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Chapter Text

Good Boys
Title: Good Boys, Part 1/?
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Erik/Charles
WC: 1131, this part
Summary: Charles has always been a good boy.
Inspired by the prompt on 1stclass_kink that Charles needs help from Erik coming to terms with the fact that he's attracted to men. Charles is gay, but he has repressed that as only Charles Frances Xavier can. Which means he's, er, half a virgin. Erik Lehnsherr is about to change this.
A/N: I felt like doing something without teh Magical Goggles of Slash where everyone is magically totally cool with the fact that they're being asked to have sex with men. I hope you like it! Also you can see how it ends from the first chapter, but I hope you'll get there with me! You are the sexiest lab rats in the world and have made me the weapon I am today.

In spite of his best efforts, Charles had always been a good boy.

His eyes shoot open and his hands clench on Erik’s shoulders.

A good boy – it was the curse of neglect, not abuse, that made him think, “If I only tried a bit harder,” and “Perhaps this time, if I make everything perfect, they will notice.”

Erik laughs against the pale skin over his collarbone and plants a kiss on his neck. 

And then after there was no longer any point in making them notice, there had still been the strange schoolboy’s pride at having raised himself. “Charles Xavier wouldn’t do that,” he would think. “Not because Mother wouldn’t wish him to or his stepfather might be incensed, but because it is not in Charles’ nature.” It was the sort of idea you got from reading too much Kipling, he’d thought later, but by then it was fixed in him. There were things that Charles Xavier did and things that Charles Xavier did not do.

“Fuck me,” Charles pants. “There. There. Erik. God – you’re – astounding.” The room seems saturated with new color. His whole body feels wildly, pricklingly alive. Erik’s cock nudges something in him again and he shudders and cries out, “I’m going to – you’re a god—you’re perfect—you’re huge--”

“You’re spoiled,” Erik hisses.

There were things Charles Xavier did not do, because Charles was a good boy. He did not go rampaging through the minds of strangers. He did not lie. He did not cheat at chess.

Erik is thrusting into him again and making Charles moan with abandon, his eyes flickering shut. Their breaths come raggedly, and Erik’s words are punctuated by his thrusts, fingers tightening on Charles’ hips. “You’ve – been waiting your whole -- life for this, haven’t you? To be fucked – like this? Haven’t you, Charles Xavier?”

“God, yes,” Charles shoves desperately back against him, wanting more. “I think I have.”

He did not fall for strange men. He did not fancy men at all. He had no interest in men, certainly not tall dark-haired Germans whose minds and bodies bore unthinkable strange scars, who could move metal with a thought or a touch.

There were things that Charles Xavier did and things that Charles Xavier did not do.

And allowing Erik Lehnsherr to fuck him in the ass fell squarely into the latter category.

At least that was what Charles would have thought three weeks ago.

“Fucking God, Erik,” Charles manages, tiny spots exploding behind his eyes, thrusting harder against Erik and seeing Erik’s eyes unfocus a little, and Erik murmurs, “Gott im Himmel, Charles, you’re too fucking perfect, you look fucking perfect like this, I’m going to—”

“Do it,” Charles groans, “I want you so fucking much, Erik, please,” and he can feel Erik’s release welling up and tightens his grip on Erik’s shoulders and Erik slides deeper into him, and his head lolls back and his eyes fall shut and his breath catches and Erik moans, “Charles – you’re so – fucking – exquisite,” and he feels the thought, I want to spend the rest of my life making you look like this, making you make that sound, making you come panting my name, you look perfect, you feel perfect, I have never wanted anything so much in my life, and then he can’t hold out any longer, feeling something unclench within him. As he comes he feels his body clamp around Erik’s cock, and Erik groans and spends himself inside him.

They sever reluctantly and Erik stares at him in awe. “Charles,” he whispers, “Are you sure this is your first time being deflowered? That was the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my life.”

Only then does Charles blush.

--

It was not supposed to go like this.

Charles was a perpetually good boy. It was simply a matter of control. He read genetics textbooks at the beach. At boarding school he had gone months without masturbating. Control. He liked women – scrupulously unscrupulous, his roommates had called him in college, after finding a table of the vital statistics of his most recent conquests that he’d been keeping in the corner of a notebook.

He knew that men existed who – preferred the company of men, to put it delicately – had stumbled across enough fantasies in the course of his perambulations through strange minds to know it was more common than even Kinsey suggested. Once at university he’d run into a rather peculiar fantasy in the mind of a friend from tutorial that involved himself in an extremely compromising position. It had cast something of a damper over their subsequent interactions. Charles couldn’t help noticing the way the man looked at him, and it made the hackles rise on the back of his neck to be the subject of that sort of gaze. It felt – more intensely wrong than anything he’d seen in girls’ minds. Those visions were naughty, yes, but – standard-issue. Girls did not picture you stretched out on a bear rug having unmentionable things done to you that made you quiver in revulsion and blush.  

No, women were the sort of thing that Charles Xavier would like, he felt. Charles had always been fond of puzzles, and courtship was a puzzle. It was a complex mammalian interaction that varied in fascinating ways as the days of the month ticked by or as you altered factors such as pheromones and drink.

It was like a game of chess. And Charles was good at chess. Once you knew the rules, it was easy. You could play almost without thinking. And when the game was over – mate. Apt enough word. Simple. Not boring. Simple. Elegant. Not dull. You didn’t call a formula dull because you could grasp it the instant you glanced at it and spend the rest of the evening thinking about Gregor Mendel. (Dirty mind, for a monk, Charles thought, staring with an expression of exaggerated interest at some dark-haired Newnham charmer. Living vicariously through his bean plants.) 

But in general chess was a dispiriting exercise. Nobody beat him at chess. No one had in years, since he was twelve and had moved the wrong bishop by mistake. Not to say that courtship was a dispiriting game, of course, or that his approach was so mechanical that sometimes even the girl would notice that he was not paying attention. No. Any lack of enthusiasm on his part no doubt sprang from the scientific temperament. And besides, there was a goal in sight. Charles was trying to reach a number of conquests that was a perfect square. He felt that this was the sort of thing that Charles Xavier would do.

He was on number fifteen.

And then this thing had happened.

He had found the German in the water.

Chapter Two

Chapter Text

Good Boys (2/?)
Title: Good Boys, (2/?)
Chapter One is here. I'm Chapter Two!
Rating: PG-13, this chapter
WC: 2000ish, this chapter
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Summary: Charles Xavier has always been a good boy. Erik Lehnsherr is about to change this.

If Charles had to describe the feeling of stumbling on Erik Lehnsherr’s mind that night in the dark water, it would probably have been something like “terror, then elation.”

Erik’s mind was all edges, and grabbing him out of the water was like grabbing a fistful of broken glass. There was rage and pain and years of slow awful painstaking training and cool casual malice and a nub of suffering, dark and nestled behind everything. Those were the frightening parts. And then there was more control than Charles had seen in anyone, and a raw intelligence, and that dangerous look of concentration as he tugged at the submarine.

Charles Xavier was an unexceptional swimmer. He did not go diving feet first and blind into cold dark waters. But Erik was like him. More like him than anyone he’d ever felt. He was worth saving.

His arms clamped around the muscular chest and tugged frantically, his mind scrambling for a foothold in Erik’s mind, and for a moment he was terrified they might both drown, and then Erik let go and they shot to the surface, panting and looking at each other with a dozen unanswered questions.

--
He did not stare at Erik the whole car ride. Once he had glanced out the window and noticed a tree, startled into blossom out of season. “Look at that,” he’d said, and Erik had looked.

