The first time is unintentional.
They're in a shitty motel room somewhere in the middle of the country, drunk on the high of finding other people like them and on each other (and on a bit of alcohol, too), Charles pressing Erik against the door and kissing him within an inch of his life, as has been happening every night (and some mornings and afternoons) for the past week.
After a few minutes, Charles pulls back, licking his lips—but before Erik can grab him and pull him back in to kiss that smug look off his face, Charles folds to his knees. He looks up at Erik through his lashes, licking his lips again, more deliberate this time. Erik finds himself torn between irritation and overwhelming lust—common emotions when dealing with Charles, something that's only grown worse since they've started sleeping together.
Charles's smirk doesn't leave his face as he leans in and undoes Erik's trousers, making quick work of the zipper and buttons and immediately drawing Erik's cock out. It's a nice change from Charles's usual teasing, where he takes ages to so much as touch Erik's cock; but that just means that Erik doesn't really feel ready for Charles to suck him off just yet. As Charles leans in, Erik finds himself reaching down to hold him back, his thumbs pushing against Charles's temples.
"Erik," Charles half-whines in a petulant tone Erik's never heard from him before. He tries to lunge forward for Erik's cock, but Erik is faster, his fingers tangling in Charles's hair to yank him back.
Charles goes still, his eyes widening as he looks up at Erik. Erik releases Charles's hair as if burned.
"I'm so sorry, I don't know what got into me," he starts, but Charles reaches up and grabs Erik's wrists, moving them so his hands are again resting on Charles's head.
"I liked it," Charles says, his voice huskier than usual. "Do it again."
Erik blinks. Charles gives him a look, one of those challenging get on with it looks, and it's suddenly easy for Erik to tangle his fingers in Charles's hair and pull, just a little.
"Mm," Charles hums. "Harder."
Erik complies, pulling Charles back further from his cock. It must not be enough for Charles, though, who tries to lean forward again, forcing Erik to tighten his grip to hold him in place.
Charles moans, deep and low, his eyes fluttering shut. It's incredibly arousing; Erik's dick grows even harder, precome starting to bead at the tip. But Erik isn't sure what to do next. He wants Charles to suck his cock, of course he does, but this is...getting more complicated than that, and he has a feeling Charles would be disappointed if he just let go and let Charles suck him off.
Fortunately, Charles seems to have ideas.
"Erik," he says, his voice so quiet that Erik almost has to strain forward to hear, "I want your cock."
"Oh, you do, do you?" Erik says, raising his eyebrows. He's starting to see how he can get his revenge for all of Charles's teasing.
Charles tries to nod, but Erik's still holding him fast. Erik can almost see Charles's pupils dilate as he realizes he can't move his head, that Erik's fully in control right now. "Yes," Charles says, finally.
"And where would you like my cock?" Erik asks, thrusting forward just enough to bring the tip of his cock within millimeters of Charles's face.
"In my mouth, you arse," Charles says, testy and impatient.
"Hm," Erik says, leaning back and putting his cock back out of reach. Charles whines again and turns a pleading look on him. "I'm not sure I like that tone."
Charles looks up at him incredulously, but before Erik can let go, Charles relaxes and says, "I'm sorry, Erik."
"Better," Erik allows. He pulls Charles's head forward, his hands still tangled in his hair, until he's just shy of Erik's cock. "But not good enough."
Charles stops struggling against Erik's grip to look up at him with a look Erik can't decipher. "You...you wouldn't make me beg, Erik, would you?"
Erik has no idea how to respond; he's now very clearly in over his head. The tone of Charles's voice, however, and the slowly-building current of lust running through the room, suggest an answer.
"I'm considering it," he says. "I'm not convinced you really want my cock."
"I do," Charles says fervently, his eyes locking with Erik's. "Please, Erik, let me have your cock."
Erik says nothing, just looks down at Charles with what he hopes is a disinterested expression.
