing that. He wants this man by his side, to touch him, to be one.

I want you by my side, he thinks and pushes the third finger in and Charles' eyes open wider, as a thrill of new pleasure goes through him as he claws at Erik's back, moaning wantonly. Erik grins at him and bits at his chin, prodding with his fingers again. That's the spot Charles, he thinks with satisfaction.

“O-Oh my god, Erik,” Charles stutters out in a breath.
“You flatter me, Charles, really,” he finds the place insides Charles again, curling his fingers. His shark smile back in place, but he's very aware it won't be long before it all is going to end. It would be impossible with them interlinked like that, the whole build-up.

Just thinking about another part of his anatomy inside, where his fingers are now, makes his erection throb against his stomach, angry and red.

I think I can handle it now, Charles thinks in answer to his mute question, obviously still hearing his thoughts and Erik grins at him, in a surprisingly boyish manner, before pulling out his fingers and reaching for more lube. He then gives himself a few quick pumps, not wanting to spill just yet and reaches for Charles legs, positioning them to gain easier access and make it more comfortable to both of them.

“Are you ready for this?” He asks and looks Charles in the eye, because this one, he needs to hear not only in his mind. At the state he is now, his imagination might be playing tricks on him.

“Let's find out,” Charles answers him, but he bites his lower lip in anticipation.

Erik pushes in. He does so, slowly, keeping his gaze steady on Charles and mind open to all his reactions, but it's harder than he thought it would be. Feeling Charles like this, from the inside, the other's man tight heat welcoming, and pulling him forward even with the slight discomfort that he can feel, their minds interlacing, tangled together, making the sensations not his or Charles only, making them theirs.

Everything is so intense that he can feels his eyes water from pleasure-pain mix, when he finally bottoms out, his palms shaking, gripping Charles waist tightly, but the man doesn't protest, panting shallowly and looking at Erik in awe.

“You're in,” he whispers in wonder, voice hoarse eyes darker than before and Erik wants to kiss him again, but is too afraid that if he moves too soon it will be too painful. “And you're an idiot, my friend,” Charles chuckles and reaches for his face, pulling him into a sloppy, wet kiss, pulling a surprised set of gasps from both of them at Erik moving inside him. “Oh, bloody fuck,” Charles exclaims suddenly and Erik snorts a laugh against his lips, moving his hips again, just to hear Charles' curse again.

“You feel so good,” he says just before licking into Charles' mouth again, and pushing in a steady shallow thrusts. Now that he started, unable to stop, but none of neither of them wants him too. “So good, Charles.”

“Didn't ah -” Charles pants and closes his eyes. His body and mind are fully overtaken by pleasure and Erik's closeness, making him forget his disability. Suddenly not feeling like it's important enough to be in his mind, when there are more interesting things to concentrate on. “Didn't take you for a talker in bed, Erik.”

“You laugh,” Erik grins and improves his grip on Charles, changing the angle of his thrusts. “But I'm not the one making all the noise.”

And Charles can't even discus the matter, because he's unable to talk or even think straight, with Erik hitting right on the spot that makes him see stars and he doesn't even need any special abilities for this one, but he knows, he feels, he's not the only one close to loosing it.

CharlesCharlesCharles, Erik chants in his mind, reduced to small sobs and gasps, pushing as much as he can into him, wanting to crawl inside this lithe body and mind and stay that way forever.

It's the thought that pushes Charles to the edge with a hoarse cry, he's sure everyone in the house could hear, but he can worry about it later. Erik follows him soon after, fingers squeezing hard and leaving marks as he cries into the younger man's neck, spilling inside him.

It might be minutes, or hours later when the sweat on their skin starts to cool off, making both of them shiver, but neither of them wants to move. Finally, it's Erik, who breaks the silence first.

“I want you by my side,” he repeats, for the n'th time tonight his fingers splaying possessively on Charles' side.

“I can't,” Charles answers him and turns his head to nuzzle his nose against Erik's hair, his palm moving to capture the other's. “I wish it were possible, but it's not.”

Erik sighs, but doesn't move away.

“I will be gone before you wake up,” he says and kisses Charles' collarbone.

I wish I'd never wake up then, Charles' thinks, but keeps the thought to himself.