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“You know I love you.”

Charles heaves a sigh, dropping his highlighter on his textbook.

“What do you want now?”

Wesley shuffles closer to him on the bed, waving a crumpled sheet of his exam entries, but only after throwing an arm over Charles’ shoulders and pressing a kiss to his cheek. He curls up to him and purposefully says, “You’re so wonderful. Did I ever tell you?”

“Yes, when you wanted me to pay for those trainers. And the time you made me do your all of your trigonometry homework. And the time you made me pose half-naked for your photography class that you never even finished.”

“You love me!”

“That’s entirely beside the point. What on earth do you need now?”

Wesley rubs his cheek against Charles’ shoulder, not unlike a cat trying to appeal to its very soft-hearted owner. “So…I might have an exam tomorrow.”

“What. Exam.”

“...Chem?”

“And how long have you been studying for Chemistry?”

“Umm…funny thing...”

“I better laugh.”

“I read the exam date wrong,” he insists, feigning innocence. “And I thought I had more time…”

Charles drops his head in his hands. The fault is entirely Wesley’s, yet he can’t help but feel responsible for letting this happen. He hadn’t been strict enough with his little brother when he would skip classes and sleep through the few he did attend. He did Wesley’s homework himself so he could pass. Reluctant to upset the one person in his life he valued the most, he’d refrained from chiding Wesley too much, but now—

“You could fail the whole year,” he says in sudden realisation. “There’s no way you can cover the whole syllabus in one night alone, I mean for crying out loud, Wes, I love you dearly, but you don’t even know how to use your calculator! You need to get at least fifty percent in tomorrow’s exam to pass and if you don’t you’ll fail the entire year oh christ I’m just the worst brother alive for letting this happen to you you’re going to fail and there’s nothing I can do and—”

“Take a deep breath, Charlie,” Wesley says, cupping his shoulders and stroking him gently with his thumbs so he’ll relax. “Take it easy, okay?”

Charles sucks in a long breath and nods his head.

“You’re the best brother in the world. Do you hear me? The best, and I love you.”

“If you say so.” He gives his shoulders a shrug.

Wesley lifts his chin up with a curled finger until Charles is meeting his eyes.

To Charles’s utter horror, he says, “Don’t worry. I have a plan.”

“No. No.”

Wesley’s face crumples into his patented kicked puppy look, and its intensity increases whenever Charles is feeling particularly stressed.

“No.”

His brother adds a pout, making sure to add a trembling lip.

“No!”

“Just listen to me,” he pleads, tugging on Charles’ knitted blue jumper until he stands.

Charles’ book falls out of his lap as he’s dragged off the bed by his little brother, protesting to no avail, until he finds himself facing the floor length mirror of their dorm. Wesley stands next to him, finding his gaze in his reflection and smirking at him.

“Aren’t we just beautiful,” Wesley sighs heavily. Charles elbows him.

“Is there a point to this?”

Wesley squares his shoulders. His more built, more muscular shoulders.

“Look at us,” his brother says, moving closer to him so they’re pressed together at the sides. “Identical twins. Mono… what was it? Monoerotic?”

“Monozygotic.”

“That’s the one,” he huffs. “You know the only way people can tell us apart is because of your hair, right?”

Charles self-consciously reaches back to touch his lengthier locks where they curl at the nape of his neck, just above his collar.  “Don’t touch my hair.”

“But Charlie! It’ll grow back anyway.”

“Dammit, Wesley Percival Xavier! You’re not touching my hair after you shaved me bald the last time!”

“That never happened,” Wesley hotly retorts. He winds his arm around Charles’ shoulder. “Think of it this way: what’s a few hours of pretending to be me anyway? We used to do it all the time when we were kids. All you’ll have to do is sit in, take my exam, leave, and we’ll never speak of it again.”

“And if it doesn’t work?”

“If the plan fails and we get caught, we resort to plan B.”

Warily, even knowing that he’ll regret it, he asks, “What, pray tell, is plan B?”

“We take our clothes off and make out.”

Charles stares at his brother in disbelief, eyes wide.

“Wes—there will be no need for such dramatic alternatives.”

“But Charlie! My prof’s Lehnsherr, he’s gonna fail me if we don’t do something,” Wesley whines. Charles stops in his tracks, and Wesley can see the exact moment he’s got his brother’s interest piqued when he stops mid-stride.

“Lehnsherr, you say?”

“Yep.”

“The tall...German one?” Charles makes a vague wiggling motion with his fingers.

“With the shark teeth and the huge golf club? Hell yeah.”

“Well.” Charles clears his throat, but the blush on his cheeks is all too apparent against his pale skin. “Why didn’t you say so?”

 


 

Professor Lehnsherr’s cologne lingers long after he’s passed by Charles’ desk, reminding him of his daunting presence. His steely gaze is watchful, continuous like the ticking of the wall clock, following Charles’ movements as he ducks his head and writes.

He’s managed to be completely inconspicuous up until now, clad in Wesley’s worn jeans and uncomfortably tight t-shirt, sacrificing the use of his glasses, and even replicating his brother’s infamously messy handwriting. Still, Professor Lenhsherr hasn’t looked away from him yet, not from his fingers as he presses the dials of the calculator, not from his mouth as he mutters the questions quietly to himself, and worst of all, his exam paper, undoubtedly filled with correct answers that someone under the name of Wesley Xavier could never conceivably know.

Towards the end of the period, however, despite all of Charles’ best efforts, Professor Lehnsherr is too sharp by half and is standing at the front of his desk.

“Mr. Xavier.”

“...Sir.”

“Please proceed to my office once you’re done.”

Charles can’t breathe. Lehnsherr is looking at him like he’s nothing but transparent glass, and all of his dirty little secrets are visible to the precise cut of Lehnsherr’s gaze. It’s a shame that he’d never learned to lie properly, he thinks rather dazedly as he packs up. He blushes too easily. Wesley by comparison has little capacity for shame, and that is the starkest difference between them.

He manages to duck into a corner to call Wesley on his cell in the brief interlude between the exam and their imminent doom.

“His Royal Highness Wesley Xavier speaking.”