"Please," Charles tries again, and then he starts babbling, "please, please, let me have it, I want it so badly, please, I want to suck your cock, please let me, Erik, please."
Erik suppresses his groan, though he can't help letting go of Charles with one hand so he can squeeze the base of his cock. He's more turned-on right now than he ever has been with Charles, and from the look Charles is giving him, he feels the same.
Erik exhales to collect himself, and then, once he's sure he won't shoot his load the moment Charles touches him, he uses the hand still tangled in Charles's hair to move him so his head is just to the left of Erik's cock.
"You really want it?" Erik asks.
"More than anything," Charles gasps, trying to turn his head and failing as Erik tightens his grip. "Please."
Erik slaps his dick lightly against Charles's cheek. "Go on, then."
He relaxes his fingers just enough to allow Charles to turn and take the head of Erik's cock into his mouth, then tightens them again. Charles groans, the vibration around Erik's cock making him groan in turn.
Please, Charles says, with an imploring look that still manages to be effective when he has a dick in his mouth. Let me have it.
"I'll give you as much or as little as I please," Erik says. "Convince me you deserve more."
A litany of pleading immediately starts up in Erik's head, even as Charles curls his tongue and presses the tip against the bundle of nerves just below the head of Erik's cock. Erik exclaims in surprise, a cross between a shout and a moan that quickly turns into full-on moans as Charles starts sucking. The combination of Charles begging Erik for his cock both mentally and physically is almost overwhelming, and Erik can't help pulling Charles slightly forward on his dick.
Charles moans again, and it's even more arousing than before.
Yes, Charles says, just like that, Erik, more, fuck my mouth, gag me with your cock, I want to feel it in my throat, please, please, more—
"Fuck, Charles," Erik breathes, looking down at him with a mixture of wonder and disbelief. He has no idea where any of this is coming from, but he is so turned-on right now that he can't even begin to care. Charles looks up at Erik through his lashes, just an edge of smugness in his gaze, and any doubts Erik had about ramming his cock down Charles's throat are immediately dispelled as he clutches Charles's head in both hands and pulls him forward until the tip of his dick is just shy of the back of Charles's mouth.
"This is what you want?" Erik says, his voice rough. "All of this, me fucking your mouth, your throat, you want to choke on my cock?"
Yes, yes, please, Charles says, his thoughts starting to fragment. Erik hesitates, just a moment, his grip relaxing instinctively—and then Charles surges forward and takes all of Erik down.
"Charles," Erik groans.
Do it, Charles says, his hands coming up to curl around Erik's and hold them in place. He pulls back a little and then slams back down, choking a little. Erik pauses, not wanting to hurt Charles, but then Charles does it again. Erik doesn't feel any distress from Charles—if anything, he feels the exact opposite, but he doesn't want to hurt him—
And then Charles pulls back and slams forward yet another time, and that's enough for Erik to snap. He fists his hands in Charles's hair, pulling hard, before shoving forward and starting to fuck Charles's mouth as requested—or, more accurately, demanded.
Somewhere around the fifth time Erik's cock slips into Charles's throat, Charles's thoughts start to grow incoherent, fragmented words mingled with lust and arousal and longing. Erik pulls back, concerned, but Charles whines, trying to push himself further forward, and Erik feels a sense of desperate need, driving him to keep going.
So he does. He fucks Charles until Charles stops even so much as whimpering, he fucks Charles until Charles's thoughts are pure emotion, his arousal hanging heavy through the room and making Erik heady with it; Erik doesn't even stop when tears start to collect at the corners of Charles's eyes. In fact, Charles's tears only spur him further, until he's just holding Charles down on his cock and barely rocking back and forth before the world turns white and he comes down Charles's throat.
When Erik comes back to himself, he hears Charles coughing, feels him holding himself up on Erik's thighs as he catches his breath. Charles glances up at Erik, and his face is tear-stained, his cheeks and eyes red.
