TUESDASY, October 23, 2012
Katherine Pryde, Junior Reporter
NEW YORK CITY – Last night at 11:53 pm the super villain known only as MAGNETO struck again, this time hitting the Federal Reserve Bank of New York and making off with close to $25 million.
Police were once again stumped as to how a single man, presumably operating alone, was able to breach the bank’s main vault, which is located 80 feet below street level. A phone call to Chief of Police Steve Rogers was not returned.
MAGNETO is well-known throughout the city and is famous for his robberies, all performed as a solo act. All attempts by the police to capture him have been easily thwarted, making some citizens question the effectiveness of the police force.
“How am I supposed to feel safe if they can’t catch one guy?” Elizabeth Braddock, 33 and mother of two, found herself wondering.
Other people are putting stock in not the police force, but in New York City’s resident superhero, who goes by his moniker, “The Shaman.”
“The good people of New York City don’t deserve to live in fear of MAGNETO’s shadow,” he said in a statement this morning, “I vow to personally apprehend this heinous criminal, and see to it that he is brought to justice.”
The Shaman also promised that every last cent of the stolen money would be found and returned, a not-so-farfetched promise given his last successful apprehension of the super villain Juggernaut, which only resulted in very minor casualties…
“Charles! Knock knock, sleepyhead!”
Charles sits up so quickly that he almost bangs his head, blinking blearily. The florescent lights are bright and sharp overhead, and it appears that he’d been drooling on his keyboard. Pleasant.
He rubs his face, hoping that there aren’t any impressions of the keys on his cheek, and then slowly swivels in his crappy office chair to face the source of the voice.
Sean stands in the entrance to his cubicle, grinning at him. “Man I wish that I was getting paid to sleep on the job.”
“I’m not,” Charles says with a yawn, barely covering his mouth in time, Jesus his manners have gone on a steady decline ever since he’d moved into the city. “What do you want, Sean?”
“Late night?” Sean asks, waggling his eyebrows suggestively.
If only he knew. That would be the last time he ever lets Raven talk him into going out, especially on a work night. He’s fairly certain that he can still smell the nearly toxic stench of the club on him, which hadn’t even been worth going since all he’d done was watch Raven and her friends dance while nursing a drink at the bar broodingly.
That’s not to say he didn’t get hit on, though, but really—no matter how hard Raven tries, Charles just can’t see himself falling into a relationship based on meeting in a club with bad decor and even worse music.
“No,” he says.
“Dude, did you hear about the robbery last night?” Sean says, alighting on a new strand of conversation easily, which must be a talent of his seeing that Charles is fairly certain that he’s oozing with go away vibes that are hard to miss. “That crazy guy Magneto, like, stole a shit ton of money!”
“I heard about it.” Charles says flatly. He’d also had to walk home from the club the long way with a complaining, tipsy Raven at fuck o’clock in the morning, because of all the streets blocked off by the police trying and failing to catch the man.
Needless to say, Charles hadn’t had a late night so much as an early morning.
“I wonder how he does it, man,” Sean continues, and good lord he’s actually putting deep thought into this, isn’t he, “because, like, doesn’t he work alone? That is cray.”
“Cray,” Charles repeats in a deadpan.
“I know, right?” Sean agrees. “Man, I hope we get to see a fight between him and the Shaman. Wouldn’t that be awesome if—”
“Cassidy. Xavier.” A sharp voice barks, and Charles nearly jumps out of his chair.
“Shit,” Sean says, and then runs.
Charles can only blink after him in shock, mouth slightly open, because he’s left Charles completely alone and defenseless to face the wrath of—
“I want those copies by noon, Cassidy.” Erik Lehnsherr comes to a stop in the spot Sean had previously been occupying, and while Charles’ cubicle usually feels cramped on a normal basis, now it feels absolutely suffocating. Erik narrows his eyes at Sean’s retreating back, and then his gaze swings around to pin Charles to the spot.