“You bugger.”

“Hey, Charlie, how’s it going?”

“Lehnsherr knows.”

“What?!

“I mean, he doesn’t know, but I think he noticed that you haven’t been yourself.”

“Well, fuck.”

“You better get your arse right here this instant.”

“I’m going, I’m going! Geez.”

“This is bad, Wes. This is really bad. Oh God. We could get killed! Or worse—expelled!”

“...Charlie, sometimes I just...” Wesley makes an intelligible sound. “Whatever. Where do I go?”

“His office, dear brother. 402.”

“Yeah, I know, it’s not the first time I’ve been summoned by the shark.”

“What?!”

“Um anyway, talk to you soon. Kisses and uh, crumpets!”

Charles disconnects the call and thumps his forehead on the wall in front of him, wanting to bash his head in and wipe his memory of the whole experience. He’s contemplating suicide by blunt trauma when Professor Lehnsherr knocks on the door jamb, his eyebrow raised. Charles is a lot afraid and a little turned on. “My office, Mr. Xavier. Pronto.”

He follows Lehnsherr’s heels like an obedient dog, feeling more and more foolish by the second. He’s a grown man, for god’s sake, not some schoolboy about to get spanked for some minor infraction.

As soon as they enter Lehnsherr’s office, his strong scent overpowering the small room, he’s told to take a seat. His limbs are shaking as he pulls himself a chair and sits on it, unsteadily, one sweaty hand clutching his phone and the other settled close to him on his lap, as though afraid Lehnsherr will leap across the desk and attack.

He keeps his eyes downcast, avoiding the sharp shard of Lehnsherr’s piercing gaze, thinking belatedly about how unlike his brother he’s behaving. Wesley would sit back in the chair, meet his gaze defiantly, maybe even put his feet up on the table—

Once again, Charles wonders what an idiot he has for a brother. He shudders at the thought of being so ill-mannered.

Lehnsherr has his arms folded across his chest, the bulge of his biceps emphasised. Charles has no choice but to determinedly look up and admire them, especially when the man shuts the door of his office and ambles over to him. He stands leaning against the desk almost casually, his narrowed green eyes assessing him and undoubtedly thinking about where to hide his body.

“You’re not Wesley, are you?” he finally says, gaze openly roaming over Charles’ face.

He clears his throat, concentrating on dispelling his clipped posh accent and pronouncing all of his consonants. “Sure I am, prof. Who else could I be?”

“You’ve got…” Lehnsherr trails off, looking unfocused for just one brief moment. “Extra freckles.”

A hand almost instinctively flies up to cover his nose. He’s always too aware of how distinctly the pair of freckles on his nose stand out, having been the butt of Wesley’s jokes the last decade of his life. He’d always been the more shy twin, between the two of them, transplanted from British soil right onto American shores to live with Wesley and their father when they were ten. While the adults had found his accent adorable, the other children hadn’t been so welcoming. And the sun wasn’t as weak as it was back in London, so Charles had managed to grow more freckles in two weeks than he’d accumulated in the span of his life before the transfer.

“I’ve… I’ve always had freckles,” Charles says, attempting to be gruff and dismissive but only succeeding in making Lehnsherr’s amused smile stretch further on his lips.

“I see,” the man says lowly. “So, Wesley, how is your brother doing?”

Charles freezes. His pulse throbs in his ears. This is the end of his life as he knows it.

“Fine,” he says, swallowing. “He’s fine.”

“That’s interesting,” Lehnsherr comments, coming off the table to walk around his chair and stand behind him. His voice drops lower, becomes silkier, as he speaks almost directly into his ear. “Yesterday you said you couldn’t come to class because your brother was in the hospital.

“I said what?!”

At exactly that moment, there’s a knock on the door.

“Would you be so kind as to let me in, oh good sir?” a muffled voice asks.

“I do not speak like that,” he huffs to himself, fuming.

“Excuse me?” Lehnsherr spins round to face him, stopping on his way to the door.

“Nothing,” he says immediately, shaking his head. The moment the professor turns his back again, Charles smacks his forehead on the desk.

Lehnsherr opens the door of his office where his brother, his bane, stands wearing almost all of his clothes, carrying eight of his textbooks, his glasses balanced on his nose and the most constipated expression on his face.

“Good morrow,” Wesley then says, looking up at Lehnsherr haughtily.

Charles proceeds to continue doing the less painful act of slamming his head on the oak table in front of him. Wesley’s trying too hard, Charles thinks, utterly chagrined. This is going to end in flames. When Lehnsherr looks back, Charles doesn’t have to fake the patented Wesley Bitch Face™ settled on his skin.

“Charles, I’m assuming,” Lehnsherr says, glancing pointedly at the offensively messy tie around his neck.

“That is indeed correct,” Wesley replies, to his combined horror and embarrassment.

“Please take a seat next to your brother,” says Lehnsherr, closing the door behind Wesley, who struts in and collapses into the chair next to him. Charles is too busy covering his face with his hands to spare him a look. Lehnsherr leisurely ambles over to his seat on the other side of his table, looking from Charles to Wesley in turn.

“Wesley,” Lehnsherr calls, and they both look up.

Charles elbows Wesley in the ribs.

Lehnsherr leans back in his chair, fingers interlocked over his stomach.

“So, which one of you boys is going to own up first?”

Wesley’s face falls. Charles turns to look at his brother and for once, feels himself cave into the emotion of sympathy swelling in his chest. They’ve both tried their utmost—Wesley is even wearing Charles’s wristwatch, the fact that it’s upside down notwithstanding, and the look of sorrow on his normally impish face make him want to clutch his brother close.

“Sorry,” he whispers, both to Lehnsherr and his brother.

Wesley turns to look at him, then looks at his teacher, echoing his apology.

“Me too. I’m sorry,” he mumbles, taking off his glasses.

Lehnsherr nods slowly, then leans forward onto his desk. “I’m very disappointed in the two of you. This kind of behaviour is intolerable, and can get you both expelled.” At the mention of the word, Charles stiffens even further. “Did that not occur to you before you decided to put up this act?”