Erik sinks to his knees, suddenly overcome with shame; he should have known better, should have been more careful. He knew he was dangerous, knew he was a monster, and now he's proved it by hurting Charles.
Stop that right now, Charles says, casting him a baleful look. You did what I asked you to do, and it was wonderful, and I loved every second of it. He taps his temple. Besides, I could have stopped you at any time if I'd wanted.
"You're not talking," Erik says.
My throat is just a bit sore, Charles admits, with a wry chuckle that immediately turns into a cough.
"I am so sorry," Erik says, pulling Charles into his arms and marveling at Charles's lack of self-preservation. He should be pushing Erik away, not pulling him closer and resting his head on Erik's shoulder.
You have nothing to apologize for, Charles says sternly. The only thing I regret about that entire thing is not taking off my pants before I came in them.
He casts a rueful look at his crotch; Erik follows his gaze to the spreading wet patch, and feels guilty for not even noticing.
Stop it, Charles admonishes. Stop beating yourself up over imaginary things and hold me. We can talk about it later if you're still feeling guilty, but right now you're rather impinging on my afterglow.
Erik sighs and complies, his arms tightening around Charles as he leans them back against the door. He presses a kiss to Charles's hopelessly disheveled hair, his lips lingering; Charles exhales shakily before turning to kiss him deeply.
As they kiss, Erik realizes: he doesn't taste his come.
Just because it happened once, Erik knows, doesn't mean it has to happen again. It might have been the single most arousing experience of Erik's life, and he can't argue with the evidence that Charles seemed to enjoy himself as well—however difficult it is to believe—but that doesn't mean anything is going to change. It was just...something that happened.
It's easy enough to tell himself that, and yet his mind seems unwilling to listen. All through the next day, Erik keeps getting distracted by flashes of memories every time he hears the hoarseness in Charles's voice. He has double vision at the most inopportune times, Charles's red and tear-stained face set over his everyday smiling countenance. It's arousing and mortifying, and Erik does his best to tuck it away deep and force himself to concentrate fully on everything in front of him.
That night when they reach the motel room, for the first time, Charles doesn't immediately push Erik back against the door. Instead, once he's shut it behind them, Charles leans back against it himself, gazing at Erik with heavy-lidded eyes. Erik stares back at him, heat rising up through his limbs, his cock already filling heavy between his legs.
"I've been wanting to be alone with you all day," Charles says, licking his lips.
"Is that so?" Erik says. "Did you have something in mind?"
Charles pushes himself off the wall, crossing the meter between them to coil himself around Erik's body, raising his arms to loop them around Erik's neck. "I could have sucked you off at the diner at lunch. I wanted to. I could have made it so nobody could see, you know. But I thought you might disapprove."
Charles presses a kiss to the base of Erik's throat, between the open collar of his polo, and Erik's pulse jumps and his mouth goes dry.
"In public?" Erik says. "In front of everybody?"
"Anywhere," Charles murmurs, mouthing still at Erik's skin. "Anytime. If you'd let me."
"You're that desperate for it, then," Erik says, succeeding at keeping his voice low and steady, if a little rough. "So eager. You're a slut for it, Charles."
Is that too much? Erik wonders immediately, a little worried that he's misread what Charles wants—but Charles doesn't even respond in words, just a spark of mental affirmation and a choked-off moan.
Charles reaches between them, groping for Erik's cock through his trousers in a manner that's clumsy compared to the usual skillfulness of his fingers. Erik grabs his wrist, holding him still, and it forces a harsh whine out of Charles.
"I told you, Erik," Charles says, looking up at Erik with pleading, puppy dog eyes, "I've been waiting all day."
Erik tightens his grasp on Charles's wrist. He has to trust Charles will tell him if he does something wrong, if he does something Charles doesn't want. So far, Charles hasn't. So far, Charles keeps pushing him further along, keeps pushing both of them further along, and Erik isn't entirely certain how much further there is to go. He wants to—he wants to pin Charles's hands behind his back, and so he does. He can hold both Charles's wrists in one hand, since Charles isn't making any effort to break his grip.