Charles resists the urge to shift nervously and sit up straighter, though only barely. There may or may not be a direct relation between his complete lack of interest at the club last night and one Erik Lehnsherr, and it’s not something that Charles would care to look too closely at, especially right now with Erik scrutinizing him with an unreadable expression that sort of makes Charles feel like he’s about to be eaten by something large with lots of teeth.
He tries a smile. “Morning, boss.”
“Charles.” Erik greets him, his voice impassive. He actually takes a step into the cubicle, and Charles tries not to do something drastic, like take a deep inhale and catch a whiff of that really nice cologne he knows Erik wears, because it smells so good but that might seem a tad creepy if he—
“Oh, um.” Charles blinks, realizing that Erik has repeated his name and is now looking at him with something that might be concern—it’s hard to tell with Erik; a raised eyebrow could mean anything from are you alive to are you an imbecile. Powerful thing, that eyebrow. “I’m terribly sorry, what?”
“I told you that if you see Cassidy out of his cubicle again, don’t let him get away with it.” Erik says.
“Oh, of course.” Charles says quickly. And then, because he can’t keep his stupid mouth shut and possibly has a death wish, he asks, “Are you alright? You look very tired.”
“I could say the same for you.” Erik says shortly, neatly sidestepping the question and making Charles flush.
“Um. Late night. Can’t say I’m not looking forward to quitting time today,” he says with a weak laugh, “you know how it goes.”
“I need you to stay late tonight,” Erik continues as if Charles hasn’t said a word, “the reports need filing and you’re the only one I trust to do it correctly.”
“I’m your man,” Charles says brightly, while inwardly he does something similar to a plant left without sunlight for a month. Why is it so impossible for him to say no?
“Yes,” Erik says matter-of-factly, “you are.”
And then he turns and walks away, during which Charles tries desperately hard not to read into that too deeply and then fails when his heart gives a pathetic flutter.
It’s not fair, to be so attracted to his boss, especially since Erik could legitimately be in the running for New York City’s Biggest Asshole.
As soon as Erik rounds the corner of cubicles and is out of sight, Charles spins around and slumps back down onto his desk with a groan.
During his meager lunch break, he runs into Alex and Darwin in the break room.
“Hello Charles,” Darwin greets him, while Alex gives him a brief nod. They’re watching the news on the shitty TV that had mysteriously migrated into the room a few months ago after years of everyone complaining about how the break room needed a TV.
“Hi,” Charles says wearily, crossing over to the equally shitty refrigerator to dig around for his lunch, which hopefully hasn’t been stolen by one of the interns. Those little shits are always stealing food out of the fridge even though he’s probably told them a thousand times that the break room is for actual employees only now get out.
“—held earlier this morning at 10 am. The Shaman appeared in his full battle regalia, appearing from seemingly out of nowhere. He spoke to the dazzled crowd for about half an hour, vowing that he would do everything within his power to see Magneto put behind bars.”
Charles gives up on his search, snorting as he straightens.
Darwin looks back over at him, giving a slight grin. “Not a fan of the Shaman?”
“I think he’s a fool running around in tights,” Charles says flatly, glancing briefly at the blond-haired reporter on the screen, “and he’s just as useless as the police force. Magneto can’t be caught.”
“So you’re on Magneto’s side?” Alex asks, raising his eyebrows.
“I’m not on anyone’s side,” Charles says, shaking his head, “I just don’t see why New York City needs a superhero or a super villain. I mean honestly.”
Darwin laughs. “A little jaded, there, aren’t you?”
“Who would you root for, though?” Alex asks, leaning forward, TV forgotten. “The Shaman or Magneto?”
“I don’t have to root for anyone,” Charles says, but Alex looks like he’s about to protest so he sighs and adds, mostly for humor value, “but I suppose I’d root for Magneto if we’re basing this on looks.”
Alex and Darwin both laugh, and Charles grins a little, but then he sees Erik, who happens to be walking by at exactly the wrong moment, glancing into the break room as he passes and oh god he probably heard all of that, of course he did.