It should’ve, Charles thinks to himself. I should have been more firm, more mature more...something. More of everything, he thinks, stricken. How desperate had we been? An entire year of academia at stake but...had it been enough to warrant expulsion? Wesley is brash and reckless and most of the time utterly tactless, but he’s honest, at least, and true to his convictions. Charles is supposed to be his older brother, supposed to guide and help him grow, and instead of putting his foot down, he’d instead enabled his little brother to do the most idiotic thing possible instead of letting him own up to his own mistakes. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Love isn’t supposed to be rational, and of all the people in the world, Wesley is the one person Charles can never be logical about.

So he heaves a long, bracing sigh before leaving the flat American accent for his more natural cadence, saying, “It was all my idea and I should get the punishment.”

Lehnsherr raises his brow. Wesley turns in his seat, eyes wide.

“What?! No, Charlie, you don’t have to. It was all my idea.” Wesley faces Lehnsherr, hands fisted on the table. “Sir, I was the one who asked Charles to do the exam. I should suffer the punishment all on my own.”

“I’m older,” Charles argues, leaning forward in the chair. “I shouldn’t have encouraged this, I should’ve stopped him from doing this.” His eyes begin to water. “I should’ve,” he sniffs, “I should’ve been a better brother. I’ve been so ignorant, always caring about myself…”

“Charlie,” Wesley whispers, tugging Charles by his arm until he moves forward and grabbing him by the waist so he can pull him into his lap. Charles wraps his arms around Wesley’s neck as the younger twin rubs his brother’s back soothingly. He looks over his shoulder at Lehnsherr. “See what you’ve done?!” he barks at his teacher, clutching his brother to his chest. “You’ve made my brother cry. I hope you’re happy.”

Lehnsherr opens his mouth, then closes it.

Charles buries his face into Wesley’s shoulder, calmed by the way his brother cradles his head and wipes his tears with the soft blue cardigan he’s wearing.

“Shh, it’s okay Charlie. You’ve done nothing wrong. You’re the best brother in the world, okay?”

Charles shakes his head, but Wesley simply strokes his hair back and presses a wet kiss on his brother’s cheek.

Lehnsherr shifts in his seat.  

Wesley seems to have noticed, and as though aiming to get the same reaction, he kisses his brother again, this time on the corner of his mouth.

Lehnsherr clears his throat but doesn’t speak.

Charles, too aware of the way Lehnsherr is trying and failing to look away, rubs a hand over his face and shifts in Wesley’s lap until they’re face to face.

Wesley pulls him close enough to whisper against his ear, “I think it’s time for plan B.”

All of his earlier reluctance dissipates. He turns around to look at Lehnsherr once, who is sitting low in his seat, face flushed red, before turning back to Wesley and spreading his thighs apart so he’s straddling him in the chair.

“I agree,” he whispers back, letting his lips graze his brother’s ear.

Wesley holds him by his waist, tilting his head so Lensherr can see, and shuts his eyes, chin raised up. Charles places his hands on each of his muscular shoulders  and decides to stretch their show a little, rubbing his lips up and down Wesley’s pale neck.

The reaction is loud; Wesley moans, clutching him tighter, his eyes flying open. Charles nuzzles his collar bone, pulling down his horrid tie, then licks up his throat, leaving a discernibly wet trail.

All for Lehnsherr to see.

He nips at Wesley’s jaw, travelling upwards, breathing across his mouth unevenly, then dives down to place his lips on similarly lush red ones.

Wesley pulls fistfuls of his ratty t-shirt as their lips meet, his mouth stiff as though shocked by the sensation before he stretches up and licks, tongue dashing across his teeth and lips and plunging deeper into the delicate wetness of his mouth. Charles makes a keening noise as Wesley nips at his bottom lip, tugging at it when they break apart for air.

Wesley,” he breathes lustily, and this may be a show, but it doesn’t feel like it anymore. The hardness pressing against the front of his brother’s pants is hard to ignore, and Charles can’t help but thrust against him when Wesley squeezes a handful of his arse.

“Sorry, Professor,” Wesley tells him, even as he continues to encourage Charles to rut against him. “Sometimes we get carried away. I just love my brother so much, you know?” And at this, he nips at Charles’ lips, gets him to open up for another filthy kiss. “You could ask us to leave and we’ll go. But if you want, we could stay,” Wesley bucks up against the weight of Charles on his lap, making him gasp, “and you could join us, if you wanted.”

Lehnsherr is usually impenetrable, but there’s sweat gathering at his temples and on his upper lip, and his fingers are clenched so tightly together the knuckles have turned white. He doesn’t say a word, even as he stands, and the front of his trousers are so visibly tented, neither of the twins can take their eyes off of him. He rounds the desk, past Charles and Wesley, and for a brief, delirious moment they think he’s actually going to leave, to walk down the hall to the Dean’s office and have them punished for it but—there’s a shift in the air, and when he looks at them over his shoulder, he’s twisting the lock on the door.

“Mr. Xavier,” Lehnsherr begins, although he has to clear his throat to continue. “Wesley. If you’re truly apologetic about trying to cheat at an examination, which, I will remind you, warrants a failing gradein my class and merits academic probation,”  Lehnsherr notes, ironically enough, that it’s Charles who flinches at the threat, before continuing, “I suggest you let your brother punish you in the manner befitting the crime.” He sits back on his desk chair, regal despite his obvious state of arousal.

The twins look at each other, and it’s uncanny how choreographed the glance looks when it’s really not. They’re attuned to each other in even the most basic senses that it’s difficult to tell them apart when they’re like that.

“And what manner would that be?” Charles asks, the accent curling around his vowels.

Lehnsherr directs his gaze at Wesley. “Let your brother bend you over my desk and have him spank you. You will count before each hit and I will tell you when to stop when I think you’ve had enough.” Wesley visibly gulps at his command, and Lehnsherr smirks. “And think about what you’ve done.”

The “Yes, sir,” that comes in reply makes the professor’s cock jump within the confines of his trousers. Charles is quick to obey, getting to his feet and guiding Wesley into position. Lehnsherr has to roll his chair back to allot them space, but the view is fantastic. Charles rolls Wesley’s trousers down just enough to expose his arse, his hand poised above a cheek, waiting for Lehnsherr’s command.

