This isn't the first time that Erik has been in Doctor Xavier's office. This isn't the first time that Erik has been in the headmaster's office this week.
This isn't the first time that Erik has been in the headmaster's office today.
Classes have let out, but Erik has been kept in; now he's sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs across from Charles's- it's hard to think of him as anything but "Charles"- desk, and he's really in for it this time. Erik doesn’t even know why he keeps pushing so hard, but he can’t stop. It’s so satisfying seeing that frustration and annoyance building beyond Charles’s calm. He wonders how far he can push, before Charles pushes back.
Of course, it’s Charles, so pushing back entails a little “If you would be so kind as to not,” and “I would prefer it if you didn’t,” which Erik ignores entirely. But what Erik was not aware of is that Charles doesn’t push, not because he doesn’t have the fortitude, but because he generally just snaps instead. And then he takes his tie off, and at that point there’s a lot of “I warned you," and “Over the desk, Mister Lehnsherr,” and “I swear to god, if you so much as move.”
Erik has bent over as instructed, but he's shifting around like he's uncomfortable, clearly missing the fact that he's supposed to be. Charles looks down at the tie in his hand, thinking. "Arms out in front of you," he says, and Erik does it, though he looks at Charles skeptically. He puts the loop around Erik's wrists and cinches it; it won't hold long if Erik struggles, but it's enough to prove a point. Erik tracks him as he walks away, but soon he's behind him, out of his line of sight.
There are several choices for punishment, and Charles carefully weighs their merits; he likes to be thorough, one, and two, the more he temporizes the longer Erik has to suffer. Spanking isn't going to be nearly enough in this case- he'll wear his arm out before Erik gets anywhere close to learning his lesson- and the paddle has gone missing- again.
Charles contemplates the cane next. Perhaps a bit staid, a bit predictable, but also traditional, and certainly effective. On the other hand, Erik is squirming despite an explicit order to be still. If he’s going to behave that badly, that childishly, that much like an undisciplined brat, then he doesn’t get the cane, he gets the ruler.
As an implement for mathematical education, Charles sort of hates this particular ruler; it’s thick, with no metal edge, and he’s never been able to get a straight enough line using it. All of those factors, however, make it ideal as an implement for corporal punishment. Honestly, Charles doesn’t know why he didn’t see it sooner.
There are things Charles could do to make it easier, of course. He doesn’t have to hit Erik all at once; just a few smacks with his hand would warm him up somewhat. However, Erik’s done very little to deserve that kindness, and the more he shifts against the desk, the less likely Charles is to give it to him.
He reaches around Erik’s waist to unfasten his trousers and pull them down; upon consideration, he pulls his underpants down as well. By god, Erik is going to remember this one.
"You're to count off," Charles tells him. "If you miss, we'll go right back to the beginning." He tests the ruler a little, smacking against his hand, seeing how it swings; Erik is clearly trying not to flinch, but he can't seem to help himself, stop himself from twitching every time he hears it.
He's waited for long enough; while Erik is still on his toes, not ready at all, Charles brings the ruler down. It makes a satisfyingly loud crack when it hits Erik's skin, and it leaves a pinkish line behind when Charles takes it away.
"One, sir," Erik says, voice tight but sarcastic.
"You'd better just be glad you don't have to thank me for them," Charles says, hitting him again.
"Two," Erik says, through clenched teeth.
"That's a little more like it," he tells Erik. Three, four, and five come slowly, in measured intervals. Then Charles is all the way up to six; he's trying to judge whether Erik needs another set or the standard lecture while he waits for Erik to call the last number.
"Are you paying attention, Mister Lehnsherr?" Charles snaps.
"Yes," he says, sounding surly, and Charles sighs.
"I told you what was going to happen," Charles says. Even knowing what he does of Erik, he still hoped this wouldn't be too difficult; but if this is the way Erik wants to play it, so be it. "Start over at one."
Charles brings the ruler down, and Erik jumps. "One."
"Was that so hard?" he says. He waits before hitting him again, just to keep him guessing. This set is faster, a little harder than the last one; he gets to six, and-
Erik stays quiet.
"I can do this all day, Mister Lehnsherr," Charles warns him. "Once more from the top," he says, swinging the ruler down again, and it's somewhere in this set that he realizes that Erik is moving his hips slowly, rubbing off against the unforgiving surface of the desk.
Charles knows the game now. He's had his type before; they respond well to threats, the fear of discovery working nicely to keep them in line. "Well, now," he says, tapping the ruler lightly against his palm. "What've we got here? An invert, or just a pervert?"
"With all due respect, Headmaster," Erik growls, "fuck off."
"That sounds like 'both,'" Charles laughs, hitting him across the backs of his thighs, and Erik groans. "I wonder what you'd do if anyone found out about this," he muses; that's a line guaranteed to stop anyone's heart dead. "Wouldn't go particularly well for you, I don't think."
Erik's supposed to freeze up, maybe fall all over himself to start apologizing and pleading, but he doesn't; if anything, he relaxes, and Charles doesn't have the slightest clue what to make of it.
Time to try another tack. "Let me make this perfectly clear, Mister Lehnsherr," Charles says, bending down over him. "If you don't learn to behave, I can make things very, very hard for you. I could just as easily put you over my knee in front of all your classmates, and it wouldn't be hard at all to notice the way you're reacting. They would all be able to see how much you liked it, and what would you do then?"