"You can wait a little longer," Erik says recklessly. "Until I decide to give it to you."
Charles's pupils are dark and wide. His entire face is flushed, all the way down his neck and past the collar of his shirt. They're both still fully dressed, they haven't even kissed yet, and it feels like they're already having sex.
"Erik," Charles says, elongating the vowel in unhappy protest.
"Don't pout," Erik says softly, but when Charles continues to make moon eyes at him, he relents. A little. He brings his free hand up to Charles's face, stroking down his cheek. "I don't think you deserve that yet," he explains as the tips of his two fingers drift over Charles's full red lips, "but you can have this."
Charles immediately opens up, moving his head forward to suck Erik's fingers in his warm, wet mouth. Erik lets him take them in all the way to the knuckle, but before the flutter at the entrance to Charles's throat can turn to a gag, Erik pulls his fingers back, leaving only the first inch or so inside for Charles to suck.
He can't look away from Charles. Charles holds eye contact at first, his uncanny blue eyes focused on Erik as he works his tongue against Erik's fingertips. He closes his eyes, though, once Erik takes control and begins to move his hand, fucking Charles's mouth properly with his fingers.
Yes, Charles chants softly, yes, god, Erik, please, more—
When Erik releases his grip on Charles's wrists, Charles doesn't move—he keeps them tucked up behind his back, in the same position, without Erik even telling him to. Now that his hand is free, Erik can reach between them to fondle Charles's stiff cock through his trousers. It wrings a muffled noise out of Charles's full mouth.
Erik inhales sharply through his nose. He waits a moment, until he's sure that he's in control of his voice, that he can sound as unaffected as he needs to. "Are you going to spill in your pants again tonight, Charles?"
Don't, Charles says, eyes blinking open. Erik, please. The thrust of Erik's fingers has stopped as his focus has shifted to Charles's erection. Charles takes advantage of the pause to push his head forward almost violently to swallow the digits, before pulling back just enough to do it again. He's going to choke himself, Erik thinks, and there's concern in the thought but not as much as he knows he should feel, pushed down too far by both his own arousal and the desire that's pouring off Charles in waves.
Erik's powers unbutton and unzip Charles's trousers. Charles cries out unhappily when Erik abandons his mouth, but whatever complaint he's about to make is cut off as Erik carefully pushes his boxer shorts down to mid-thigh. His cock is standing straight up between the tails of his shirt, and as Erik wraps his spit-wet hand around the shaft, Charles goes very still and quiet.
"What do you want, Charles?" Erik says, not quite a whisper, as he begins to stroke. Charles's foreskin is still a novelty, and Erik stares at the way the loose skin glides, covering and uncovering the swollen red head. "What do you want me to give you?"
"Just kiss me," Charles rasps out, "please. Kiss me, Erik, let me come—"
Something aches queerly in Erik's chest, and he thinks he might be more confused than ever. "All right," Erik says, and he leans in slowly, finally letting their lips touch.
Once again, Charles opens for him immediately, moaning into Erik's mouth. He keeps moving, however (even though he's managed to keep his wrists behind his back this entire time), until Erik has to force him to keep still with one hand fisted in his hair. A bright spark of approval emits from Charles's mind, and then a filthy, endless stream of mental words and suggestions. Erik kisses him harder, jerks him off faster, looking for that point where even Charles has to shut up—and he finds it, Charles's thoughts muddling into a wordless desperate glow that Erik wants to savor and prolong and, and, and live in, perhaps, he doesn't know.
But whatever it is, he doesn't manage to drag it out; the feeling's the prelude to Charles's orgasm, and it seems like only a few moments later that Charles jerks his head away from the kiss and Erik's taut grip, so his hair's being pulled as he starts to ejaculate, his hot come striping Erik's hand.