“Alternate left and right,” he instructs. “Don’t stop until I tell you to.”

Wesley clenches his jaw and his thighs on the first slap. Charles is doing it hard, doling out punishment like he means it, probably thinking that the faster he’ll get Wesley to break, the faster they’ll earn Lehnsherr’s forgiveness. He’s not wrong in a sense; his professor is a hard man but he’s not a bastard. What Wesley doesn’t expect is Charles getting a kick out of it. He’s breathing heavily, his panting just as laboured as if he were the one being punished, and his hand must sting from eleven consecutive blows already. When Wesley jerks at the twelfth, his cock rubbing against the edge of the desk, Charles presses against his hip and—god, he’s hard, he’s hard from this, from exacting discipline and getting Wesley pink and pliant under him.

By the eighteenth strike, the skin of Wesley’s arse feels hot and achey, and he can’t stop the few pinpricks of tears rising from his eyes. “Stop, please. No more.”

“I didn’t hear you apologize, Mr. Xavier. Count.”

“Nineteen! Please, Professor, please, please…”

“Still not an apology, Wesley. Continue, Charles.”

“T-twenty,” And now Wesley’s frame is trembling with his sobbing, and Lehnsherr raises a hand to still Charles’ next strike. “I’ve learned my lesson, P-Professor. I’ll be good, I promise, I’ll be your good boy. I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

Lehnsherr nods, and Charles breathes out a sigh of relief. “Wesley, darling,” he cooes, smoothing the hair out of his brother’s eyes. “Shhh, you’re alright. You’re alright.” He helps Wesley upright, caressing the indent on his stomach where the edge of the desk had dug into him. He kisses his brother tenderly, lets him finish his weeping at his shoulder. “Well, Professor?” Charles turns to Lehnsherr, eyes a bright electric blue. “Was that satisfying enough?”

But Lehnsherr doesn’t immediately reply in the stern, authoritative manner they’re expecting. He looks conflicted, gazing from Wesley’s ruddy, sore arse to where Charles’s tight jeans stretch over the shape of his erection.

“Sir?” he asks, but the man simply runs a hand over his face and makes a move to get up. Charles immediately heads over to him, placing a hand on the arm of his chair. “Where are you going, sir?”

“I—I need to go and… I need to take care of something,” he says, strained, looking down at his flagging hardness, then shutting his eyes.

Charles chuckles, looking at Wesley from over his shoulder, reading his twin easily as being just as interested in making their teacher stay.

“Wesley and I will gladly help,” Charles nods, eyes wide and innocent, even as he whips off his t-shirt and throws it down on the floor.

Lehnsherr swallows, his mouth gaping as Charles places his palm on his chest and settles him back in his chair.

“You don’t really want to leave,” Charles says, crouching down so he’s level with Lehnsherr’s crotch. He runs his hand up the inside of the older man’s thigh, groping for as much of him as he can. Lehnsherr shivers, his hands clutching the armrests with force. “And we don’t want you to leave, either. We still have to thank you.”

Charles leans in and presses his lips to the bulge in Lehnsherr’s slacks. In response, Lehnsherr places his fist in his mouth. Charles reaches out for his arm and pulls it down, running his thumb over the bite marks. “Please, Professor Lehnsherr,” he breathes, taking the man’s broad hand in both of his own and spreading his fingers out. He folds all but the longest finger, the middle one, and slots it into his mouth. His lips stretch around it as he brings the length of finger further, deeper into his mouth, keeping his eyes trained on Lehnsherr as he does so.

It’s not difficult to sink his mouth lower, moan and let the finger fill his mouth until it’s fully disappeared, especially when the look of incredulity on Lehnsherr is so encouraging.

He releases the finger, but not without dragging his tongue across its length. He makes sure to accentuate the wetness glazing his lips as he twists his head and sucks on the lip of Lehnsherr’s thumb.

“Ah fuck,” Lehnsherr growls, and the low sound is startling in the silence of the room. Charles makes sure to dart his tongue out, a coy lick at the pad of his finger, ending it with gentle teeth around the circumference of the professor’s knuckle. With his eyes bright with arousal, he makes Lehnsherr watch as he slowly scrapes his teeth teasingly along the length to the tip, before hollowing his cheeks out and letting it go with a slick pop. Lehnsherr breathes harshly, fixated on the swollen redness of his mouth.

Charles rises from his crouch, pleased when he feels his brother wrap his arms around him from behind and drop a hand low, down to his zipper. He fingers the metal, pulling it down when he knows Lehnsherr is observing, and tugs his tight jeans down his hips, baring him to the man.  

He tries not to think too much about how they’re both completely naked, standing in Professor Lehnsherr’s office, trying to seduce him.

This afternoon could’ve gone worse.

Wesley kisses Charles’ shoulder, his fingers gently tweaking one of his nipples.

“You know,” he begins, “my brother has the biggest crush on you, Professor Lehnsherr.” Their eyes meet, and Charles feels himself blushing, feeling more exposed by that statement than by his nakedness. “And,” Wesley purrs, kissing up his neck, “he really wants you to fuck him.”

Charles lets his head drop back on Wesley’s shoulder, his hair fanning out against his skin.

“You do, don’t you Charlie?”

Yes,” he replies in a moan, delirious with the thrill, the promise of being taken by the object of his wet dreams since his first year.

“I think Professor Lehnsherr needs a bit more convincing,” Wesley says, resting one hand on Charles’s lower back as he gives him a light push forward. Submissively, Charles steps towards him, sinuously making himself a seat across Lehnsherr’s thighs.

Lehnsherr immediately straightens, involuntarily thrusting up against Charles’s thigh. Charles gasps, cupping a hand over his mouth.

“So impatient,” Wesley chuckles from behind, walking over to the front of Lehnsherr’s desk. “I haven’t even prepared him for you yet.”

This time Lehnsherr gasps, but only Charles hears and feels the sharp inhale against his bare chest.

“Do you have anything I can use?” Wesley asks, rifling through his drawers unabashedly.