He can’t be sure but Erik might give him a funny look, but he’s gone from sight too quickly for Charles to tell, and Charles would really just like to dig a hole now, thanks.
“I’m going to get back to work,” he mumbles, and then flees before Alex or Darwin can ask why he suddenly looks like he’s swallowed something sour.
It is late when Charles finally shuts down his computer and digs around under his desk for his bag, hungry and tired and completely fed up with everyone in this building even though it’s been hours since any of them were even here because they are all idiots and how hard is it, really, to do your reports the right way?
He’s yawning as he switches off the last few lights left on in the office and then heads down the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, making his way across the dark and quiet lobby and slipping out the glass doors onto the street, confident that they’ll lock behind him since the janitor had been by his cubicle twice to let him know.
His feet fall into the familiar path towards home, hardly aware of his surroundings as he trudges down the sidewalk, keeping one arm over his bag to hold it against his side, and maybe he should stop somewhere for takeout because as late as it is, he’ll still be able to find somewhere that’s still open, but honestly he’s too tired so he might just head home and crash and eat a big breakfast or something in the morning.
He takes a shortcut through an alley, which is probably stupid to do at this time of night, but he can’t be bothered to walk all the way around the block at the moment, possible muggings be damned. He arrives unscathed on the other side, edging past a dumpster with something close to triumph, and then continues on his way. This street is far quieter, with considerably less activity, and Charles can practically feel his bed already.
He’s nearly home, too, when the building front beside him suddenly explodes.
Charles makes a highly undignified sound as he’s blown off his feet, throwing up his arms over his head protect himself from the debris raining down all around him when he hits the sidewalk hard, terrified. Everything is loud and confusing and oh god, he’s going to die—
A hand suddenly grabs him by the forearm, hauling him up to his feet, and Charles looks up in surprise only to freeze when he finds himself face-to-face with Magneto.
“You,” he says, quite intelligently.
Magneto seems to be equally shocked to see him, and for a moment they’re just sort of staring at each other, during which Charles feels increasingly awkward and—oh god why—increasingly attracted to the way Magneto’s mask cuts a stark, neat profile.
Well, it’s not like he’d been lying, really, when he’d said that he thought Magneto was far more attractive than the Shaman and this is starting to get confusing because then there’s Erik, who Charles has been stupidly in love with ever since he was hired.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” Magneto says gruffly, and Charles’ eyes widen.
“Excuse me?” he asks, trying and failing to tug his arm out of the super villain’s grip. “Let go. I can be anywhere I want, thank you, this is a free country the last time I checked and I said let go of me.”
Behind the mask, Magneto’s eyes narrow. There are sirens in the distance, now, growing closer by the second, but he still makes no movement to leave, studying Charles with almost laser-like intensity.
Charles swallows, suddenly realizing that once again he’s probably said a little too much. “I. Um. I’d very much like to live, please,” he says, trying not to sound too pathetically pleading even as he starts to babble, “I promise I won’t say a word, it’ll be like I never was even here, I don’t want to die, I just want to go home, please don’t kill me.”
Magneto is looking increasingly amused, which might be annoying if Charles wasn’t so concerned about being murdered and tossed into the sewer. Before he can even open his mouth to reply, however, a huge, bright spotlight suddenly snaps on, trained onto both of their forms where they stand on the sidewalk amidst the rubble from the blown-out building front.
“Magneto!” A voice booms out of a speaker system somewhere, echoing all the way up and down the street. “We meet at last! I’m afraid your time has finally come!”
Charles shields his eyes from the bright light, still trying to tug out of Magneto’s iron grip, but then freezes when the super villain gives a low, annoyed snarl of, “Jesus Christ.”
He looks up in time to see the Shaman swing down from the top of a building, landing in the middle of the street a few yards away, funky helmet-thing and all. Magneto automatically pulls Charles closer, spinning him around and pulling him back flush against his dark uniform so that he’s pressed up right against Charles’ back, one wiry arm wrapped around Charles’ waist like a vise.
