Mostly they play chess. There are the few nights they sit in front of the fireplace in the east wing drawing room drinking through the scotch collection that Charles’ father had amassed and talk.
Charles is looking flushed and a bit glossy-eyed so it shouldn’t surprise Erik when he opens his mouth and says, “You’re sexually frustrated.”
The look on his face is triumphant, like he’s just made a huge scientific breakthrough.
It’s not surprising or even upsetting that Charles is reading his mind. Erik knows he isn’t probing; it’s just the way Charles gets when he’s drunk. Charles had explained it the first time they’d both had a bit too much to drink and ended up telling Erik that moving his bishop to F3 was probably not the best of ideas. Charles isn’t digging through his head; it’s just that when he’s drunk the boundaries between his thoughts and everyone else’s becomes fuzzy. And Erik trusts him. Maybe he shouldn’t trust Charles, but he does. He has for almost as long as he’s known him.
Erik is not surprised that Charles picked up on his thoughts; he’s surprised that he picked up on that particular thought.
“If you want to we could head out to the city,” Charles breaks into a boyish grin. “It’s still rather early.”
Erik does consider it for a few seconds before he comes to the conclusion that going out to a New York City bar to pick up random women is going to be about as helpful for his problem as all the dates he’s had with his right hand lately. It’s not going to help because the cause is right here and when he’s done and back at the mansion, he’ll be back where he started.
“Oh.” Charles' eyes widen slightly.
If Erik hadn’t spent the majority of his life pretending to be someone he’s not and hiding his feelings, the embarrassment he feels right now would be obvious. As it is, he knows his facial expression doesn’t change and he hopes that’s enough for Charles to drop this.
“It better not be Raven,” Charles’ eyes narrow and his face falls into a stupid frown. “I know she’s a grown woman, but she’s still practically my sister and that would be weird.”
“No!” It’s not like she isn’t an attractive woman, but she’s still a kid and, anyway, he rather have her—
“I didn’t think you’d go for Moira, but she is a very attractive woman.”
The only reply Charles receives is a raised eyebrow.
Naturally, Charles looks thoughtful for a few moments before coming to the most ridiculous conclusion. “So it’s one of the boys?”
Erik wants to smack him because this entire conversation is stupid and embarrassing and Charles is kind of the biggest idiot to have ever lived. He’s not quite sure if he’s angry at or grateful for how dense , or drunk, Charles must be to miss so completely on this.
Erik can only watch in horror as realization hits Charles. He bites the inside of his cheek and tries to tell himself that it doesn’t hurt at all when Charles stands up to leave. He’s had worse in his life than being found out and rejected. He can go back to hunting Shaw on his own and—
It’s a surprise when he looks up, instead of finding himself sitting alone surrounded by the various tchotchkes the Xaviers had collected, he sees Charles’ face ten centimeters from his own. Charles stares at him for a few moments without moving and Erik feels his heart racing.
When Charles finally bends further down and kisses Erik it’s nice, but hesitant and clumsy and dry. Erik wants more. Erik wants to wind his fingers in Charles’ hair and pull him forward until they’re pressed together.
He’s not even sure whether that’s what he does or if Charles picks up on his thoughts and gets them there. Charles is in his lap and their mouths are pressed hard together, open. He can feel Charles’ clothed chest against his own and the quick pounding of both of their heartbeats. Beyond just the physical, there’s a buzzing of pleasure and lust that he’s somehow sure isn’t just his own.
It feels like forever and far too soon when Charles pulls up. His face is flushed, his eyes are bright and amused, and his hair is wild. He’d laugh at the sight if he could, but he’s pretty sure that he’s finally seen something hotter than those French cabaret girls he used to spend nights with.
“Can I?” Is all Charles says before his hands run down and images flood his mind.
Charles on his knees, mouth wet around Erik’s cock, and staring straight up at him.
Charles on all fours, back arched, moaning as Erik pounds into him.
Erik doesn’t even notice that Charles has managed to unbutton his pants, and pull them down slightly along with his underwear, until there’s a warm hand wrapped around his erection. He’s almost upset at himself that he’d never considered what sex with a telepath would mean because that is the most interesting foreplay he’s ever had and it hadn’t even crossed his mind.
Charles is on his knees and, apparently the journey down wasn’t the most coordinated because there’s a pile of books on the floor that used to be on the coffee table. It’s a strange thing to notice, he thinks as Charles continues jerking at his cock, hand twisting a little when he reaches the head. Erik moans.
“You like this.” From anyone else that might be a question, but Charles just looks up smug with the knowledge.
Charles gets a rhythm going quickly before wrapping his mouth around the tip of Erik’s cock. It’s wet and it’s hot and Charles looks completely debauched with his hair in his eyes and his lips wrapped around Erik. Erik isn’t usually pushy, but he kind of wants to just grab him by the hair and pull him down.
You can, if you want.
Erik would, but Charles is already moving up and down his cock, moaning, hand right following right behind his mouth like a train of pressure. And that’s all he can really take because Charles is pulling back and Erik’s coming all over his face.
It takes a few seconds for Erik to catch his breath and he’s looking down at Charles whose face is streaked with semen. When he glances lower thinking about reciprocating, he notices the wet patch on Charles’ pants.
“God—your—you’re,” Erik tries to say something coherent.