Lehnsherr continues to stare at Charles, who stares back just as silently, nothing but their silent breathing and Wesley’s frantic rustling to hear.

“May I undress you, sir?” Charles asks, wriggling on the man’s lap so that he has more space.

Lehnsherr swallows dryly. His mouth opens, but a sound doesn’t come out.

“If you want him to fuck you, then yeah, I suppose that would be a start,” Wesley chimes in ever so helpfully, grinning at the bottle of lotion he’s managed to unearth from within Lehnsherr’s desk.

Charles turns back around to look at the professor, fingering the knot of the man’s tie. He lets his inhibitions abate as he undoes it, eyes on the man’s throat as his Adam’s apple drifts up and down. The tie comes off, then his shirt, with Lehnsherr’s distracting assistance, before the man hurriedly takes off his undershirt and belt. Charles places his hands on the armrest and lifts himself up as Lehnsherr takes his slacks off, kicking them down his legs and letting them fall to the floor, before sitting back down—just low enough to let the head of his cock rub against Lehnsherr’s.

One hand clutches the material of Lehnsherr’s boxers while the other remains on the armrest as he lifts himself and drops his hips low again, canting them so his cock slides against Lehnsherr’s and elicits a low hiss of pleasure.

“He’s such a tease, isn’t he?” Wesley says from behind him, the sound of his fingers being slathered in lotion making Charles impatient. He continues to rut forward, fingers gripping Lehnsherr’s boxers and trailing down just to snake back up again, but this time under the hem, his warm fingers tracing the flesh of Lehnsherr’s hip. He brushes his cock but retrieves his hand, pleased when the man throws his head back and grits his teeth. “Turn around, Charlie, I want to see you.”

Slipping his hand back out, he hoists himself up and turns, making sure his cock strokes a line of wet precome up against Lehnsherr’s torso, and as he does so, his thigh brushes Lehnsherr’s cock, the roundness of his arse curving out well enough to give Lehnsherr an enticing view.

Wesley smirks at the sight of him, stepping closer to place a knee between his bracketed legs and lean in for a kiss. Charles opens his mouth for plundering, smiling when Wesley’s tongue strokes across the inside of his bottom lip. He leaves before the kiss deepens, going back to stand in front of them to watch. Charles pouts, knowing Wesley can’t resist the way he protrudes the fleshy redness of his lips.

“Charlie,” his brother intones, placing the bottle of lotion on the table and kneeling down in front of the chair. “I think it’s time to get you ready before Lehnsherr’s dick falls off.”

Charles tips his head back to look at Lehnsherr, who slowly brings his gaze to his mouth, then up to his eyes. His cock feels thick and stiff against the crease of his arse, and the desire to have it inside him drives him to rock back against him in his lap, feeling the hardness of it against his soft flesh.

“Hold him open him for me,” Wesley says, picking up one of Charles’ legs by the knee.

“What?” Lehnsherr questions.

“Hold him open,” Wesley repeats, demonstrating by lifting both of Charles’ legs and parting them obscenely wide, each foot placed on each armrest. His cock is flat against his stomach and Lehnsherr’s fingers are almost shy as they reach down to hold him by his thighs, before moving lower to spread his arse cheeks open. Air scented with Lehnsherr’s cologne hits him intimately, cooling his hot skin and his sweat. Lehnsherr’s forearms are pressed tightly against his thighs. His fingertips are pressing marks into his tender flesh, keeping him pinned and unable to move. Unwilling, too—being plastered to the man’s chest is comfortable, despite how indecently laid out he is, with his knees almost up to his chin.

Wesley shuffles closer to them on the carpet, moving his head between Charles’ legs.

“Make sure you hold him tight,” Wesley tells Lehnsherr, as he starts to trace the sensitive circle of his pucker. “He squirms a lot.”

Lehnsherr nods, his cheek brushing against Charles’. Charles turns to look up at him, flushed, silently waiting for Lehnsherr to look at his face instead of where Wesley’s fingers are caressing him. When Lehnsherr does finally let his gaze flit down to his, he brings his hands up to cup the man’s chiseled jaw and kisses him. Lehnsherr gasps, his hands almost faltering from where they grip him, but then he moves his head forward and kisses back, his mouth closing over Charles’ lips and sucking ardently until he whimpers and has to turn himself away.

“I’m going to open you up now, Charlie. Make sure you relax.” Wesley kisses his thigh once before dipping a moist finger inside him, deeper as he stays still, deep enough to make him bite at the sore lip that Lehnsherr had been tasting. He places a hand in Lehnsherr’s hair and tugs, too aroused by the sensation and the sheer thought of having two pairs of eyes on his exposed body. When Wesley pushes upwards and adds another finger, he feels an ache, the initial discomfort of being breached that’s a lot like swallowing too much, but then Wesley smooths his fingers repetitively in and out, and the consistency of the rhythm has him finally easing up to the intrusion. He inserts the third, smiling up at Lehnsherr and saying, “He’s so tight. So wet. You’re going to love fucking him.”

Charles doesn’t need to turn his face to see Lehnsherr’s reaction, as he curses fitfully into his ear and latches onto the skin of his shoulder with his teeth. Charles strokes his hair back, quietly cajoling him.

Wesley has his other hand on his own cock, his movements slow and lazy. “I can fit my entire hand inside him,” he brags, alluding to the one night where he did, in fact, loosen Charles up enough to get his fist past his hole. Lehnsherr resolutely spreads his cheeks wider. Charles gasps and throws a hand over his eyes.

The three fingers inside him rotate, move in and out, widen and stretch him until his entrance is an acceptable, satisfactory size.

“I think you’re ready, Charlie,” he says, sitting back on his heels. “Come down.”

“Wait,” Lehnsherr murmurs. “You said you could fit your whole hand.” Under his hands, Charles is trembling like a leaf, half-delirious in pleasure and more than ready to try.

“You want that, Charlie?”

“Oh god, yes, yes!”