Erik always returned his gaze, flatly, almost defiantly. It was very nearly unnerving. But if the price of having Erik there was having to go alone with him across the country picking up mutants, letting Erik turn that frighteningly level stare on him, the one that made the hackles rise on the back of Charles' neck, then Charles would be glad to oblige.

What he liked about Erik Lehnsherr, he thought, was that they were equals. They could be men together. It was uncomplicated like that. And Erik was an exceptionally fascinating man.

--
They shared the first hotel suite. They weren’t going to get any farther on the road that evening, and Charles had just finished re-reading The Symposium, the last book in his suitcase, so there was nothing else to do. They shared an avowed distaste for television.

“Do you play chess?” he asked Erik.

“Better than you,” Erik said. He grinned. He had a peculiarly vulpine grin that he seemed to be using more often now that it was just the two of them, as though sensing the way it had of unnerving Charles. Charles was not exactly sure why that look made him feel so uneasy.

Now he laughed, a little taken aback. “I hardly believe that.”

“Try me,” Erik said.

--

Erik had beaten him.

“That has not happened to me in more than a decade,” Charles informed him, wondering why he felt strangely elated rather than devastated.

“Really?” Erik asked, leaning casually back and folding his arms behind his head. “I wouldn’t have taken you for such a good loser, Charles.”

“I’m stoic,” Charles said. “Besides it confirms my initial impression of you.”

“That we’re alike?” Erik said. He looked as though he wished he still had a chess piece to move. There was a long silence. “Charles, you’re staring.”

“I’m not,” Charles said flatly. “Play again?”

Erik shrugged and ran a hand quickly through his hair. “You enjoy losing, Charles?”

Charles had lost again. If anything, he had lost faster. And he had been trying harder this time, desperate to prove it wasn’t a fluke. But somehow whenever he thought he was a step ahead of Erik, the German would do something he wasn’t expecting at all. His pawns fell valiantly but with an appalling swiftness.

“This looks a bit like the First World War,” Erik murmured.

“We won that,” Charles said, grinning.

“Nobody won that, it just ended,” Erik said. He took Charles’ rook. “Consider this Gallipoli.”

Charles laughed. Someone exists who is capable of beating me at chess and making me laugh while he does it, he thought. The world is full of marvels. He was watching Erik’s face again – Erik always looked a bit smugger before taking a piece he knew Charles didn’t want to lose. Now he looked momentarily puzzled, the fine lines on his brow contracting just slightly, and he took another sip of brandy. Charles envied the way Erik drank; he made a gulp look like a sip, if that made any sense, which Charles didn’t think it did. He drank like a man who could handle his liquor.

Then that slow delighted grin spread over Erik’s face and he put the glass down and moved his queen across the board and said, “I believe that’s checkmate, Charles.”

The elation spread through his entire chest like a hand unfolding. “I—” Charles found himself stammering. “That’s the second time that’s happened to me in twenty years,” he said.

“You look delighted, Charles,” Erik said matter-of-factly. “You look as though this were your second birthday in twenty years.”

“Let’s go get a drink,” Charles said.

“To celebrate the momentous occasion of Charles Francis Xavier’s ended chess streak?”

“I’ll buy,” Charles said. Something strange was prickling at the inside of his chest and he didn’t know what. He was making a point of carefully resetting the chessmen on the board and not looking at Erik. Not looking at Erik made him realize how much he’d been looking at Erik. Of course he had been. Chess required you to read your opponent. It was a good exercise in non-telepathy. And Erik was so entrancingly difficult to read.

“All right, let’s go out,” Erik said. He drank off the rest of his brandy in a single gulp. “You’d better finish that, Charles,” he said, gesturing at Charles’ half-full glass.

“Sorry,” Charles said. He picked up the glass and took a nervous sip.

“You're so prim when you drink, Charles. Like you don’t like the way it tastes,” Erik said.

Charles didn’t look at him. He drank the whole glass.

Erik laughed.

“Good boy, Charles,” Erik said.

 

--

Charles had drunk rather a lot. They were equals, he reminded himself. They were men together. Charles Xavier was not a lightweight. He was not getting hammered in his efforts to keep pace with the lanky German. The room certainly did not seem to cant whenever he moved his head, and he certainly did not have to rest his head on his hand in order to keep looking at Erik when Erik talked.

He only noticed on his fifth drink that Erik was laughing at him. Or perhaps it was with him. At any rate Erik was laughing. Erik had a predatory laugh that revealed all his teeth, like a piranha, or --

“Squaloid,” Charles said.

“What?” Erik said.

“Like a shark,” Charles said. “I’m so pleased I remembered.”

Then Erik’s laugh was closer. The room spun. The rest of the night came in flashes. He remembered Erik's saying something and his saying something and feeling nervous and stupid and getting up to talk to some girls. He seemed to have offended them somehow because the next thing he remembered was Erik apologizing to someone and the feeling of Erik's hand in the small of his back and then brisk air hitting his face and the feeling of bricks against his back and Erik's hands on his shoulders and Erik's face looking at him from much too close and saying, "Charles, get a hold of yourself" and then he remembered vomiting into the bushes for an undignified amount of time and turning to Erik and saying, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” and Erik saying, “Forget it, Charles.”

Then he’d woken up the next morning in his bed on one side of the suite, still fully dressed, blinking through an absolutely impossible headache and Erik had said, “Feeling better?” and he had said, “For all practical purposes I have no recollection whatever of last night” and Erik said, “That doesn’t surprise me,” and they’d left it at that.

--
“You seem strangely comfortable driving around the country picking up strangers,” Erik said after they’d gotten out of Darwin's taxicab and Charles had tugged him by the arm towards a park and deployed the chess pieces in front of them. “’We were rather hoping you would -- take us all the way?’ You sounded as though you were propositioning him.”

“We were, in a sense,” Charles said. “In a perfectly decent sense.”

“It didn’t sound perfectly decent when you said it,” Erik said. Then Erik laughed and reached over and ruffled Charles’ hair. “But that would never occur to you, would it, Charles? You’re too good for that sort of venial speculation.”

“I’m sorry?” Charles said, his scalp tingling a little in the absence of Erik’s fingers.

“Too clean,” Erik said. “It would never occur to you to proposition anyone but the most insipid human girls imaginable.” There was a strange quality to his voice as it hovered over “human” and “girls.”

“What sort of game are you playing, Erik?” Charles asked.

“Chess?” Erik said.

“What?”

“How about chess?” Erik said. “We are playing, aren’t we? Or would you rather go all the way?”

“Erik I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Charles said.

“No, I don’t think you do,” Erik said. “Maybe that’s the trouble with you, Charles. You’re arrogant about the wrong things. You’re proud that you’re boring. You think you’re some sort of great flirt. You’re a rubbish flirt, Charles.”

“I’ll have you know I’ve slept with fifteen women,” Charles said.

“How like you to keep count.” Erik grinned sharkishly and put a hand on Charles’ shoulder. “You must show me the notches on your bedstead one of these evenings. I’m sure it will be quite illuminating.”

Charles shuddered a little without meaning to. “I bet that’s more than you have.”

Erik grinned. “Surely the difference between quality and quantity has penetrated even your adorably thick head, Charles.”

“Why are we talking about this?” Charles asked.

“It’s all anyone ever talks about,” Erik said, shrugging. “Better than sitting here silently playing chess and watching you pretend you aren’t staring at me.”

“I’m sorry?” Charles asked.

