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Imperfect Symmetry

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Erik pulled away from the kiss. Charles could hear the sound of Erik licking his lips, could feel the hot moist air of Erik's breath between them, and he followed eagerly and blindly, searching out Erik's mouth with his own. But Erik stopped him, taking a step away so that the bodies were no longer pressed together. Charles's back was to the wall, and Erik's hands on his shoulders pressed him firmly against it, pinning him there. It was almost too hard, practically a shove.

Charles stared up into Erik's eyes. They had a strange, wild tilt to them.

"Just let me..." Erik started to say, but he cut himself off, shaking his head, before he went down to his knees. "Just let me do this," Erik said, very quietly, before he leaned forward to rub his cheek against Charles's sweatpants-covered hip.

"Let you?" Charles said. "Are you joking? My god, Erik, I-"

"Shut up," Erik said. One of his hands squeezed tightly around the curve of Charles's waist. "Just shut up, don't say anything, Charles." It would have sounded like an order, some imperious command, if it weren't for the faint pleading Charles could hear around the edges of his thoughts.

Charles swallowed hard. He bit his own lower lip, digging his teeth in hard as a reminder to himself. Not a word, he thought. He balled his hands into fists at his sides and stared down at the top of Erik's head, where his dark hair was ever so slightly mussed. He watched Erik pull down the elastic waistband of the sweatpants, shoving the fabric down to Charles's knees before gripping his hips, holding them still, flat against the wall.

Erik's eyes were tightly closed. His mouth was parted only a little; he pressed it against the head of Charles's cock like a kiss. When he moved his head slightly, Charles's cock rubbed against his lips, almost as if it was begging to be let it in. Erik opened his mouth, then, and it was wet and hot and lovely, everything Charles could ever want, and Erik was pushing himself onto Charles's cock with a determination and half-hidden eagerness that Charles almost couldn't bear.

Oh, Erik, he thought, his mind overflowing with the affection he felt.

Erik pulled his mouth off Charles's cock. He moved one of his hands to grip it, and he sucked in a deep breath as he began to work Charles with even strokes. "That counts as talking, Charles," he said. His voice sounded ragged. He didn't look up at Charles when he spoke, but rather kept his eyes on Charles's erection.

Charles opened his mouth to apologize, but stopped himself before the words came out. After a few moments, Erik began to suck him again.

Charles truly hadn't been expecting this. He hadn't had any idea a blowjob was a possibility, that such a thing was even on the table between them. He and Erik had been involved now for some time - they come together for the first time soon after they left the CIA facility to search for the mutants Cerebro had found. There were any number of nights on the road that ended with the two of them rubbing off against each other, finding pleasure in the friction of their bodies together, or their hands on each other's cocks. One particularly memorable night in Chicago they had attempted intercourse; Charles had found it awkward and exhilerating in almost equal measure, the slow and patient working of Erik's cock into his ass.

Erik had never offered, never suggested anything like this. There was something painfully intimate about it, seeing Erik on his knees before him. To see Erik like this. His Erik. Here, not in some hotel bedroom they might never see again, but in Charles's house - the home that no longer belonged just to him, but to all of them, working together to become something new and strong and amazing.

He reached down tentatively and lay one hand on Erik's hair. Erik shook at his touch, losing the rhythm of his blowjob for a moment before he regained his composure.

Charles made his way into Erik's thoughts, just as lightly, just as carefully. There was such a jumbled-up mix of emotions it was hard for Charles to break any of it down into individual components. But desire, certainly, he could see, red and blaring like a siren light. Denial, the remnants of something that might once have been shame. Something else, and Charles wasn't certain - couldn't be certain, he was too much the scientist not to know how his own feelings might bias his interpretation of the data - but it was possible, very much possible, it might be love.

My friend, Charles thought, keeping the thought strictly to himself as he stroked Erik's hair. My lover. Oh, my dear.

The noises in the room were deeply, utterly obscene: the wet smacks and slaps of Erik's mouth as it worked against Charles's flesh; Charles's own breathing, astonishingly heavy in his ears; a quiet, urgent sound, low and desperate from Erik's throat.

He warned Erik, best as he could, that his orgasm was approaching. Erik's mental response was not in words, but it resembled nothing so much as a push.

Charles cried out sharply as he spilled himself into Erik's mouth.

Erik let go of Charles's softening cock and sat back on his haunches, coughing a little into his fist. Without the pressure of Erik's hand against his hip, holding him steady, Charles fell to his own knees. He pushed his sweatpants the rest of the way off his legs, slightly awkward, before he turned his attention wholly to Erik.

Erik's mouth was still open; Charles could see the pink flash of his tongue, the white of his teeth, bright against his used and wanton-looking lips. His eyes were wide, his gaze fixed directly on Charles's. Charles realized with surprise that there were visible streaks of tears down Erik's cheeks, as well as wetness still gathered at the corners of his eyes.

Charles wrapped his arms around Erik's neck and brought his mouth to Erik's face, pressing kisses to it, licking up the faint taste of salt on his skin.

Erik's arms clutched at Charles, fingers digging deep into the meat of his back. "Charles," Erik said, and his voice was strained, as though it were only with a great amount of effort he was able to get the word past his chest at all.

"It's all right," Charles murmured. He kissed Erik's cheekbone, his temple, the deep lines that surrounded his mouth. "You don't have to say it, it's all right."

Erik tilted his head, catching Charles's mouth with his own for a long, deep kiss. He took one of his hands from Charles's back, moving it instead between their bodies, coming to rest on the bulge of his cock, still hard beneath his sweatpants. Charles brought one of his own hands down to join him, and together they rubbed him off through the fabric until Erik reached his peak, gasping harshly against Charles's lips.

Charles let his other hand curl, gentle but firm, around the nape of Erik's neck. There was a rush of possessiveness surging through him, head to toe. He felt flushed, every piece of his skin sensitive and hot, as if he had somehow sunburned his entire body. Oh, he thought, oh, this is why, this is what it feels like. He'd seen it in other people's minds, a million times, but he hadn't understood, really, not until now. This wasn't fun and games. This wasn't affection and the simple sharing of bodily pleasure, easy and uncomplicated, like he'd enjoyed so many times before in his life. This was something else.

His belly tied itself into a knot, and Charles thought, I don't know how-

"Charles," Erik said again, his voice cutting through Charles's thoughts, clean and sharp as a knife. Charles blinked at him and Erik's mouth turned up at the ends in a small unsteady smile. "Let's go to bed. All right?"

"Yes," Charles said, nodding, "that's a good idea." He let Erik take his hand and raise them both to their feet. He stopped Erik there, though, and he kissed him again, holding him close for a long time before they separated long enough to walk together across the room.