There’s a pause as Wesley squirts more lotion in his hand, and Lehnsherr’s hand burns where he’s holding Charles open. Charles thinks he’s going to get bruises from the grip, and the thought is so delightful, it makes his toes curl. Wesley takes it as a sign to slip in a fourth finger. It’s a tight fit, and Charles is too anxious to be fucked for it to go in properly without hurting. “You have to relax, Charlie. Come on, baby.” Lehnsherr helps, as well, turning his face so that he can lick at the tendon of Charles’ neck, trying so hard to contain himself.

“Let go, liebling,” he says, voice low and husky with desire. Charles can’t help the jerk of his hips from hearing that.

“I-I’m fine, just, ah, put your—mmm—fingers in…”

“Not while you’re still tight like this,” Wesley says, at the same moment Charles’ back arches as Lehnsherr sinks his teeth into the junction of his neck and shoulder, clenching so tightly around Wesley’s fingers it’s almost painful. He’s so beautiful, his face contorted in mixed pain and pleasure, and the spurt of precome on the tip of his cock is delicious to behold.

He goes limp in the aftermath of the bite, Lehnsherr turning the claiming mark into a sucking bruise. One of Charles’ arms come around to grip the back of Lehnsherr’s neck, reaching up so that his hand can twine in his hair, keeping him placed perfectly at the crook of Charles’ neck. Charles’ chest heaving, and Wesley is enraptured, both by the flush traveling down it and the way the widest part of his hand is breaching his twin’s hole until Charles is taking in all of him, his muscles fluttering over the tight fit of Wesley’s fist.

He makes a garbled sound when Wesley’s gotten in all the way to his wrist, slick with the lubricant. The slight flex of his twin’s fingers inside him is catastrophic, and Charles is limp with pleasure, all but surrendering to the hands holding him open. There’s a slick sound as Wesley withdraws, and dazedly, Charles looks down. His twin matches his heated gaze, letting him watch as he enters him with the tips of his fingers first, then with the lengths of his fingers up to the base of the knuckles, winking when the palm of his hand eases in, drinking in Charles’ wide gaze. Wesley bites the soft skin of his thigh before withdrawing just a bit and thrusting in again gently, testing the give.

When he says, “I’m ready...oh, just fuck me already,” Wesley takes his fist out before kneeling back.

Lehnsherr’s hands slowly let go of Charles, and their absence is strikingly disappointing. He does however aid him in bringing his legs down from where they’re folded, placing them neatly back on the floor.

Charles shakily comes down on the carpet to be level with his twin, ablaze from head to toe. Wesley wraps both of his hands around Charles’ cock, giving him a squeeze.

“I want to fuck you real bad,” he breathes against Charles’ hair, before dashing his tongue out and licking at the trail of goosebumps on his chest, even going lower and lapping at a hardened pink nipple. Wesley has always been so eager for him, always wanting to lick and suck and kiss him, put his fingers inside him and open him wide for his girth, and Charles has always been the fortunate recipient of his enthusiasm.

He wants to say yes, wants to allow the phantom feeling of his fingers to be replaced by the hot throb of his cock; he wants to sink over him and be taken, roughly, on every surface that could accommodate them—

But then there’s Lehnsherr, kicking off his boxers to free his erection, long and thick and veiny, circumcised from the tip and damp down its shaft. Charles feels weak-kneed even when sitting, the anticipation churning in his gut and making his tongue feel thick in his mouth.

“May I lick it, sir?” The question is out before he can keep the desire tamped down. Wesley is at his side immediately, looking up at Lehnsherr with the same irresistible expression they both know is uncannily effective. Lehnsherr’s eyes flit from Wesley’s face to Charles’ before he takes a step forward, close enough for his cock to be an inch away from both their mouths, and nods once.

They move forward together, one twin on either side of him, each with their tongues darting forward to lick down the entire length of Lehnsherr’s cock.

Lehnsherr groans throatily, his head rolling back as a bead of sweat makes its way down from his jaw to his collar. Wesley winks at his brother and dips his head at the base of Lehnsherr’s cock, the tip of his tongue lapping at the man’s balls. Charles mirrors him from the other side, their tongues brushing. A burst of electricity ricochets through him; they lick up and down him in unison one more time before connecting their lips and moaning into each other’s mouths. They share Lehnsherr’s thick, pungent taste, mingled with their own, their wet red lips parted wide.

“I wish I could fuck you too,” Wesley says, coming off Charles’ mouth noisily and running his hand down his back, a finger sinking past his arse cheeks to brush against his hole.

Please,” Charles begs, breath hitching. “Someone please—”

“Professor?” Wesley looks up at the man almost appraisingly, gesturing for him to join him down on the carpet.

Finally, Charles thinks, watching Lehnsherr’s muscles ripple and clench as he moves.

“Lie on your back,” Wesley demands. “Charlie likes sitting on top.”

The sight of Professor Lehnsherr being so servile makes him unbelievably flustered.

“Here,” Wesley says, taking a condom out of the trousers that Charles had been wearing and throwing it to his twin, inclining his head towards Lehnsherr’s fully erect cock. Charles tears it open and places it upright in his mouth, crawling on his hands and knees then ducking his head to adeptly wrap it down the length of Lehnsherr’s cock. He doesn’t use his hands once—doesn’t need to—he uses his teeth and lips to envelop the thin, flavoured material all the way down and around. “There we are,” Wesley says, his hand wrapped around his cock tightly. “Now go on, make him forget his name.”

Charles places a hand under himself, spreading his hole wide as he straddles the man’s torso. He lets the fat head rub against his entrance, rolling his hips backwards and forwards, a hand placed on Lehnsherr’s chest to keep him steady. He lets himself down, braced and anxious and yet eager for the stretch, until the thickness of Lehnsherr’s cock is filling him expansively. He’s taken Wesley’s fist—he knows his limits go beyond this, but Lehnsherr is still impressively endowed, burning his skin as he stretches it out. His thighs ache by the time he’s settled himself down over the entirety of his length, but he still clenches hard, murmuring, “Fuck into me,” over the sound of Lehnsherr gasping.

He grinds down effusively, hands up in his hair and back curved to let Wesley see how much he enjoys it, how much control he has over his pleasure. Lehnsherr complies, his hips snapping up erratically. A balled fist makes its way back in Charles’ mouth again, muffling his loud noises.