Erik almost freezes, sure he's tugging too hard. Charles cries out, his face wrenched up and tears gathering at the corners of his eyes, but there's no denying the persistent blaze of desire in his mind. So Erik just twists his fingers more tightly into Charles's hair, wrenching his head back even further so his neck arches, muscles corded in strain. Erik still can't look away.
It seems like Charles comes for a long time, but even after he's done, Erik pumps his spent prick harder. Charles sobs, and Erik tries to ignore the jolt of pleasure that shoots through him.
"This is what you wanted,” he says. His voice is steady—what is wrong with him? He yanks Charles's hair, shaking him, and Erik is sure any minute now he'll be shoved away. "I'm giving you what you wanted, Charles.” His blood pounds, his cock is a lead weight, and he deserves to be shoved away.
Charles opens his eyes—red-rimmed and watery—and stares up at Erik.
"Yes,” he whimpers. "Yes,” and it has to hurt, what Erik's doing to his oversensitive cock, but Charles just stands there with his hands behind his back. "Thank you, Erik, thank you—”
There's a perverse desire that lights up in Erik, realizing Charles still isn't pushing him away. He should stop. This is mad. This is the last time they'll do this. So why not, that desire says, just push this until Charles does flinch?
He lets go of Charles's cock, ignoring his sigh of relief, and—before he can question himself further—he slaps Charles. He tries to pull the blow, to make it louder than it is cruel. It's still no gentle tap, and Charles gasps, swaying on his feet. Erik takes him by the shoulders, steadying Charles only to shove him to his knees.
"Don't whine,” he orders, getting one hand tangled back in Charles's hair to jerk his head back. The look on Charles's face—tear-tracked, bright red, the angry splotching where Erik slapped him—is wrecked. Erik wishes he could act on his guilt, that it didn't just make him harder. "Open your mouth.”
Charles makes another soft, needy noise. Erik yanks at his hair once more before letting go, needing both hands along with his powers to get his cock out fast enough, as Charles licks his lips and relaxes his jaw impossibly wide. At this rate, Erik will be the one ruining his trousers.
"Good,” he says, "Perfect. Stay, just like that.”
He grips the base of his cock, punishingly tight, but by now anything—even pain—sends another pulse of arousal through him. Charles is shuddering, there's only the barest control over his powers, his desire sweltering in Erik's mind.
He's going to come. Now. Before he's even fucking Charles. Erik groans, clenching his grip, trying to hold on.
"That's good. You're so good for me, Charles. I'm going to give you what you want, now, you're being so good.” He's not even thinking, he's just trying to work up the simple coordination required to get his cock into Charles's mouth right now, and that's when Charles leans forward.
It's almost a relief, his breath hitching as he slaps Charles again with his free hand.
"No,” he grinds out. Charles sobs, his mouth still open like he thinks he deserves Erik's cock, and Erik only has to pump himself in one long, rough stroke and he's done.
He fights to keep his eyes open, though every second is too much. His balls clenching, his come hitting Charles across his cheeks in one long pulse before he tilts his chin, the way Charles's ribs heave like he's running a marathon as his mouth fills—
Erik keeps working his cock, past what's comfortable. It's nowhere near what he did to Charles, but he can't seem to stop shuddering through little aftershocks, can't stop until he's milked everything out onto Charles's ruined face. Fuck, he thinks, panting. "Fuck.”
Charles says nothing as Erik staggers back. He kneels there, his mind vibrant with that addictive static of bliss, his mouth still obediently open—come thick on his tongue. Fuck.
Reaching down, Erik cups Charles's jaw gently, slides a thumb through the mess.
"You liked that?” he says, trying—and failing—to suppress the inflection at the end, to make it a statement.
yesyesyes, Charles broadcasts senselessly. Erik swipes at his come, pushing more into Charles's mouth, smirking at the noise Charles makes, the way his breath huffs desperately in and out of his nose.