Charles tries very, very hard not to squirm.
The Shaman points at them with a flourish. “Unhand that citizen, Magneto, and surrender quietly.”
Charles rolls his eyes. “Oh please,” he says, loudly enough for his voice to carry, “when do villains ever listen to the hero? Even I could tell you that he’s not going to let me go just because you asked nicely.”
The Shaman looks a little put out, but Charles flushes when Magneto actually chuckles, low and intimate, right in his ear.
“Erm,” Charles says weakly, “it would actually be nice if you let me go, though.”
He can practically hear the smirk in Magneto’s voice. “No.”
“You leave me no choice, then,” the Shaman announces, somehow sounding regretful even though he must be anything but, “I’m going to have to bring you in by force if you won’t cooperate.” He lifts up his hands.
“What about me?” Charles asks, a little panicky, because the last thing on this earth he wants is to be caught up in some sort of battle between two super-people.
“Fear not, citizen,” the Shaman proclaims, “I will save you!” Then he claps his hands together and the entire street explodes.
Charles screams as Magneto throws them both sideways, avoiding the initial blast as everything lights up around them, a searing wave of heat barreling into them as they both hit the ground hard. Magneto’s grip loosens for half a second and Charles yanks himself free, crawling forward through the rubble blindly, desperate to get the fuck away from here before he’s killed.
He half-collapses over the curb, pushing himself shakily to his feet, panting and a little teary-eyed despite himself. The entire street is in ruins from the explosion, and his ears are still ringing, leaving him disorientated, so he can’t exactly help it when lets out a shriek when someone grabs him around the waist again, pulling him flush up against another solid body.
“You’re safe now,” the Shaman says, holding onto him tightly, “I’ve got you.”
Charles struggles, attempting to push away. “Jesus, no, you almost killed me, let go—”
“I will keep you safe from the evil clutches of Magneto!” the Shaman says, ignoring him, and pointing again with his free arm towards the super villain, who is picking himself up gingerly from another pile of wreckage.
Magneto’s head snaps up at that, his gaze locking onto them, and even though Charles is several yards away and being held by the city’s resident Good Guy, he freezes.
“I think you should put me down now,” Charles says.
“Don’t be afraid,” the Shaman assures him, and really it’s taking all of Charles’ willpower not to grab the idiot by the helmet, rip it off, and brain him with it, “you’ll be safe with me. I won’t let him harm you.”
“I was doing fine on my own until you showed up and blew up the street,” Charles snaps, even though he actually hadn’t been doing fine on his own, but right now that’s beside the point.
The Shaman laughs cheerfully. “We can just blame Magneto for that, shall we?”
“I believe he asked you to let go,” Magneto says icily, breaking into the conversation, and oh god is that a piece of rebar he’s lifting up without the use of his hands? “Put him down.”
“I think not,” the Shaman says brazenly, “I think I’ll keep him safe here with me.”
There’s a loud screech of rusted metal and the piece of rebar that’s currently floating in midair crumbles in on itself, forming into a messily-formed ball. Magneto throws out and arm and the metal hurls itself forward, directly towards them.
Charles flinches and instinctively curls closer into the Shaman in a pathetic attempt to shield himself, but then the Shaman shouts, “Not so fast!” and Charles thinks, I hate you.
The Shaman swats the ball of metal away with his bare hand like a fly, sending it careening over into an already ruined building. Charles can only stare blankly between the Shaman and Magneto in shock, because they’re really not kidding about the super part in super villain or superhero, are they?
“Surprised?” the Shaman asks Magneto tauntingly, grinning. “You’re not the only one in this city with superhuman powers, my dear boy!” He pauses dramatically, and then adds, “And this city isn’t big enough for the both of us.”