Wesley, always determined to drive him crazy with his ministrations, bends him forward towards Lehnsherr and inserts two fingers in his hole, drawing out a yell from Charles’ throat.

“You could take me too,” he whispers with intent, shifting closer to place one leg on either side of Lehnsherr, positioned behind Charles. “You want to, Charlie? You want me inside you too? We could both fill you up to brim—would you like that? You might not be able to walk for days.”

It’s as though Wesley knows exactly what he wants. He moans out consent, pulling on Wesley’s hands and turning his head to look at him. His twin kisses him down his face, harder on his lips, before pulling away with a bite of his cheek.

Wesley enters him slowly, holding Charles completely still by the waist and the hip. Even Lehnsherr is up on his elbows watching, a finger stroking the bottom of Charles’ chin as though trying to be comforting.

“Are you alright?” Lehnsherr asks him, voice gravelly and low. “It’s not hurting too much, is it?”

Charles gives his head a shake, breathing out harshly and rapidly over Lehnsherr’s chest.

“I’m fine,” he huffs out, the head of Wesley’s cock now pulsing inside him, fitted against Lehnsherr’s and carefully delving in deeper. Wesley has the familiar shape, the one he’s more accustomed to—but now, with the tight fit, the further he goes, the more pressure he feels against his prostate; it’s not as familiar, yet it’s overwhelmingly incredible. So he breathily says, “I love this,” making Lehnsherr’s cock twitch inside him. Deep, tight and hot inside him. “More,” he tells Wesley, reaching behind to shove his hips forward. “I want more.”

Wesley smooths his hands down Charles’ chest and palms at his cock. He aches everywhere, pleasantly, his body stimulated to an extreme intensity, and he could cry out and come now but he knows more is awaiting him.

“You sure?” Wesley asks, and he nods, holding himself up to let Wesley gain more access to his cock. Lehnsherr immediately holds his hips in place, skin over skin, thumbs stroking at the v-lines of his groin. He can’t imagine, in that moment, more pleasure than he’s experiencing now. He doesn’t think it’s possible.

Wesley thrusts into him, hitting the perfect spot, always meeting the mark. Lehnsherr squeezes him, blunt nails digging into his pale flesh as he feels the movements of Wesley’s cock against his own. The professor’s office is suddenly filled with sounds of friction and laboured breaths, gasps and jarring impacts on soft, sweaty flesh, tangled arms and legs chafing against the coarse carpet—

There’s another hand on his cock, but he can tell whose; it frantically pumps him when his hips feel too heavy, his head falls back on his brother, feeling too swollen and glutted with pleasure. He cries out, tears running down his face, knees bruised and thighs quivering, so close he could scream. He’s oversensitized to everything: the throb of being doubly penetrated, the fingertips grappling for his soft skin, the hands closed around his cock, wet fingers on his nipples, teeth in his neck, a palm skimming down his trembling thigh—

Strong arms, familiar arms, wrap around his waist as he’s held and thrusted into, fucked with fervency. The man beneath him is whimpering and a part of his dazed mind reminds him that it’s completely unlike him to be so undone, hips stuttering on their way up, so he clenches his muscles, hoping for more power over him. It’s effective, instantly—for both sides. Wesley goes stiff behind him. “I’m going to—”

“Yes, yes, go on—”

And then Wesley does, he pants against the hand Charles has cupped over his mouth for precaution and lets his control crumble as he climaxes. He hears his brother say, “Love you so much Charlie,” against his skin, close enough to make him shiver. Wesley places a kiss on his temple and glances down at Lehnsherr, who looks up at the twins with wonder.

“Shoot your load, Lehnsherr,” Wesley demands. “I want to suck him off.”

“Oh Gott.”

“Yeah.”

Lehnsherr doesn’t miss the opportunity to hold Charles close, pin him against his chest so that Wesley can carefully pull out. Suddenly he feels too loose, like a space in him needs to be filled, and almost instinctively he rolls his hips with vigour just so he can compensate, enhancing the blinding pleasure gained from Lehnsherr alone.

“Yes,” Lehnsherr rasps out, holding Charles’ hips and thrusting into them, up off the carpet. Charles clenches again, testing Lehnsherr’s control, and finding the pace that will lead to his release. With muscles aching from exertion and fatigue, he’s almost relieved when Lehnsherr winds his arms around him and rolls them over. Despite it not being his preference, being under the man feels thrilling—Lehnsherr holds him up by his thighs and fucks up into him, the carpet burning his back, branding him the way Wesley is marked by the assault of his hands—

“Touch me,” he begs, but the man doesn’t submit; his eyes are squeezed shut and yet he knows that Lehnsherr’s hands remain unmoving under Wesley’s influence. Growling, he fists both hands in Lehnsherr’s hair and grits out, “Faster.

His command alarms Wesley as well, who smirks proudly at him as he crawls closer to peck a kiss on his bitten lips.

“You just love cock, don’t you?” he whispers, licking across his mouth. Charles whines in response before he’s suddenly stopped and held, back no longer rubbing against the carpet. Lehnsherr buries his face in his chest, mouth pressed against his skin as he lets out a long, broken moan.

The sound is far more attractive than it should be.

“Sorry,” Lehnsherr gasps, lifting himself up and gently removing Charles’ leg from where it rests on his shoulder. “I didn’t say—”

Charles shakes his head, watching Lehnsherr catch his breath and swiftly pull his cock out, but before he can speak or pull him close for a kiss, Wesley begins kissing down his middle, nuzzling at the wiry hair above his cock before finally sucking sloppy kisses up his hardened length. Too knackered to encourage or goad, he lets his eyes roll back as he lays limp. Wesley knows what to do, his body too much like his own; he stretches his lips around Charles’ head and descends, all the way down, fitting his cock in his tight, constricted throat until his nose meets his skin. He cups Wesley’s head and thrusts once, then twice, shivering with the proximity of his orgasm. Wesley’s tongue licks leisurely at what it reaches, dripping with saliva, messy but endearingly passionate.