"Good,” Erik repeats, before he taps gently against Charles's cheek, where he slapped him. "You can swallow, then.” If you want, he sends, wondering if Charles would really want to. Just because he's come down Charles's throat once, it doesn't mean it's something Charles wants to make a habit, and anyway it wasn't as if Charles had much choice in swallowing then.
Charles slowly, carefully, closes his mouth. His throat bobs—a long and somehow exaggerated motion—as he swallows, and he licks his lips again when he's done.
"Was that good?” he whispers, licking again at his lower lip, like he's chasing Erik's taste.
Erik offers his hand, letting Charles lick his thumb clean.
"Slut,” he says, affectionately. "I shouldn't spoil you like this.”
But yes, he thinks, smiling as Charles laps at his fingers, you're very good.
Erik's shower is longer and hotter than he normally takes, and he's half-expecting Charles to already be asleep by the time he exits the bathroom. But though Charles is curled up under the covers of one of the beds (the other one, across the room, holds both their suitcases), he's still awake, reading a book that he sets down on the nightstand when he looks up at Erik's approach.
Erik takes off his robe, hanging it over the armchair in the corner, and climbs into the bed beside Charles to lie down on his back. Immediately, Charles rolls over onto his side to face him.
"You're still worrying about it, aren't you," Charles says, the impatience crystal clear in his voice.
It's not precisely a question, which Erik takes as an excuse not to answer beyond a grunt at the ceiling.
Charles huffs out a breath. "Erik, if I like what we're doing and you like it, too, what is the problem?"
"I didn't say there was a problem," Erik says.
It does shut Charles up, though Erik's known him long enough by now to tell that he's merely simmering for a moment before getting ready to try again. Sure enough, a few seconds later, Charles speaks.
"It doesn't say anything about you, you know," Charles says. "As a person."
How Charles can sound so painfully earnest after what they just did—after what Erik just did to him—Erik has no idea.
Charles sighs. He lays his cool hand on Erik's chest, then, playing idly with the hair until Erik turns his head enough to meet his gaze. Erik thought perhaps he'd still be able to see it, the red mark of his hand against Charles's cheek, but no: Charles looks just the same as he ever does, as he always has.
"Listen to me, my dear," Charles says, in that firm tone of his that brooks no arguments and thus only makes Erik want to argue all the more. "I have seen inside the minds of any number of people, and I can assure you, what people get up to in bed—or even their imaginations—well. It has very little to do with anything else." A thoughtful pause. "Some people like feet, you know. Or exotic undergarments. I met a lovely lady at Oxford once who could only orgasm while she was being tickled. There were a great deal of feathers involved."
Erik snorts despite himself, the corners of his lips turning upwards, and Charles looks very pleased with himself.
"It just seems—" It's a struggle to find the correct words, when none want to come. Erik finally settles on, "It doesn't seem right."
"Poppycock," Charles says decisively. He stretches up, pressing a gentle kiss to Erik's jaw. "I like it. I love it, and I can tell perfectly well you do, too. Where is the problem?"
Erik is good at violence. He's been shaped to be that way. But this is different, isn't it? The people he's hurt deserved it, deserved his anger and vengeance. He didn't get off on any of that. There's no anger involved here with Charles, and Erik can't imagine doing any of it if Charles didn't (somehow, unfathomably) want it just as badly.
Erik doesn't regard what he does to be hesitating, but he does… consider for a bit, before he speaks. "You won't let me hurt you."
He must be picking up Charles's tricks, because it's another one of those not-quite-questions.
Charles doesn't respond, as such, but the bright satisfied smile that breaks across his face is answer enough.
Two nights later, Erik has Charles on his knees on the motel bed with three of Erik's fingers in his arse, working him open.
As much sex as they've had these last few weeks, they haven't done this many times. A handful of occasions, maybe, with Charles being penetrated, a few with the roles reversed. Mostly they've stuck to mutual masturbation and fellatio, or even just rutting up against each other until climax. Partly a matter of practicality, Erik supposes—none of those activities requires quite the time, patience, or supplies that this does.