Charles actually snaps out of his shock. “Oh come on,” he says, “that was awful. Can’t you come up with better lines? And can you just put me down, I’d really rather not be caught up in all of this—”
“You’re a feisty one,” the Shaman says with a laugh, and then goes so far as to ruffle Charles’ hair. “And not half-bad looking, either. What do you say that you and I grab some dinner after I—”
“Are you actually asking me out?” Charles demands shrilly, because what the actual fuck—
“He’s mine,” Magneto snarls, and what—
Charles doesn’t have much time to begin to try to comprehend those last few seconds, because Magneto attacks, sending up a maelstrom of rebar flying through the air, and Charles is too busy screaming in terror while the Shaman retaliates, lifting his hand and sending them flying back with another explosion that whites Charles’ vision out for a second, so close and loud that he’s afraid all of his senses have gone out on him for a few seconds.
When he comes to, he’s still being held tightly by the Shaman and Magneto is nowhere to be seen. The Shaman is talking again, saying something or another about how Magneto doesn’t stand a chance, and Charles is just about fed up with this shit so before he can think too deeply on it he reaches up and grabs the Shaman’s helmet, yanks it off, and hits him as hard as he can with it in the face.
The Shaman is completely caught off-guard, no doubt unused to his rescued citizens being anything other than hopelessly grateful, and drops like a load of bricks, taking Charles down with him. Charles yelps as they collapse in a heap, and it looks like the Shaman will be down and out for awhile because when he struggles and wiggles his way out of the super hero’s grip, the Shaman doesn’t so much as stir.
Charles scrambles to his feet, untangling himself from the unconscious super hero before he stops, staring down in shock.
“I attacked a super hero,” he says aloud, dimly aware of flashing lights and shouting voices approaching from the far end of the street, “oh my god, I attacked a super hero.”
“Come on,” a voice says suddenly, a new arm wrapping around him, and Charles barely reacts when Magneto half-lifts him, hurrying them both away from the scene.
The next few minutes float past in a hazy sort of dream, and Charles allows himself to be towed down an alleyway and manhandled into a sleek black car, seat belt pulled across him without a whisper of protest, and then Magneto is climbing into the driver’s seat on the other side and gunning the engine, taking off into the night.
He should do something, Charles thinks distantly. He should try to escape. But he’s just attacked the city’s super hero and then fled the scene with its super villain. They’ll think he’s a criminal. Magneto is probably going to kill him and hide his body and no one will ever find him again and Raven will cry and be left to wonder for the rest of her life.
“Shit!” Charles says, suddenly coming to life just as the car rumbles to a stop after who knows how long. He hadn’t been paying any kind of attention to their surroundings as Magneto had driven, so he has no idea where he’s been taken, let alone what’s going to happen to him next.
Magneto gets out of the driver’s side, stalking around the front of the car while Charles starts to fumble with his seatbelt frantically. He gets it undone just as Magneto wrenches the door open, and doesn’t stand half a chance when the super villain leans in to grab him by the arm, pulling him up and out of the car.
“Where are we? Where are you taking me?” Charles demands as Magneto tows him along again, down a very dark passageway that Charles can’t make heads or tails of. “Are you going to kill me?”
“No, for Christ’s sake,” Magneto says flatly, which is hopefully an answer to that last question.
They come to a stop in front of a dead end, put Magneto flips a hidden panel open and taps in a code, causing the rock wall in front of them to slide up into the ceiling. Charles tries to yank his arm out of Magneto’s grip again but the other man is relentless, tugging Charles inside, the wall sliding back down into place again behind them.
They’re standing in what looks like some kind of hi-tech lair; the Batcave straight out of the Batman movies. There are huge, fancy monitors and an entire console the length of one wall, with complicated looking controls and button and panels, with an entire stand of gadgets in one corner.
Magneto pulls him over to a chair that’s of considerably higher quality than the one Charles has in his office and pushes him down into it, forcing Charles to sit while he remains towering over him menacingly, boxing him in.