“You’re a good boy, Charles. I appreciate that. After all, it’s invisible, isn’t it? Your – mutation. Only sometimes your eye winks without meaning to. You don’t want to be rounded up and laughed at and so you scrupulously hunt down your fourteen human girls—”

“Fifteen.”

“Fifteen. Proper Charles. Perhaps you’re right. They’re Neanderthals. Hard enough to be a mutant, let alone—”

“I’m not,” Charles said.

“Aren’t you.” Erik’s voice was level.

“You’re not,” Charles said. He tried to make it not sound like a question.

“Aren’t I,” Erik said. “Might as well admit it, once society has its cap set against you.”

“That’s not a phrase, Erik,” Charles said, automatically.

“Once you’re one, you might as well be another. In the camps, what does it matter? You don’t choose what to be. You only choose how much to hide.”

“I’m not hiding anything,” Charles said, feeling his pulse racing because Erik was looking at him like that, level and determined and – if he were to go so far as to say it, if he had to put a word to it– sexy.

--

They were standing in the hallway outside the doors to their separate suites.

“I don’t know what you’re trying to prove,” Charles said.

“I wasn’t trying to prove anything,” Erik said. “I was implying.” Erik looked at him. “Would you like me to prove it?”

“I’m going to bed,” Charles said. But he didn’t move.

“You can read everyone’s mind but your own,” Erik said. “It’s almost pathetic, Charles.” He took a step closer and Charles felt as though a hand had clamped around his chest. “Look at you. Giving me that look. Blushing. Lips parted. I bet you’re even trembling.” Charles reached for the doorknob. Erik’s hand caught his wrist. “Ah-ah-ah,” Erik said, and the door clicked locked from the inside. “I have a point to prove.”

“Erik that’s enough,” Charles said, wishing there were some way to calm his breathing or to remove Erik’s hand from his. Erik’s fingers were casually stroking the skin at the inside of his wrist and Charles shuddered a little and didn’t look at Erik.

“Fifteen, eh, Charles? I’m surprised you weren’t going for a perfect square,” Erik said, and Charles felt a wave of menace and – lust, of course it was lust, he shouldn’t have thought it could be anything else – and Erik leaned a shade closer and reached out and caught Charles’ face so Charles had to look at him and Charles murmured, “Erik, what are you—” and Erik said, “I’m like you, Charles,” and kissed him.

Charles stared at him wide-eyed at first, frozen in shock. Then Erik stopped.

“For science, Charles,” he said. “Make an effort.” Then he caught Charles’ mouth with his and Charles allowed Erik’s tongue to part his lips and begin a systematic rough plundering of his mouth, and he couldn’t help that his breathing began to come in shallow gasps and he was pushing back just slightly, because kissing Erik was different than anything, and he wanted to try more of it – for science – and if Erik thought that he could move him and bend him like metal Charles was going to show him that he could not, was going to give at least as good as he got, and he’d slipped his tongue into Erik’s mouth and shifted his arms around Erik’s neck for leverage and Erik’s mouth pulled free of his mouth and Erik laughed and bit Charles’ lower lip and then Erik kissed him again, his stubble grazing Charles’ chin, and Charles made a faint non-scientific moan and Erik pulled back from him with a grin and he couldn’t help whimpering, like someone had just deprived him of oxygen.

“I was just proving a point,” Erik said. He lifted Charles’ arms free of his neck and Charles stared at him, incapable of saying anything. “The point is I think quite thoroughly proven.” He grinned. “You ought to shut that swollen little mouth of yours,” he added, moving down the hall. “Right now you look entirely too willing, and I may not be able to contain myself. Good night, Charles.”

Chapter Three (surprise!)

Chapter Text

Good Boys (3/?)

Good Boys, Chapter 3
Rating: NC-17
WC: 1545
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Summary: Charles has always been a good boy. Erik is about to change this.
A/N: Just on for a second today to post, no time for notes! You are all sunshine!

Chapter One
Chapter Two

 

 

“I’m sorry about – yesterday,” Erik said the next evening as they stood at the doors to their suites. “A moment’s impulse. It won’t happen again, Charles.”

Charles felt something strange hum in his stomach when Erik said his name. The way Erik’s voice curved around the word seemed to belie the rest of the sentence.

 

“It’s not that I’m not – flattered, Erik,” Charles said dully. “But quite obviously it’s out of the question.”

Then Erik froze and stared at him. “Why?” Erik said.

“It’s – illegal, to begin with,” Charles said. “Not to mention immoral.”

“And, no doubt, fattening,” Erik said. He braced a hand on the wall next to Charles and Charles flinched. “But as long as you don’t mind.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t mind,” Charles said. His pulse was racing. Erik seemed to be moving closer. Charles could still feel the impress of Erik’s mouth on his lips, remember how utterly unlike kissing girls it had been, the stubble grazing his cheek and Erik’s tongue plundering his mouth and Erik’s arms sliding around his waist, and Erik had tasted like something strange Charles thought might be aluminum, and for reasons of purely scientific interest he had allowed the kiss to continue until he had found himself letting out that extremely unscientific little sound.

“You’re trembling,” Erik said, matter-of-factly.

“I’m not,” Charles managed, trying to steady his breathing. This response was highly irregular. An untrained observer might almost have mistaken it for desire. Erik’s face was closer than before and Erik was grinning his unnerving grin.

“Please don’t kiss me again, Erik,” Charles said, hating that his voice sounded as if he were begging for the opposite. He shrank back against the wall. There was nowhere to go.

Erik leaned in and bridged the gap between their mouths, slipping one hand around Charles’ waist. And it was just like their last kiss, rough and strange and different from a girl, and Erik’s scent flooded his nostrils, leather and sweat, and finally he tugged free and mumbled, “Erik, don’t” and Erik looked at him and said, “I’m sorry, I could have sworn you said, ‘kiss me again, Erik’” and kissed him again, and Charles couldn’t help making that noise – Charles Xavier did not make such noises – or fisting his hands in Erik’s jacket and pulling his body closer and pushing his tongue against Erik’s so their mouths meshed like two stray pieces of a puzzle, shoved together by impatient fingers whether they quite fit or not. Then Erik’s hands had gripped his hips and pulled him up the wall and Charles’ legs were straddling Erik’s waist and he was still clinging to Erik’s jacket and Erik let out something between a grunt and a moan into his mouth, hands holding him steady against the wall, and Charles’ arms wreathed around his neck, and he had never kissed anyone like this and was going on blind instinct, his entire body singing strangely at Erik’s touch, and he kept kissing him so he wouldn’t have to look at him and risk seeing himself in Erik’s eyes, shoved against a wall in total disarray and devouring Erik’s mouth like a starving man.

Erik pulled his mouth away first, and Charles muttered, “Don’t,” and leaned closer and kissed him again, but Erik was looking at him almost in panic and his lips found Erik’s cheek instead of his mouth, but that was good, too, and he found that he was kissing Erik’s face and then his lips slid to the gap where Erik’s neck emerged from his turtleneck and he teased the flesh with his tongue and Erik’s breath caught and Erik pulled back and looked seriously at him. “Don’t do that, Charles,” he said. “I’ll think you want to sleep with me if you keep doing that.”

Charles did it again.

“Charles I’m glad you admit it but I’m not a good start for you,” Erik said, his voice strangely rough. “You don’t want to be ruined, Charles. I’d ruin you. We can’t all be good English boys.”

Charles didn’t stop kissing him. Erik was an undiscovered country. Charles’ mouth began an expedition along the edge of his jaw, his chin, the side of his ear. Erik shivered at the touch and Charles whispered, “That?” and kissed him again.