It's definitely not because they don't both enjoy it. And today was an exceptionally good day (another mutant found, and added to their slowly-growing team, probably en route to Virginia at this very moment). And Erik is feeling extraordinarily patient.
He's rather lost track of how long he's been fingering Charles. There was still a bit of sunlight sneaking in through the blinds as they disrobed, and the room is now dark except for the bedside lamp. Charles started out supporting himself with his hands on the mattress as well, but he's since given up enough to lay his head on his folded arms, face turned toward the pillow that muffles the moans that occasionally escape him.
Erik hasn't touched Charles's cock once. Nor has Charles even tried to touch himself. Erik wonders, beneath it all a little giddy, if he can make Charles come just from this, from Erik's fingers twisting and stroking him inside.
Another muffled moan from Charles, and then his voice reverberating through Erik's head. You could, yes, but please don't. Want you in me. Christ, Erik, put it in already—
The words stop abruptly, like a bubble being popped.
Erik stills his fingers. "You said you could keep quiet," he says softly.
Charles doesn't answer, but a small shudder runs through his entire body. Erik leans in, pressing a kiss to a small group of freckles on Charles's lower back as he tries to come to a decision. It only takes a few seconds.
Erik straightens back up, begins fucking Charles again with his fingers while he wraps his free hand around his own cock. He's been hard so long, been ignoring it so thoroughly to concentrate on Charles, that the sensation of being touched is almost a shock. He has to shut his eyes for a moment and bite back a groan before he can allow himself to talk.
"You said whatever I wanted today, Charles. However I wanted it." He's close already, stroking himself fast, staring down at the endless pale freckled skin on display before him. "And now you're making it about what you want. You're spoiled, you know."
There's a brief flash of uncertainty and discomfort in Erik's mind, just long enough for him to wonder, but it's gone almost immediately, replaced with a newly insistent throb of desire from Charles.
"Spoiled," Erik repeats, gritting through his teeth now as he jerks off harder and lets his fingers in Charles comes to a stop. "You're too used to having things your own way, think you can always have it the way you want, don't you? You know that you can wrap us all around your little finger at the slightest effort?"
"Erik," Charles says—chokes out, really, and Erik can barely hear him, still half-muffled by the pillow. "Erik, please."
That's what sends Erik over the edge; he comes with a grunt, hunching over himself and watching his semen splatter across the flesh of Charles's perfect arse.
It takes Charles a moment to react. Erik's still breathing heavily, admiring the view, when Charles lets out a sound that only be described as a squawk of outrage.
"You bastard!" Charles says, his tone much more similar to his normal everyday one than Erik is used to hearing this far into their bedroom proceedings. "Did you just come? I don't believe you. Bloody cocksucking bastard—"
It's hard not to chuckle. Erik doesn't entirely resist the urge, and Charles's cranky curses only increase as Erik removes his fingers from Charles and rolls him over to lie on his back. What does shut Charles up is Erik's mouth on his cock, though even then Erik can feel his annoyance warring with his pleasure, at least until the latter wins out completely, and he gives in, going boneless under Erik as Erik sucks him.
This at least is familiar, the warmth and pleasant pressure of Charles's cock as he takes him in, and for a moment he can very nearly forget about the strange dark turn their dalliances have taken. For a moment, anyway. He soon finds himself forcing Charles deep, quicker and more roughly than he'd normally. He pulls back just as soon as he tries it, swallowing hard to try not to cough or gag, no closer to understanding why Charles enjoys that sort of treatment.
One of Charles's hands rests lightly on his head, not pushing or guiding at all. Charles relaxes so completely into his pleasure, his mind radiating pure indulgent joy. Erik can't help but feel impossibly fond as he swallows him down, as Charles comes with a soft, gratified sigh.