“I don’t have anything to give you,” Charles says, looking back up at the super villain, swallowing, and trying not to think about how much metal is surrounding them and how many different ways Magneto could use it all to kill him, “I’m—I don’t have any money, I don’t know any big corporate or government secrets, I’m just a boring, regular—”
“What—no, Jesus Christ, Charles,” Magneto says with a sigh, and then takes off his mask, and it’s suddenly Erik looking down at him, “I’m not going to kill you.”
Charles sputters wordlessly at him for a good half a minute, because his brain is trying desperately to catch up with what his eyes are seeing and it’s not quite computing. “You—Erik—you’re—what—?”
“Oh honestly, it’s not that big a deal.” Erik says dismissively, rolling his eyes even as he leans down so that his face is inches apart from Charles’ and peers at him carefully.
“Of course it’s a big deal,” Charles practically shrieks, “you’re my boss and you’re a goddamn super villain who goes around stealing millions of dollars, and oh god, I knocked out the Shaman and then ran with you, they’re going to think I’m you’re accomplice, or something—”
“You can be my sidekick, at least,” Erik says absently, and okay now it’s getting creepy how he’s just sort of looking intently into Charles’ eyes.
Charles leans back away from him as far as the chair will allow. “What are you doing?”
“Making sure that you’re not going into shock,” Erik says calmly, and then straightens, “you appear to be fine, congratulations.”
Charles folds his arms. He feels very torn in several different directions. Erik is his boss. His extremely attractive boss who also happens to be the city’s worst criminal.
Who has dragged Charles back to his secret base…lair…thing.
What is his life, really.
“So you’re not going to kill me?” Charles asks, because it doesn’t hurt to get extra confirmation for these types of things.
Erik sighs. “No, I’m not going to kill you. I was never going to kill you, why would you—” He cuts himself off, falling silent for a moment. “You weren’t supposed to be caught up in this. You were supposed to stay late at the office.”
“Are you seriously accusing me of not doing my job right now?” Charles demands. “Because for your information, Erik, all of the reports have been edited and filed, even though I would have much rather gone home and gone to bed at a regular hour because I was out late last night because someone was robbing a bank and all the streets were blocked off so I had to take the long way around—”
Erik holds up his hands in a placating matter. “Alright, alright. Everything is my fault.”
“Yes, actually, it is.” Charles says matter-of-factly even though he has a sneaking suspicion that Erik is trying not to laugh at him.
Charles is actually sort of surprised by how much he’s been blabbering at Erik, because normally he’s unable to string so many words together in front of him; at least when they’re back in the office, that is. Maybe it’s a defense mechanism, and now that he thinks about it he hopes he hasn’t pissed Erik off because if Erik is Magneto then Erik can probably do a great many horrible things to him very easily.
But Erik has promised not to kill him, and despite the fact that he is a super villain, Charles feels inclined to trust him. He’s Erik, after all. And if Erik isn’t going to kill him, then hopefully Charles can expect not to be hurt either.
But Jesus, does Erik look good in a black catsuit type of uniform. He even makes the cape thing work. That alone should be illegal—it’s nearly unfair.
They’re still staring at each other. Charles’ mouth is suddenly very, very dry.
“Did you mean what you said in the break room?” Erik asks abruptly.
It’s so non sequitur that Charles blinks, thrown. “What?”
“What you said earlier, in the break room,” Erik says, his bold gaze unblinking, “when you said that you would root for Magneto based on his looks?”
Charles feels something hot curling in the pit of his stomach as he stares back, some of the heat rising to his cheeks. Erik isn’t teasing, he realizes, he’s very, very serious and the way he’s looking at Charles now sort of makes Charles feel like he’s being stalked by a large cat that is three seconds away from pouncing.
So, because what else can really go wrong at this point, Charles tips back his head cockily and asks, “Did you mean it when you said that I was yours?”
There’s a split second pause, and in between one breath and the next, Erik is on him, pressing him back into the chair as he leans down to take Charles’ mouth, fast and dictating. Charles yields at once; parting his lips and allowing Erik to take complete control, slipping his tongue into Charles’ mouth as his hands start to slide down Charles’ chest, making him gasp and shiver.
