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"Not again," Charles says, laughing, when Erik moves; but the laughter disappears as soon as Erik slides one hand up to press gently against his throat.

"Really," Erik says softly, almost a purr. "Give me one good reason why not, hm?"

Charles swallows hard, and Erik's thumb sweep along the side of his neck, fingers curling in a bit.

"Someone might hear?" he suggests.

Erik moves his hand up to tangle in Charles' hair, pulling him in for a kiss, hard and demanding. "You're not really trying," he whispers into Charles's mouth, and nibbles on the lower lip. "No one for miles. You know that." He bites down, not quite hard enough to break skin.

"Aah--" Charles tips his head back, gasping, and Erik moves down to lick at the arch of his throat, along the sweep of collarbone. "I might... need to... hey," he says, when Erik's teeth close around one nipple. "No biting those!"

Erik doesn't stop what he's doing. Tongue and teeth and his fingers going to the other nipple, tugging and twisting. The clamps had come off hours before, but from the reactions Charles is giving, they're still sensitive enough.

"I hate you," Charles says when Erik relents, but he's grinning, and Erik can feel a light brush from his mind, bright wordless /yes-wantmore-loveyou/.

"That isn't a good reason either," Erik chides.

Charles rolls his eyes. "Wasn't supposed to be," he says. "Just general commentary."

"I see." Erik smiles, like he's about to checkmate Charles's king. "So you can't think of any reason why I shouldn't fuck you as hard as possible."

"Lack of imagination? I mean, we've done that already, sev-- mmph." Charles shuts up when Erik puts a hand over his mouth and slips three of his fingers inside for Charles to suck. Well, sort of shuts up: "I ngayee oothah."

"What was that?" Erik asks politely as he withdraws his hand.

"I may be-- ow, fuck," Charles gasps, as Erik's hand goes to his cleft and presses in. "Too sore, since apparently you've never -- nnnngh -- heard of being gentle." His voice is a bit acerbic, when he can control it, but Erik scissors his fingers in relentlessly.

Not that Charles needs much preparation, after the weekend they've had; and so he doesn't bother reaching for one of the packets of lube, even though it wouldn't be much of a reach, just spits on his hand and slicks himself up, shifting to straddle Charles' hips. "Roll over."

"What? No, you can't possibly--"

"Roll over," Erik repeats, steel in his voice, and Charles squirms so that he's lying on his stomach. "As I recall," Erik continues, "you are -- and these are your words, as I recall -- mine to do with as I wish. Yes?"

Charles mumbles something incomprehensible into the mattress.

"And what I wish, at this moment, is to fuck you into oblivion."

Charles fairly whimpers at that. He turns his head, enough that he can speak clearly: "Erik, please--"

Erik doesn't wait to find out whether it's please-yes or please-no, because whatever Charles's words say, his body is trembling with need, his mind still fluttering /yes-more-yes/ at him, and so Erik puts his hands on Charles's hips and brings him up a little so he's kneeling underneath Erik.

"Last chance," Erik warns with a fierce exultation singing through him.

"Fuck," Charles spits out, curse or permission or both, and so Erik does.

He drives in with one long push, and Charles makes a keening noise, hands fisting in the mussed sheets beneath him. "God, Erik, that... owfuck... hurts."

"I'd imagine so," Erik murmurs. He slides his hands up the length of Charles' back, ready for his next move, so that when Charles starts to pull away, Erik just needs to press down on his shoulders to hold him in place. The ornate wrought-iron bedframe, already much abused, creaks as Erik pulls two parts of it down to twine around Charles' wrists, and Erik lets his thumbs dig in to muscle, pulling a groan out of Charles.

"No wait," Charles manages to gasp out, writhing against Erik, but Erik doesn't pause. He drives into Charles with fierce punishing thrusts, each one met with a groan.

(Whatever I say, Charles had told him, however much I beg for you to stop, however many times I say no -- don't. Keep going. Be ready to break me if you need to...)

Charles could stop this at any time with a word, a thought; but that word hasn't passed his lips, and his mind is blazing erratically with need. Erik is aching himself, but not nearly as much as Charles is, because Charles /needs/ to hurt, needs to be pushed, needs to be taken past himself.

If he can still talk, it's not enough.

Not yet.

"So fucking gorgeous," Erik murmurs. He reaches around to take Charles's cock in hand: not doing anything yet beyond holding it.

"Ngh," Charles whimpers, "please--"

Erik's grip tightens, and he strokes down the solid length of flesh, twists, pulls back up. He's still deep inside Charles, and every thrust of his hips drives Charles's cock against his grip. Charles' hands, held in place by the loops of metal, claw desperately at the air; Erik takes pity on him and bends down more pieces so that Charles has something to hold onto. He grips desperately, knuckles whitening.

A part of Erik wishes they could afford more than a weekend away, even though neither of them would have the stamina to keep this up forever. But a few days more wouldn't be so bad...

Charles vocalizes something that is in no way any sort of word, and Erik can feel his mind blaze up in a conflagration of lust and pain and yearning and /needwantyes/. His body is trembling, his face contorting beautifully with the force of all he's feeling, his mental touch like a kaleidoscope of brilliant love, and Erik thrusts in deeply, helpless against the orgasm that washes over him as he comes; and Charles is shaking, flying apart beneath him.

Erik wants to collapse, but there are things that need taking care of; in particular, he very carefully unwinds the metal from Charles's hands and wrists. There are other things that need doing, other practicalities, but those can wait. He spoons up against Charles, pressing gentle kisses to the nape of his neck.

Charles gives a contented hum and snuggles back against him. A wordless sense of /thank-you/ drifts into Erik's mind.

"Anything," Erik murmurs, and reaches for one of Charles' hands, their fingers twining together. He closes his eyes and lets himself drift, not quite asleep, but feeling almost hypnotized by the rhythm of Charles's breathing.

"Plus," he adds drowsily, "the weekend isn't over yet."

/You are going to kill me,/ Charles whispers into his mind, and Erik smiles.