“Stop it, Charles,” Erik said. “I was just proving a point. You don’t really want it from me. None of the things I’d do to you. You want it gentle and languorous with tea and sandwiches being brought in and I would shackle you to the bedpost and make you forget every single word you know except my name.”

Charles gasped.

“Or was I wrong, Charles?” Erik asked, and leaned closer and bit Charles’ neck, making Charles’ whole body shudder against him. “Is Charles Francis Xavier a filthy irredeemable little slut who wants me to take him and do unspeakable things to him until he can’t walk or think straight, until every inch of his perfect white little body bears the mark of my touch?”

“Erik, please,” Charles said, shifting uncomfortably against the wall, and Erik’s eyes narrowed.

“Good God, Charles,” he murmured, “you’re hard.”

“Erik, that’s enough,” Charles muttered, flushing.

“Is that what it takes?” Erik asked, and Charles could not think of an answer, trying desperately to calm himself, to banish the embarrassing display in his trousers, because Erik had him at his mercy and knew it, and it would have been mortifying if he’d been able to think about anything other than the filthy delightful things that were pouring from Erik’s lips.

“Have you ever tried cocksucking, Charles?” Erik asked, looking appraisingly at him. “You have a perfect mouth for it. Do you know how exquisite those lips of yours would look wrapped around my cock? I bet you could take it. I bet you’d enjoy it. I bet you’ve thought about it already. ”

“Erik, stop,” Charles managed.

“You don’t want me to stop,” Erik said, and he’d shifted one arm so it grasped Charles’ waist and supported him and slid the other one free, and his hand grasped Charles through the fabric of his khakis.

“Erik,” Charles said, “I don’t know why I’m -- I’m not – –”

“You are, Charles. You’ve tried not to be. You thought you were a bad boy, didn’t you? Swaggering around Oxford and drinking and telling girls they were groovy? You’ve never been really bad in your life. The only temptation you ever yielded to was when you pulled me out of the water, because I terrified you, and you liked being terrified.”

“You don’t terrify me,” Charles said, looking levelly at him out of the haze of his arousal. “Has it occurred to you, Erik, that I could make you stop at any time?” 

“It’s occurred to me that you haven’t,” Erik said. “And it’s not because you’re practicing control. It’s because you like not knowing what I’d do next. It’s why I can beat you at chess. And if you ever tampered with me, you’d lose that. So you won’t. You can’t. And instead you’re going to surrender inch by inch, your ivory chessmen and then your ivory body and you’ll know what an awful idea it all is, what a bad investment I am, but you’d rather that than lose me. Because in a strange way you are right. We are equals. Tell me I’m wrong.” 

“Erik, it’s – you’re not a bad investment.” 

“You’re farther gone than I thought, Charles,” Erik said, leaning in and kissing the side of Charles’ neck. 

“I’ve felt the good in you,” Charles said, shivering as Erik’s teeth grazed his flesh where he knew it would leave a mark. “I’ve seen everything. I know what they made you. I know what you are. You’re better than you think.” 

“You hope,” Erik hissed, and Erik’s hand slid into Charles’ trousers. 

“Erik,” Charles said warningly, feeling Erik’s hand wrap around his length. 

“Not bad for an English boy,” Erik breathed, beginning to caress him in slow strokes. “How do you like it, Charles? Do you even know how you like it?” 

“Erik, I—” 

“I bet you tried to think about girls, Charles,” Erik said, slowly increasing his speed, watching Charles’ breath hitch and hammering out a rhythm from Charles’ helpless thrusts. “I bet you wanted to think about girls. But you couldn’t, could you? And now you’ll be stuck, you’ll think of this the next time you touch yourself – harder? All right – and what a stereotype you’ll be, an Oxonian with a hard-on for German boys in leather jackets.” 

“I prefer to think of you as a nice Jewish boy,” Charles managed, and then Erik began laughing and he increased the pace again, and Charles began thrusting desperately into his hand and Charles’ hands braced on his shoulders and Erik laughed and muttered, “You should see yourself, Charles” and Charles flushed and came with an awkward jerk of the hips, his seed coating Erik’s hand. 

He sagged back against the wall and slid his legs down from around Erik’s waist and Erik kissed him on the neck and whispered, “And now good night, Charles,” and somehow he was in his room and he staggered to the bed and was asleep almost instantly.

Chapter Four

 

Chapter Text

Good Boys (4/?)

Good Boys, Chapter 4
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Erik/Charles
WC: 1800
A/N: Just posting and dashing again (crazy week), but know that I am reading and loving your comments and glad you're, uh, bunked.

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three

At the next hotel they played chess. Erik beat him again. Erik had made it impossible to focus on the game.

“You’ve really never,” Erik said, moving out his first pawn.

“Never what?” Charles said.

“Acted on your impulses,” Erik said.

“Even if I had such impulses, I know our minds too well to do that,” Charles said.

Erik frowned. “Human minds,” he said.

“Our minds. Human minds. They’re fundamentally the same. And there’s nothing wrong with being human.”

“Except their distaste for anything that differs from the norm,” Erik said. “Except their inability to differentiate. Except their fear of anything they don’t understand.”

“We’re just as bad,” Charles said.

“Are we?” Erik said. “You aren’t.”

Charles flushed and did something stupid with his queen. “My power makes it easier not to be,” he said. “But I am too. And so are you. We’re not fundamentally different. It’s just one more mutation out of many. We’re all mutants, to some degree. So such fear may be a simple survival mechanism. After all some prejudice actually helps with the propagation of the species. Eliminates undesirable characteristics.”

Erik shot him a look that made him sense that he’d said the wrong thing. All the grim visions of the camps that had hit him the first night in the water came flooding back into his mind, the appalling sickening horror of it all, the unvarying grey and the needle burning into Erik’s arm, and Charles winced and said, “I didn’t mean that, Erik. I’m sorry. I didn’t. That’s different.”

“It’s not different,” Erik said levelly. “That’s what you don’t understand, Charles. Good boys never do.”

Charles swallowed.

“Check,” Erik said.

Charles studied the board. Most of his pieces had somehow migrated to Erik’s side and stood captive on the sidelines, watching their comrades fall.

“Look what they’ve done to you,” Erik said.

“They haven’t done anything to me,” Charles snapped, making a fatal error with his remaining rook.

“I know a mark when I see one,” Erik said. “You’ve been hiding your whole life, Charles. From them. From yourself. You’re so bent that you won’t even admit to yourself what you want. And you don’t need to use your fingers like that. Every time. It’s not a crutch for you. People think it’s a crutch, but it’s not, is it? You just do it so they’ll know. So they’ll feel safe around you. But they aren’t safe.”

“They are safe,” Charles said.

“And what about you? You could break them all if you wanted to. But that isn’t the sort of thing Charles Xavier would do.”  Erik picked up a rook and studied it. “So you let them break you instead. And you think, maybe the sixteenth girl will be different. Maybe the twenty-fifth girl will be different. Maybe the thirty-sixth or the thirty-seventh. The universe will turn around and it won’t be dull and insipid and wrong, and they won’t dart off in the morning and make excuses whenever you call them again because even the girls you pick up in bars aren’t entirely daft. Maybe the dreams will stop. Maybe you will stop imagining my hands on you whenever you look at me. Maybe the entropy in the universe will decrease for once, by special dispensation, because Charles Xavier is a good boy.”

“You’re wrong,” Charles breathed.

“It’s good luck for you, your finding me in the water,” Erik said. “Million to one chance our meeting. And that’s the only trouble with good boys, isn’t it? Your incurable weakness for bad boys.”