“Wes,” he whispers, then “Wes,” again, this time with a hitch in his voice, hips tilting up completely to rise off the carpet—

The pleasure of it peaks, sensations escalating. Wesley doesn’t even have to deliberately swallow from the way he comes so thick and low in his throat, but he does moan, loud enough to fill the sudden silence in the room.

Charles has to bite his lip to avoid being just as loud; his futility, however, is evident by the way he gutturally shouts into the crook of his arm.

When Wesley tentatively comes off him, he rolls onto his side, panting for air, his heartbeat deafeningly loud in his ears.

“You always taste so good,” Wesley murmurs, collapsing next to him. His hand reaches out to stroke his hair away from his face. Lehnsherr is behind him, his hand splayed across his back, presumably feeling the abrasions colouring his skin. The professor shuffles closer to him and drops a kiss on his cheek.

“You’re—you’re not too badly hurt, are you?” Lehnsherr enquires, warmth and worry radiating from him.

“I’m fine. I’m great,” he insists, turning to look up at Lehnsherr and smiling sweetly, though tiredly, to reiterate.

“Hey,” Wesley interrupts, “I was smacked in the ass twenty times, nobody’s asking me.”

“You liked it,” Charles says, at the same time Lehnsherr says, “You deserved it.”

They both chuckle, even the infamously strict professor, as Wesley rolls his eyes flippantly and looks away, slightly chagrined.

“I am sorry, by the way,” Wesley mutters, idly playing with Charles’ hair. “I’m not going to cheat again, I promise. I was just really scared about failing the year. It—it was all I could think about, and…” he sighs. “I’m just really sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Charles turns to look at Lehnsherr, who raises a brow in thought before gracefully standing up and removing the rubber around his cock. He tosses it in a trash can and reaches for his boxers, slowly putting them on.

“Well,” he begins, picking his slacks from off the floor and tossing Charles his own clothes. “I am still very disappointed with you for what you’ve done.”

Wesley pouts and looks down at the ground.

“But,” he says, buttoning his shirt, “I know there’s potential in you to do very well. I also know that with enough help, you can do exceptionally well. Which is why,” he pauses, flicking up his collar and wrapping his tie around his neck as Wesley practically squeezes his brother’s arm in anticipation, “I’m prepared to submit the exam paper from this morning on the condition that you will work diligently next year and see me once a week for extra tuition.”

Joy slowly brightens Wesley’s face. The relief is like a tidal wave crashing onto him after the night of worry and the whole morning of pacing the flat and waiting for Charles to inevitably call. With the adrenaline coursing through him the happiness multiplies tenfold, and he’s so giddy with victory he just has to hug someone.

“Thank you so much, professor,” he says, briefly wrapping his arms around the taller man’s torso. Lehnsherr stares at Charles wide-eyed. “I’ll be extra good. And if I’m not,” he stops to think as he bends over for his jeans, “I’ll let you punish me.”

Wesley!” Charles snaps hotly, unable to hide his disapproval. Lehnsherr scowls at Wesley before turning to look at Charles, his expression softening.

“What?” Wesley says. Then he looks from his professor to his brother and the steady, unmoving gaze they’re sharing. “Oh.”

Lehnsherr looks away first, fumbling with his belt. “I need to leave soon. My break is over. I have a class to teach.” He clears his throat.

Charles finally hauls himself up onto his own feet, gathering the clothes that Wesley had come in wearing. His limbs still ache as he dresses himself, even accepting help from his brother as he shrugs his cardigan back on. The comfort of being back in his clothes and being himself again is indescribable.

The whole afternoon has been indescribable, but now it has to end.

Wesley is asking Lehnsherr, “Wasn’t that just the best sex you’ve ever had?”

Charles blushes when Lehnsherr looks at him, a shy smile in his green eyes. Afterglow looks nice on him, he muses, making his usually stern face soft and flushed, his lips kissable-looking, color high on his cheeks. It’s even better coupled with the wild bedhead they’ve created, short curls emerging from where it had once been neatly gelled this morning. Lehnsherr looks like a man who had been fucked within an inch of his life and thoroughly enjoyed every second of it.

Even though Charles had just had one of the most exhausting and exhilarating sex in his life, he can’t help the sharp bolt of lust that goes through him when he catalogues just how ruffled the professor looks, the muscles of his pectorals still shiny with sweat and the veins on his arms stark against his skin from the exertion.

Wesley takes his hand as they exit the room, belongings in hand. Charles looks over his shoulder to see Lehnsherr still looking at him. He stops.

Feeling slightly daring, he takes a deep breath and meets Lehnsherr’s gaze as he says, “I um...I graduate this year.”

Lehnsherr raises both of his brows.

“I guess what I mean is… I’ll no longer be a student.”

The professor waits patiently for Charles to elaborate, knotting his tie in a perfect Windsor. Charles’ gaze follows his hands, before snapping back to reality. “And if you want, I’d like to...er, take you out to coffee to sometime?” He doesn’t notice Wesley covering his palm over his eyes in secondhand embarrassment.

Lehnsherr grins toothily, coming to grip the both of them by the waists to pull them flush against him. “Skip the coffee. I’ll need incentive to tutor Wesley anyway.”

“Yes, sir,” Charles replies breathily. Wesley squeaks when Lehnsherr palms his arse through his jeans, mumbling, “Oh you fucker.” Lehnsherr gives him a quick pinch for it.

“Do you kiss your brother with that mouth?”

“I rim him too, wanna watch?”

Lehnsherr’s jaw goes slack, and his cock makes a valiant attempt at standing back to attention in his trousers. Before they leave, the older man regains enough of his composure to say, “And Mr. Xavier?” The twins both turn, already halfway out the door. The smell of sex is so strong in the office it’s strange to be greeted with fresh air when they’re leaving. Lehnsherr smirks, shrugging his blazer on. “Call me Erik.”

“Yes, sir,” Charles winks, even as Wesley rolls his eyes and has to literally drag him away from the office. Once they’re outside, walking with their arms around each other’s shoulders, Charles turns to his twin and looks at him fondly, saying, “You know… I’m suddenly not so mad at you anymore.”

Wesley pulls him closer, dropping a kiss on his head.

“It’s because you know I love you.”