Once Charles's prick is soft, Erik lets it slip from his mouth again, and he moves up the bed a little to lay his head on Charles's belly. He knows from past experience that it's a surprisingly comfortable place, the ever-so-slight softness a perfect pillow. He presses a dry kiss to the soft, sweaty skin next to Charles's navel and closes his eyes. After a moment, Charles's hand comes to rest on the nape of his neck, thumb stroking small, steady circles.
Part of Erik wants to recoil from the tenderness he feels, the soft waves of telepathic communication that Charles can't be bothered to put into words. A bigger part of him wants to bask in it, and it's that part that seems to be winning. For now, at least.
They should move to the other bed at some point, too, this one sticky and mussed and uncomfortable now, but even that thought is oddly distant. As if for once in his life, Erik is not considering or planning or working at anything at all.
Charles sighs again. Erik gropes, a little clumsily, for the nearest part of Charles to his hand (which turns out to be his calf) and squeezes gently.
"Erik..." Charles starts to say. There's a seriousness to his voice, a hesitation, that Erik isn't expecting; his pulse starts to quicken without his permission.
He keeps his eyes closed. "What?"
"Did you mean that? What you said, before." Charles's hand has moved up, cradling the back of Erik's skull in his palm. "Do you think me spoiled?"
Of all the outrages he's performed on Charles, this is what gives Charles pause. Beyond opening his eyes, Erik doesn't move. It is tempting—painfully so, the ache familiar and pressing—to create that distance. To get away from whatever this is building between him and Charles, but he resists.
Charles waits, his hand still light on Erik's head, the rise and fall of his chest measured.
There's no faking ignorance, Erik thinks, and he's already been quiet too long to attempt distracting Charles from the topic. It takes a long time for words to come.
"You know what you want. You're not harming anyone else,” Erik says, bluntly. He refrains from emphasizing the ‘else' too much. "What's the shame in taking?”
"Hmm," Charles says. His fingers begin stroking through Erik's hair, obnoxiously, wonderfully gentle. "I don't know that that's quite it. I suppose—I suppose I just don't want you, of all people, to see me in such a way."
"In which way?" Erik can feel his own frown deepen, scowling against the pale skin of Charles's torso. He should be looking at Charles's face, perhaps, but that seems terribly intimate at this moment.
"I don't know. Poor little rich boy, I suppose. Selfish. Entitled. Disconnected. All the things I imagine you would hate."
This conversation is unbearable. Why must Charles insist on talking about this?
"The way I see you," Erik says. The words come out slowly, one at a time. "You're strong, Charles. Powerful. And I...admire that about you," he finishes, a little lamely.
Charles is silent for several seconds, his fingers still again upon Erik's head, before he says, very quietly, "I'm touched, Erik. Thank you."
As a response, it doesn't lessen Erik's agitation any. There is nothing to thank Erik for; it's simply the truth. Charles is strong in a way Erik never dreamed of, and it thrills him to see that power be put to a cause like theirs—to the cause of mutants, their people. It thrills him to have that strength beside him.
And—yes—to have it in his bed, as well.
Charles can take anything he wants, Erik thinks again, the thought striking him with a new and sudden clarity, and what he has taken is...this. This is what he wants.
It's a revelation that seems so abrupt, Erik would think there's no way Charles wouldn't react. But he keeps stroking through Erik's hair, his movements still aimless and gentle, as if he's not listening in at all. Erik lets the moment draw out a little longer, lets himself linger in the soft glow of Charles's affection, before he sits up.
Sprawled out beside him, Charles is nothing less than perfection—his cheeks still flushed, his lips still unnaturally red, the strength in those thighs and arms still apparent even in lassitude—and Erik would consider saying something more. But he's already revealed more than enough, he thinks, for one night.
Instead, he leans down to kiss Charles once again, a kiss that's likely more telling than any words. When they break for air, he looks away.
"You'd probably like to wash up,” he says.
Charles laughs. Of course, he sends, and Erik isn't surprised to be tugged into another long kiss before Charles heads to the bathroom.