“Erik,” Charles said warningly.

“Mate,” Erik said, placing the rook down.

“Erik, I don’t know why I let you,” Charles said, swallowing, “like that, but I’m not like that – I’d know if I were.”

“You know,” Erik said. “And you are. I may be magnetic but I don’t overestimate my appeal. The only reason I’m the first is that you’re better than everyone else who’s tried. Now are you going to kiss me or do we have to play chess again?”

“We’re going to play chess again,” Charles said.
Erik leaned over the chessboard and kissed him, and he gasped a little and was clutching Erik's shoulders and feeling Erik's satisfied laugh ripple against him and he couldn't play any more chess.

--

Recruiting the next day had gone badly. Erik was unabashedly looking at him now. Looking at him and grinning, with that grin that made him uneasy, the grin that said, “I know your secret. Now you belong to me.”

There had been only one moment of weakness, and that was because even in the throes of mortification Charles was still Charles, and he’d insisted that they see the city. It was what Charles Xavier would do.

They’d stood on the Golden Gate Bridge and he’d glanced over and seen Erik – not looking at him for once – one hand on the railing, gazing thoughtfully at the metal gears and bolts as though wondering if he could move it, and Charles had felt something in him stir, like metal stirred before it started to move, and taken two steps to bridge the gap between them and said, “Marvelous, isn’t it?” and slipped in front of Erik, between him and the railing, and pressed his body back against him. There was something strangely electric about the touch. He felt Erik’s breathing change a little, subtly, and Erik’s other hand reached out on the other side of him and grasped the railing so that he was stuck there. Erik leaned down and whispered, “Exceptional.”

“You’ll be able to move it in time,” Charles said. “Although I don’t know why you’d want to.”

“Because it’s there,” Erik said, leaning closer, his breath warm in Charles’ ear. And then Charles felt something else in him begin to stir, and leaned nearer to the edge of the railing and thought, Dark water and bent metal and high bridges – next you’ll try to kiss him in the middle of traffic or an electrical storm or shark-infested waters, because you like the danger as much as anything, don’t you? Maybe you only want him because he’s dangerous. And he feebly thought back, I don’t want him.

And then he’d pulled away and Erik had dropped the arm that was keeping him there and looked thoughtfully at him and said, “You’re learning, Charles,” and Charles had not bothered to ask what he meant.

--

That night they’d been in a single suite at the new hotel, and when the door shut behind them Charles had mumbled, “I’ll go put on my pajamas and turn in early” and grabbed them out of his suitcase and headed for the bathroom and Erik had frowned and wandered over to the desk and leaned against it and said, “Charles, I won’t jump you,” although Charles could literally hear him thinking “Much as I’d like to” and Erik saw his face and said, “Ruing your gift?” and Charles tried to look stern but failed, and then he’d dropped the pajamas and made it to the desk in three hasty strides and begun kissing Erik again, furiously, hungrily, their mouths sliding together with a strange fluency Charles had imagined would only be borne of long practice, and Erik said, “Wait” and tugged the blinds shut with a warning look and then grabbed Charles and lifted him onto the desk and stood between his legs and brought their mouths together again.

“You wanted this all day,” Erik managed, between kisses. “I was wondering how long it would take, I could practically feel you thinking about it.”

“I think you’re getting the two of us confused,” Charles said, and Erik’s mouth latched onto the bruise on his neck and he could feel Erik’s thrum of satisfaction. And so it begins, he thought to himself. Of all the slip-ups Charles Xavier would not condone, this is the most egregious of my life. 

“Let me touch you again,” Erik said. “Please.” And he had not been aware last time of the urgency that lurked in Erik’s tone – or maybe this urgency was new, Charles didn’t know, he was kissing that spot on the curve of Erik’s ear and Erik gasped and muttered, “You’re almost obscenely good,” and Charles said, “I’ve always had a faculty for knowing what people want,” and slid his tongue into Erik’s ear in a sudden access of boldness that even startled him a little, and Erik made an obscenely beautiful sound and Charles could feel his breathing become shallower, and he thought he heard Erik say, “You have no idea what you’re getting into, Erik, do you” and realized that Erik was thinking it to himself, and Erik growled, “Get out of my head, Charles,” and Charles whispered, “Sorry, you think too loud.”

And then Erik had slid a hand up under his sweater and he could feel the long flat fingers undoing his shirt buttons and he flushed in spite of himself and murmured, “Wait,” and Erik looked at him and said, “Honestly, Charles?” but slid his hand out and traced a careful line up the back of Charles’ neck with his thumb and tangled his fingers in Charles’ hair, and Charles said, “I’m not used to this, Erik – I’ve never” and Erik said, “Never?” and then Erik’s mouth began plundering his again, and he moaned a little and this time he did not resist when Erik’s hand slid back under his sweater and made short work of the rest of the buttons. Erik said, “Well?” and Charles, feeling Erik’s eyes on him, pulled the sweater off carefully and shrugged off the shirt-sleeves and said, “Well?” and Erik muttered, “Never, Charles? Look at yourself, you’re begging to be touched, how did you survive boarding school” and Charles muttered, “I was focused on genetics” and Erik’s mouth had begun kissing the spot on his jaw that Erik had discovered made him quiver and then slid lower and kissed the nape of his neck and then the hollow below his shoulderblades and Charles shuddered a little and Erik hissed, “You’ve always wanted this, Charles, you just didn’t let yourself think of the word, your whole body is begging to be defiled and it’s time someone did” and seized Charles’ nipple in his teeth and Charles bucked against him, fully erect now, and groaned, and he could feel Erik’s grin against his chest, that same dangerous grin.

That night Erik’s hand stroked him to completion again, Erik’s mouth alternately murmuring despicable things to him and claiming new spots on his chest.

“Tomorrow I’m going to be all mottled and purple,” Charles murmured, glancing down.

“Tomorrow you’ll be on your knees sucking my cock,” Erik said, kissing the side of his neck.

And that was when Charles came, choking out an apology, and Erik shot him a look of wondering appraisal that Charles did not remember seeing from him before.

“Charles,” he said, his voice thick with bemusement and lust, wiping his palm, “I’m flattered.”

Charles swallowed, “You hope you are.”

“You have a faculty for giving people what they want,” Erik said, and kissed him again, hands sliding slowly and deliciously along Charles’ back, and Charles was kissing him back furiously and thinking, I want him, I want him, forgive me, Charles Xavier, oh God, I want him.

Chapter Five (surprise!)

 

Chapter Text

Good Boys (5/?)

 Title: Good Boys, Part 5
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Charles has always been a good boy. Erik Lehnsherr is about to change this.
A/N: You are all kings and queens and your comments are my creator. I hope you're enjoying!

 

 

The next day he had avoided eye contact with Erik, sure it would be easy for the other man to glimpse what he was thinking, watched Erik grow more frustrated without the steady supply of knowing glances that he realized only in their absence that they were accustomed to throwing each other over the course of the day. And meanwhile he was thinking, You’re actually going to do it, aren’t you?

Charles Francis Xavier, professor of genetics, cocksucker. It’s just a physical act, Charles, another side of his mind was thinking. And hardly a defining one; you don’t go about calling women cocksuckers, although most of them do, don’t they? At any rate most of his had. It’s just a set of stimuli delivered orally, and it’s not as though he’s asking to bugger you, and then it was too late to stop the question, And what will you do when he does? and the thought made something strange and hot go flooding through his stomach, and he couldn’t help glancing over at Erik then. Erik was standing there with his hands in his pockets looking amused but vaguely dangerous, the way he generally did, and a little smug, the way he had since this thing that was happening between them had begun, and the new mutant they’d decided after a single glance not to take because his only ability seemed to be to bore you to death was saying something else about the drumming on the latest Beatles LP.