Charles reaches up to tangle his hands in Erik’s hair, pulling him down more to deepen their kiss, and they don’t break apart for a long time, even when Erik pushes too hard and the chair rolls back to slam against the console, both too busy lost in each other and what their tongues are doing; sliding together in wet warmth.
Charles is panting when they do finally pull back for air, but his fingers stay resolutely in Erik’s hair. Erik kisses just as he’s always imagined, idle daydreams in his cubicle on long, boring days at the office—he is fierce and dominating, never giving an inch but always taking a mile, and Charles feels as if he has just been kissed within a inch of his life and he wants more.
“Been wanting to do that for a long time,” he says, slightly dazed, and before he can be too morbidly mortified by that actually coming out of his mouth, Erik smirks.
Then he lifts Charles up by the hips and turns, depositing him on the edge of the console. “Chair was too low,” he says casually in explanation, and then Charles yelps when Erik puts a hand on his crotch, pressing against Charles’ already-hardening cock.
Charles’ hips jerk reflexively as Erik begins to rub him through the fabric of his pants, his hands flying down to seize Erik’s shoulders as he bucks up towards Erik’s hand, head tilting back as he moans. Erik steps in close, slotting neatly between Charles’ legs, and the way he presses down on Charles’ restrained cock is maddening.
“I couldn’t stand the sight of you in his arms,” Erik growls, low and possessive in Charles’ ear as he bends Charles back against the console, and Charles shudders. He attacks Charles’ throat, trailing open-mouthed, wet kisses down his neck, sucking on the soft, sensitive skin until Charles is moaning again, writhing in Erik’s unbreakable grip as the super villain holds him down in place.
“Who,” he pants out, still arching desperately into Erik’s touch, “the Shaman?”
Erik hisses out a curse, suddenly pulling back off of Charles completely. The sudden lack of pressure against his hard cock makes Charles whimper, struggling to sit up to see where the super villain has gone.
It hits him, suddenly, that he’s about to have sex with a super villain. It sort of feels like he’s joined the dark side or something, but he can hardly bring himself to care very much when Erik is suddenly back, looming out from the shadows of his base and pulling Charles forward off the console, spinning him around and slamming him up against the control panel and bending him over it, face-first this time, with one heavy hand resting on the back of Charles’ neck to keep him in place.
“You really didn’t like that, did you?” Charles says, huffing out a laugh, and when he experiments a little, trying to lift himself up and straighten, Erik shoves him back down with a sound that goes straight down to Charles’ cock, and he grinds against the paneling beneath him, desperate for friction.
“You are mine,” Erik says, pulling apart Charles’ legs wide so that the toes of his shoes are barely scraping the ground, all of his weight leaned forward against the console, “ever since I hired you, you’ve been mine—”
Charles feels long, clever fingers reaching around underneath him, undoing the button and zipper of his pants and then they’re yanked away along with his underwear, allowed to drop as far as his spread-wide legs will allow—which isn’t much. Erik’s fingertips ghost over the bare skin of his ass, and Charles squirms again, grinding down further against the console as he pants, gasping for breath.
Erik his boss is only a mask, Charles realizes feverishly, an alter ego—a face to hide the villain in plain sight. This Erik is like a sharper image; the high-definition picture of a man that before now, Charles had thought he’d known, but only now does he understand that there are more facets to Erik than he ever could have known before.
It is dangerously alluring.
He hears the pop of a cap, and then suddenly a slick, slender finger is pressing against his entrance, teasing around the edge for only a moment before sliding all the way in.
Charles’ back bows, struggling to both press back against that finger and curl away from it, all sorts of unintelligible babble spilling from his lips as Erik begins to slide his finger back and forth, stretching him open. A second finger joins the first, and Charles sobs at the sensation, hips moving almost on their own accord as he fucks himself on Erik’s fingers, splayed out for him and still held down mercilessly in place.