Charles's threats seem to have the opposite of the desired effect, because instead of being petrified, Erik lets out an unmistakable moan. He's not running away; he's soaking up Charles's words, wallowing in them. He isn't counting at all now, but Charles is still hitting him. Charles doesn't know why, exactly, just that it's not finished. Erik is showing welts now, big ones; Charles is worried and excited all at once, smug about having put them there. He's always found discipline oddly satisfying, but this is something very different.
Charles just keeps on hitting him and keeps on hitting him, and one good, hard smack and Erik is coming, bucking hard against the desk and crying out. He slumps forward, resting his cheek against the varnished wood and panting loudly, groaning.
"You are filthy, aren't you," Charles murmurs, laying a heavy hand on Erik's back. He thinks about making Erik lick his desk clean; something about that notion makes him need to reach down and adjust himself, but he says nothing.
He walks around to the front of the desk, loosening the tie and sliding it off Erik's wrists. Erik looks up at him, his eyes glassy. "Fuck me."
Charles looks at him in shock. "What?"
"Fuck me," he repeats, more urgently this time. "My ass or my mouth, I don't care. Just fuck me."
Charles has never ended up in a situation like this before. There are always rumors; everyone knows someone who knows someone who got caught, who didn't get caught, who dodged a bullet at the last second by resisting temptation. Giving in means risking everything, and while Erik is admittedly much more to his taste than some perky blond who wants a perfect score, a complaint against him could mean the worst.
"Do it or let me go," Erik growls.
"Give me a moment," Charles scolds. "It's quite a decision to make." He looks Erik over, studying him, the lines of his body, the curves of his lips.
Then again, Charles is the headmaster, and all complaints, well. All complaints go directly to him.
"Turn around and get on your knees, then," Charles tells him; Erik does it, wincing in pain, and Charles smirks. He certainly won't be able to forget that for a long while.
Charles walks around in front of him, unbuckling his belt. "It's just a shame that I don't have anything to slick you with."
Erik licks his lips. "Do it anyway."
Charles snorts. "I'm not one of your classmates, Mister Lehnsherr. I'm not going to fuck you between your thighs and tell you it feels like the real thing." The look that Erik gives him says that he's hit a little close to home, and Charles smiles. "Now take me out and suck me."
As he reaches for Charles's zipper, Erik looks at him resentfully; there's something very attractive about it, for reasons that Charles can't quite articulate. But then it's hard to pay attention, because Erik's got his hand around his cock. It feels like he's been hard for ages, but it's worse now that he's not having to hide it.
He finally gets some respite when Erik leans forward, taking Charles's cock into his mouth and sucking greedily. He's done this before, but not much; it's sloppy, uneducated but enthusiastic. It's good, but Charles is going to get better out of him; he fists his hand in Erik's hair, pulling his head back to look him in the eye. Fuck, Erik looks good like this, defiant but just a little scared, his lips still wrapped around Charles's cock. "You wanted to get fucked," Charles says, "and I'm going to fuck you."
Erik's eyes go wide, but he nods; Charles lets his hair go, only to put his hands on either side of Erik's head. "Cover your teeth and try not to choke," is his only warning before he starts moving, thrusting into Erik's mouth. Erik makes a startled noise and grabs at Charles's thigh, and Charles laughs. "Honestly, what else were you expecting, Mister Lehnsherr?" he asks. "I'm only giving you what you asked for."
Erik manages to do admirably well; there are tears at the corners of his eyes, but he gives in, letting Charles do what he wants. Charles is pushing in harder now, fucking his mouth properly, nice and deep; he'd like to keep it up for much longer, really teach him a lesson, but it's not going to happen.
Not this time.
Charles lets him go, and Erik gasps for breath, putting a hand to his throat. "Get ready," Charles says, working himself quickly, and Erik shuts his mouth. It doesn't really make a difference, because the only thing that changes is that Charles comes on his face instead.
Charles leans forward, bracing himself on the desk and looking down at Erik. Charles feels like a little bit of a mess right now, but Erik looks like a complete wreck, his pants still around his knees, his face covered in tears and come. He looks lost, completely dazed, and Charles feels a little sorry for him.
He tucks himself away and zips up his pants, and then he pulls his handkerchief out of his pocket. He squats down, and Erik lets him wipe his face clean. He runs his hand through Erik's hair, soothing him, until he starts to look a little better, steadier. "I hope you've learned," Charles says gently. "I don't think you'll repeat your mistakes." Erik shakes his head. "Of course not. You're going to be good for me," he says, and the way Erik looks at him lets him know that he realizes that the last two words weren't an accident; Erik nods, looking worried and hungry at the same time.
Charles presses the handkerchief into Erik's hand and stands up. "My door is, as you know, always open." He gives Erik a hand up. "Why don't I walk you back to your dormitory?" he says, as Erik pulls his pants back up and tucks his shirt in.
"Thank you, Headmaster," Erik says, and the hoarseness in his voice is extremely attractive.
"Good lad," he says, reaching up to ruffle Erik's hair.
Erik lets Charles lead him out of the office; he shoves the handkerchief into his pocket, not thinking about what it means that he wants to keep it. His head is a mess; he knows now that he shouldn't have trifled with Charles, shouldn't have pushed him until he shoved back. If he'd known it would get him into something like this-
Erik isn't sure how that sentence ends.