“You don’t say,” Erik told him.

Then Erik’s eyes slid over Charles without any particular question in them, and Charles smiled cautiously and, he’d thought, inscrutably, but Erik’s sudden smirk made something at the bottom of his stomach tie itself into a delicious knot.

“In that case we’re done here,” Erik said, possibly in the middle of the mutant’s sentence, and the boy looked disappointed but nothing exciting at all happened.

“Well, this has been delightful,” Charles said, and then he and Erik were walking as measuredly as they could towards the hotel room.

When they got there the instant the door slammed behind them Erik pushed Charles up against it and kissed him, so hard and suddenly that Charles winced. “Did I hurt you Charles,” Erik said, and it almost wasn’t a question. “I didn’t mean to.”

“It’s all right,” Charles said, and then he’d kissed the hollow of Erik’s throat and was teasing his tongue into the little notch at the top of Erik’s collarbone and Erik gasped and was whispering, “Charles, how did you survive so long? Knowing this was what you wanted? The only thing you wanted?”

Charles pulled back and looked at him. “Am I—“ he said, and swallowed, because he had never dared ask anyone this. “Am I that obvious, Erik?”

Erik seemed to know how serious the question was. “Perhaps not if you lack a sixth sense,” he said. “But Charles, you shouldn’t have to hide—”

“I thought I was,” Charles said. Then he kissed Erik again, shutting his eyes, and Erik’s thumb traced along the line of his cheek and Erik said, “Well thank God you didn’t do a better job.”

“What about you?” Charles said, “No one gives you trouble about it,” and Erik shifted and caught him by the arm and said, “No one gives me trouble about anything,” and steered them towards the bed and Charles shot him a slightly panicked look and Erik stepped back against the dresser and raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, which looked curiously wrong on him because even with hands up he never quite managed to look innocuous, the way sharks never managed to look quite innocuous. Then Charles shot Erik a look and feeling something start to flutter in his chest with a curious boldness he’d reached down and pulled his sweater off and begun unbuttoning his shirt, and he felt Erik’s eyes narrow approvingly. Then he’d shrugged the shirt off and stood there, presenting himself for inspection, and there were two wine-dark bruises on his chest where Erik’s mouth had lingered and he traced a finger from one to the other and said, “Look what you’ve done to me already.”

He could feel the rhythm of Erik’s breath change. “Charles,” Erik said, “do you know how perfectly obscene you are?” Then Erik stepped closer and brought their mouths together and shoved him down onto the bed and said, “Calm down, Charles, I’m not going to ravish you,” and Charles shivered involuntarily and Erik purred against his neck, “Although you are practically begging me to,” and Charles felt his breaths coming hard and fast and shallow and pulled Erik’s face to his and was kissing him again, fiercely, biting Erik’s lip, and he felt Erik’s hands slide under his waist and the fingers begin tracing hard caresses at the bottom of his ribcage.

Erik was hard, he could feel it, and there was an almost imperceptible ragged edge to all his movements and the sounds he was making, and Charles pulled their mouths apart, making Erik look down perplexedly at him, and whispered, blushing suddenly to the roots of his hair, “Let’s turn over,” and Erik caught him in another bruising kiss and pulled Charles by the waist so that Charles was lying on top of him, and then Charles broke the kiss and they lay there for a second staring at each other, panting, and Charles had no idea what Erik was going to say. And Erik’s eyes were dark with lust and his breath was coming in quick gasps and finally Erik said, “Please” with a strange edge of need in his voice that made Charles gasp, because he had expected something that was merely obscene, but this was already more raw and startling than that, and Charles couldn’t refuse. He nodded and sat up and began tugging at Erik’s belt, and then the metal buckle snapped obediently open and the zipper tugged itself down and he had only one recalcitrant button and – not thinking about what Charles Xavier would do – he pulled the pants down to Erik’s knees and then he was facing the decidedly impressive bulge in Erik’s boxers and Erik was shooting him the most suggestive and – smug grin imaginable, and Charles almost rolled his eyes, because of all the concatenation of genes that comprised human beings this was one of the most arbitrary mutations, but then he’d gripped the elastic and pulled Erik’s boxers down and he couldn’t help a little startled gasp of laughter. “Erik,” he said.

“What’s the matter, Charles?” Erik said, and he could hear the smug satisfaction in his tone. “Don’t they grow that size in your part of the world?”

“Jesus, Erik,” Charles said. His mouth fell a little stupidly open. He could feel Erik looking at him and flushed.

 “Charles, you’re practically salivating,” Erik managed. “Have you always had a thing for big cocks? That would be too convenient. Or is it just that the big cock in question happens to belong to me?”

“Erik stop talking,” Charles managed, feeling the blood rush to his crotch.

“There’s a way of doing that,” Erik said, and as he said it Charles licked his lips without thinking and shoved Erik’s shirt up with one hand and kissed the smooth skin just before the beginning of the dark trail of hairs, because he couldn’t just take all that in his mouth, not at first, then began kissing his way down to the base of Erik’s cock, and he could feel Erik’s whole body shudder, and Erik murmured, “For the love of God, Charles,” and Charles’ tongue darted experimentally out and licked along the groove on the side of Erik’s cock and up to the head where moisture was already pooling and then Charles wrapped his lips around him and began to suck, and Erik let out a desperate ragged gasp and Charles glanced up at him and slid his mouth up Erik’s length, taking more in his mouth, and Erik was hot and firm and thick and vaguely salty and Charles liked the taste, and the way Erik’s hips bucked under him as he began to find a rhythm, sucking and stroking with one hand the part of Erik’s cock his mouth couldn’t yet reach, and liked the inarticulate sound Erik made when he slid his mouth higher, fighting the urge to gag, and Erik’s fingers that slid down and clamped in his hair, and liked that when he pulled his mouth off Erik’s length, Erik actually whimpered, and that he could do this to anyone – to Erik – was strangely exhilarating. He wrapped his sore lips around Erik’s cock and slowly slid all the way up, feeling a strange satisfaction as Erik’s head hit the back of his throat, and Erik gasped out, “Perfect, Charles,” and then “I’m going to,” and Erik’s fingers knitted in his hair and Erik’s hips bucked frantically into him and he choked a little as a hot flood of Erik’s semen hit the back of his throat.

When he pulled free and looked up at Erik, Erik was drenched in sweat, pupils dilated, gazing at him in amazement. “You do have a perfect cocksucking mouth,” Erik said. “Jesus Christ, if you had any idea of how you look right now, it’s enough to corrupt a saint.” Charles said, “May I?” and pulled himself into Erik’s mind, glimpsing himself, and he had to admit Erik was right; his lips were swollen and red and his hair in disarray and his face flushed and his eyes wide and knowing with desire and in spite or perhaps because of that he looked – undeniably sexy, in a way he had never allowed himself to imagine before. He felt a hum of absolutely irresistible lust around his entire frame, from Erik, and as he slid free of Erik’s thoughts and lay next to him Erik muttered, “And you should have seen yourself when you were doing it. My God” and Charles said, “Maybe next time,” without thinking, and then Erik’s hand was in his pants and Erik said almost casually, “I think you’re the first who’s been able to take all of it, Charles” and then a few minutes later he was coming into Erik’s hand, murmuring his name, and feeling strangely conscious of the way Erik looked at him when he came, like maybe Erik had never seen anything more beautiful in his life.