“Erik,” he manages to get out as the super villain slides a third finger inside him, “oh god, Erik, Erik—”
“You can’t go back to your old life,” Erik murmurs as he finds Charles’ prostate and crooks his fingers over the sensitive gland, prompting a raw scream to tear itself free from Charles’ lips, “you’re a wanted man now.”
“Erik,” Charles moans, and then groans when he feels Erik’s fingers slide out, leaving him feeling loose and empty, his hole clenching on nothing but air, “what do I—what do I do—”
“You stay with me,” Erik says, and Charles hears the sound of him slicking himself up with one hand, the other still resolutely pinning him down, “I’ll keep you safe.”
Charles opens his mouth to reply but all that comes out is a choked noise because Erik chooses that moment to push into Charles, stretching him even wider than his fingers had and for a moment Charles can’t even think straight, lost to the pure pain-pleasure of being filled to the brim. Erik is on top of him now, chest pressed flush against his back as he buries himself all the way into Charles’ body.
“You won’t need a hero by the time I’m done with you,” Erik murmurs, and then he starts to move.
The first snap of his hips draws a ragged gasp from Charles, and then after that it’s all Charles can do to keep from moaning, the initial pain fading away into nothing but endless pleasure. His hands scrabble for purchase against the paneling as Erik falls into a brutal rhythm, thrusting long and deep and hard, filling up all of his senses until Erik is all he knows—his villain, his savior.
He comes with a scream, his vision whiting out for a few moments of incomprehension, shooting off white and sticky across the control panel. Erik rides him out, loosing his rhythm as he too draws close to his edge, breathing loud and erratically before slamming down into Charles one last time and coming with a guttural moan, filling Charles with hot, wet semen.
Erik collapses forward across Charles’ back, nearly smothering him, but Charles is far too wrung-out and content to protest, lying beneath Erik limply, panting and utterly used. His shirt clings to his skin with sweat, and his whole belly is filthy where he’s come all over himself, but he feels absolutely no urge to move.
Finally Erik straightens, pulling out of Charles with a slow drag of skin-on-skin, and when Charles feels the semen leak out of his hole and down the backs of his legs, he shivers.
Erik pulls him up off the console gingerly, and Charles’ legs buckle almost immediately so he catches him, keeping him from collapsing down to the floor. Charles allows himself to be manhandled back over to the chair, Erik sinking down into it first before pulling Charles into his lap, arranging him to his liking—moving Charles so that he’s straddling Erik’s hips, and leaned forward to rest against Erik’s chest, chin on his shoulder. Charles says limp and pliant, still lost in the wonderful bliss of being completely fucked out.
“I quit,” he says, shifting a little so he can tuck his head underneath Erik’s chin, and takes a small breath—there’s that cologne.
“You quit.” Erik says, very, very calmly.
“The office,” Charles explains sleepily, eyelids drooping, “because obviously this—” he lifts a hand, waving it around vaguely, “—is going to be a full-time job.”
Erik chuckles, the sound making his chest vibrate beneath Charles’. “This,” he says, one hand trailing down Charles’ spine slowly, “is the beginning of a long and prosperous partnership.”
WEDNESDAY, October 24, 2012
Katherine Pryde, Junior Reporter
NEW YORK CITY – Last night at 10:38 pm the super villain MAGNETO continued his crusade of terror against the city.
This time his target was the entire west end of E 86th Street, which now resembles something close to a warzone. Entire building fronts have been demolished, and entire sections of the road have been ripped up and torn to shreds. Fortunately there were no casualties.
Resident superhero The Shaman arrived on the scene before police were able to, but not even he was able to put a stop to MAGNETO.
“He had an accomplice,” he reported grimly, icepack still pressed against his forehead, “he’s not working alone anymore.”
MAGNETO’s accomplice is unconfirmed, but the Shaman reports that he is male, with curly brown hair and blue eyes. Possible identity matches have been drawn, and the closest match points to Charles Xavier, who was reported missing last night by his stepsister Raven Darkholme…