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"More," Erik says. It isn't quite begging, but there's an edge of need to his voice.

Charles just laughs and runs his hands down Erik's chest. He's got a swimmer's body, broad shoulders and narrow hips and a goddamn gorgeous ass -- Charles is, of course, not at all biased by the fact that he's currently got his cock buried in said ass -- and Charles can't get enough of just touching it.

"Move, damn you," and now there's more of a growl to the voice.

"Tsk." Charles tries to look stern and fails utterly. "What have I told you about giving orders in bed?"

"That you will follow them," Erik answers promptly.

"Wrong," Charles says with a fierce grin, and digs his fingers into Erik's hips. "What have I told you about answering incorrectly?"

"That you will punish me for it." Erik's eyes are sparkling, and as much as he tries to keep a straight face, a corner of his mouth is twitching with a suppressed smile. "Preferably by actually fucking me?"

"What do you think we've been doing," Charles murmurs, but he obligingly draws back and slams in, feeling Erik practically ripple underneath him at the impact. He braces himself firmly and begins a deliberately erratic rhythm, long slow strokes and quick short hip-snaps and deep fierce thrusts, an arbitrary pattern designed to drive Erik crazy.

Erik makes a low whining noise deep in his throat. "Charles," he says hoarsely, and the growl's back, raspy and dangerous and sexy as hell. "Damn you--"

"Yes," Charles gasps out, not at all certain any more what he's agreeing to.

"--not going to break don't hold back do it do it--"

"Yes," Charles says again, and reaches out to Erik's face, cupping it. Erik turns his head and nuzzles into the touch, mouth open, breath panting out fast and hot, teeth grazing Charles' palm, and Charles gives a helpless groan and gives up all pretense of tormenting Erik. His body is moving almost without conscious control, instinct and need shaping every push and pull.

"More," Erik says, "more--"

And Charles slips into his mind then, a delicate probe that pulses against Erik in ragged coordination with the movements of their bodies.

Erik is silent when he comes -- completely and utterly silent, letting the groan of metal around them be his voice -- but he does murmur something, quiet and incomprehensible, when Charles pulls out.

"Yes," Charles murmurs, pressing kisses to the side of Erik's face, temple and eyelid and cheekbone and then lazy sloppy kisses against his mouth. "More," he promises, and Erik gives a sleepy rumble of a purr.