 Chapter Six

 

Chapter Text

Good Boys (6/15)
Title: Good Boys, Chapter Six
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: NC-17
Genre: road trip! first time!
Summary: In spite of himself, Charles has always been a good boy. Erik is about to change this.
A/N: Ahhhh you are all beautiful and I am once again trying frantically to post this in a Borders before the store closes for the evening (30 minutes! go go!), and it's times like this (well, all the time, really) that I really really should have gotten internet at home. Just know that your comments are making my day/s and that I'm almost out of metaphors for how joy-making you all are. Uh, sexy trees?

Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five

The next morning he’d woken up and seen Erik sitting on the end of the other bed across the suite doing the crossword puzzle and how queerly normal it felt made something shift in the pit of his stomach. Erik was wearing a suit today, not his usual turtleneck and jacket, and Charles thought, He looks good in suits. Good but -- wrong somehow, like a dog in a sweater. This was not the sort of thought that was supposed to occur to Charles Xavier.  

“Morning,” he said, pushing the covers off. He felt Erik’s attention snap to him across the room, almost reflexive.

“Morning, Charles,” Erik said. “Four letters, amuse-bouche?”

Charles flushed.

“Not that, Charles,” Erik said drily. “This is the Times puzzle.”

“I have no idea,” Charles said, getting up and stretching and strolling over to him, feeling a bit like Raven strolling over to Hank, and settling next to him on the end of the bed. “Let me see.”

“It’s not sorbet,” Erik said.

“I know it’s not,” Charles said. “Is there a trick to this one?”

“Not really,” Erik said. “It’s Wednesday.”

Charles squinted at the other words. “Kiss,” he said. Erik grinned and patted him congratulatorily on the knee.

“Exceptional,” he said. His hand lingered on Charles’ knee. At the touch, Charles felt as though the room had shifted a little. Without quite thinking what he was doing he covered Erik’s hand with his and leaned over and kissed him, a bit hastily and suddenly, their noses bumping.

Then he got up and headed for the bathroom.

 “Are you taking suggestions, Charles?” Erik called after him. “I think eight down may be fellatio.”

This could not be happening to him. He washed his hands and stood under a cold shower for rather longer than was necessary.

That day they drove all day. Or rather, Erik drove, and he tried not to stare at Erik.

--

“I think we’d better go out and find some company,” he heard Charles Xavier saying that night. “We’re getting a bit stir-crazy, wouldn’t you say?”

“I wouldn’t,” Erik said. “I’d say you’re terrified of what you’re watching yourself become, Charles.” He took a step closer and Charles tried to stop himself from shuddering. “What terrifies you the most is how badly you want it. You’re a perfect, filthy little cocksucker, Charles.”

“Erik, please,” Charles said. “Your constant stream of obscenity gets a bit tiresome.”

“Fine,” Erik said. “Let’s go out. See what good it does you. See if you can keep the images out of your head. See if you can stop looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” Charles said.

“Like you want me to fuck you in the ass.”

“Erik,” Charles spluttered, reddening.

Erik took a step towards Charles and slid his hand down Charles’ shirt and briefly cupped the undeniable hardness at the front of Charles’ trousers. “The power to read your mind would almost be redundant.”

“That’s not my mind, Erik,” Charles said.

--

But they went out anyway. Charles drank carefully, gin and tonic, scanning the bar for girls. He couldn’t help feeling Erik’s amused gaze on him. The other man looked entirely too smug. It was infuriating. 

The way Erik drank was even worse. He looked exactly as self-assured while he drank as after he’d put the glass down. There was something maddeningly conspiratorial about the look he kept turning on Charles. “You won’t find what you’re looking for in this bar, Charles,” Erik said, finishing his beer and motioning to the bartender. “No one here would know what to do with you if they tried. Give over the charade and let’s go back to the hotel.” Another beer arrived. He glanced at Charles over it and Charles could feel the image of himself that burned behind the eyes – flushed and kneeling between Erik’s legs, taking him in his mouth. Liking it.

“Erik, please don’t look at me like that,” Charles said.

“I’m beginning to find that what you ask me to do and what you actually want are quite unrelated, Charles,” Erik said.

His hand reached over and pressed Charles’ knee. It was the same gesture as that morning, and it made Charles feel giddy and mortified at once.

“Erik, don’t,” Charles said.

“Stop looking at me like that and maybe I’ll stop,” Erik said, leaning closer so his voice was a whisper of breath in Charles’ ear. “And don’t tremble like that whenever I touch you. It’s endearingly virginal but it shows your hand.”

“Erik, I mean it,” Charles said, pushing Erik’s hand off with some effort and getting off the stool, heading vaguely in the direction of what felt like a not unattractive girl at the end of the bar. “

Erik laughed and got off the stool and caught him by the arm and whispered, “You shouldn’t, Charles. Now when you come staggering back in two hours’ time, begging me to touch you, I’m going to want more.”

“Stop talking,” Charles said.

“I’m going to want to see all of you, Charles,” Erik hissed, and when Erik looked at him like that Charles felt as though he were naked already. “So go. Try her. All you’re doing is kissing your schoolboy modesty goodbye.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Charles said, not looking at him. Then he had walked purposefully off towards the end of the bar and heard himself saying, “I beg your pardon, but I couldn’t help noticing what an exceptionally groovy MCL-1 mutation you have – the name’s Xavier, Charles Xavier,” and even saying the name didn’t make him feel any more reassured, not with Erik’s eyes on him like that, mirthful and taunting, from the end of the bar.

The line went rather better than he had expected. When he looked back over Erik was gone.

Going home with the girl wasn’t hard, and unbuttoning her sweater and tugging down her stockings wasn’t hard, but as he began undoing his own shirt-buttons his hand froze.

She’d see.

She’d see the marks where Erik had touched him – the bruise that hid just below his collar and the delicate marks Erik’s mouth had left on his chest – and somehow Charles felt that any idiot could see without any gift at all that those were not marks that had been made by a woman, that the dark stippled mark just below his collarbone whispered that last night he’d been clamped in Erik’s arms, kissing him desperately and hungrily and feeling Erik's laugh ripple against his chest, that Erik had made him whimper and moan and thrust against him, that his lips still remembered the shape of Erik’s cock –

“Mm,” the girl said appreciatively, and Charles knew that he was hard now, and that it was not for her.

For a moment he looked down at her. She was soft with dark eyes and auburn hair and soft full pink lips, and she was perfectly all right and probably somehow ideal in regards to her ratios, but she was not what he wanted, not what he wanted at all, soft where Erik was hard and – gentle where Erik was demanding and she didn’t frighten him and she didn’t have a big – and the sheer absurdity of the thought made him start laughing in spite of himself. He thought fleetingly, “sixteen.”

“What?” the girl said.

“It’s not you, love,” Charles said, frowning down at her, and grabbed his sweater and said, “I’m sorry, love, I can’t, I hope I haven’t disappointed you.”

“But -- Charlie” she said, and then it was easiest to kiss her once and get rid of the evening altogether, and he was out the door, clutching the sweater in front of him to hide the embarrassing bulge, and he was feeling mortified and elated at once, followed by the thought, I’ll worry about this in the morning. When he got back to the room Erik was lying on the bed still fully dressed, waiting for him, looking agreeably smug.

“Well, Charles,” he said. “You’re early,” and then Charles was standing there at the end of the bed tearing all his clothes off in an undignified frenzy, fingers shaking as he pulled off his sweater and undid the shirt and undid the belt and shoved the pants down and didn’t even pause before removing the boxers and then he was standing there tousled and hard and naked except for his socks and Erik actually gasped and said, “My God, Charles,” and Charles was blurting out, “I want you, I want you, Erik, please, touch me, everywhere,” and Erik looked at him with a commingling of lust and amazement and said in a voice that was strangely rough, “Everywhere, Charles?” and was up on his knees on the bed and had caught Charles in his arms and they were kissing almost violently, teeth knocking together, Erik’s stubble grazing against his chin – and this was it, this was what he had wanted, and he began undoing Erik’s belt, clumsily, and Erik muttered, “Fuck, Charles, let me,” and the buckle practically wrenched open and the zipper raced down and Charles tugged the pants and the boxers down and grinned with satisfaction and licked his lips and Erik hissed, “You’re filthy, Charles,” and kicked the boxers off and began kissing Charles again, mouth hot along the side of his neck, and Charles heard the thought, “He’s gorgeous like this,” and flushed and Erik laughed, “Now you blush, Charles?” and Erik’s mouth latched onto his nipple and Charles moaned and they were both panting, much closer than they’d thought, and Erik grinned at him and Erik’s hand gripped both of them together and Charles’ eyes flickered shut and Charles hissed, “Erik.”

Erik kissed him again, his hand sliding excruciatingly slow between them, and Erik murmured, “Admit it, you’re helpless – this is all you want, it’s all you’ll ever want -- you’d do anything I asked – I’ve already ruined you for girls at least, and what’s more you know it” and Charles’ breath was coming in ragged gasps and Charles didn’t speak, just kissed him, and Erik said, “I want you to say it,” and Charles said, “Yes, Erik, please, Erik,” and then Erik’s hand sped up, and they both groaned simultaneously, their eyes locking on each other, and Charles’ hand clasped over his and after a few moments found the same rhythm and Erik muttered, “Grosser Gott,” and kissed him, and when their mouths latched together it was too much, Charles came with a helpless gasp and a few moments later he felt Erik’s body twitch against his and Erik’s seed coated his stomach.

They sagged together.

“My God, Charles,” Erik said, looking at him. The look set something warm and peculiar tugging at Charles’ stomach, because Erik’s eyes had a look of – wonder, Charles thought, distinct from the lingering lust, and Erik hissed roughly, “Come here,” and pulled Charles’ face to his and kissed him. Charles heard, “I could kiss you all day,” and then Charles felt his ears burning and a strange grin spreading across his face, and suddenly he was struck by how he looked, sticky stomach and sweaty knees locked against Erik’s and damp tousled hair and he realized Erik was still wearing a shirt and said, “Erik you’re still half-dressed,” and Erik grinned and glanced down and said, “So it would appear,” and Charles said, “I’m disgusting,” and Erik said, “Perfectly,” and Charles climbed free of his arms and got into the shower and didn’t realize until he turned on the water that he was still wearing his socks.

When he got back in Erik had fallen asleep and Charles walked across the room to his own bed and got in and thought, “I’ll think about this in the morning” and was asleep in moments.

Chapter Seven

Chapter Text

Good Boys (7/?)
Title: Good Boys, Chapter 7
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: NC-17
Genre: First time! road trip!
WC: 1170 this part
Summary: Charles has always been a good boy. Erik is about to change this.
A/N: Thanks so much for your patience! I was in a play last weekend and it sort of ate my life. Then when I sat down to write Charles was being uncooperative. Thanks for all your great notes (the notes on my faulty sex!German and sentence structure were mad helpful and I've fixed at least one of those) and nice comments! You are perfect! Don't try none of that there serum! Cosmetic problem? What cosmetic problem? Sidenote I think someone is meeting his sugar daddy at the table next to me at this Starbucks. The more you know!

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6

 

Charles was going to think about it in the morning. But that morning he awoke to the sound of Erik’s laughter. He blinked drowsily and pushed the covers off. The door of the bathroom opened and Erik emerged carrying his socks.

“Good morning, Charles,” Erik said, in a tone that was entirely too smug. Somehow Erik always managed to be fully dressed absurdly early in the mornings. Charles thought it might be a German characteristic.

“How wonderful,” Charles said, trying to sound casual and to push away the images of last night, their bodies locked together, Erik’s touch making him writhe and shiver and murmur his name, the strange urgency of their coupling, as though this were already becoming a necessity somewhere below food and above shelter or sleep. That wasn’t the right thought. What he was supposed to think was how wrong it was.

He pushed off the covers and sat up. “Just what I was looking for. Thank you.”

Erik strolled over and handed him the socks.

“Do you know how absolutely delectable you look in the morning, Charles?” he said. It was that same almost casual tone Erik always adopted when delivering compliments, as if he were merely stating an unpleasant fact. “Or was nobody there in the morning to tell you?”

“There were always plenty of people,” Charles muttered, flushing.

“And are you always so disarmed by compliments?” Erik asked, ruffling his hair. Charles hated how instinctively his body responded to the touch; he leaned into Erik’s hand and his eyes flickered up to meet Erik’s inquiring gaze. “Or only mine?”

“Erik it might be best if you didn’t allude—” Charles began. Erik sat down on the end of the bed and looked at him and the look melted the other words on his lips.

“Come here,” Erik said, and Charles said, “Erik we’ve got to be on the road” but he was already halfway across the bed and settled on Erik’s lap, knees straddling Erik’s knees, and their mouths were latched together in a long thirsty kiss. Some kisses were words; this one was a sentence, and Erik’s hands found their way around his waist and slid caressingly up his back before they severed and Erik pulled back and looked at him. “This is going to be a problem, Charles,” he said.

“What?”

“I don’t think you can keep your hands off me,” Erik said.

“I could never touch you again if I wanted to,” Charles said. Erik’s mouth captured his again and he whimpered a little.

“No, you couldn’t,” Erik whispered. “You ought to be more careful, Charles. This is a bad idea.”

Charles slid a hand up under Erik’s shirt, fingers running appreciatively along the muscles in Erik’s back, and Erik shot him a look. “The amount of restraint I’ve shown thus far is almost astounding,” he hissed. “You’re practically begging me to ravish you every time you touch me.”

“No, I’m not,” Charles said.

“You’re entirely too complaisant, Charles,” Erik said.

“I’m not,” Charles breathed. He ran his tongue very carefully around the rim of Erik’s ear and Erik exhaled a bit raggedly.

“Aren’t you,” Erik said. He leveled a glance at Charles, and Charles looked back. The look was a challenge. “I want your mouth on my cock, Charles. Now.”

The alacrity with which Charles dropped to his knees startled both of them a little.

“I didn’t expect you’d need me so soon,” Charles muttered, and then Erik had stood up and Charles’ back was against the wall and he’d tugged Erik’s pants open without even waiting for Erik to assist and shoved down the boxers and taken him in his mouth.

Then the phone rang.

Erik answered. “Moira!” he said, and then his fingers clenched in Charles’ hair and Charles thought, “Fuck you, Erik, let me up” and Erik said, “No, Charles can’t talk right now,” and Charles felt the rush of mortification that had been missing all morning and thought, Charles Xavier wouldn’t be caught dead like this, and then Erik said, “No, Charles is fine,” and Charles was trying to get up but Erik held him and he thought, “If I can’t talk then you won’t be able to either,” and traced an obscene line with his tongue that made Erik gasp, “Actually Charles is stupendous.”

There was a protracted noise from the other end of the line that Charles knew was Moira trying to get an explanation of something that neither of them was capable of explaining and Erik held the receiver a little away from his mouth because he was thrusting helplessly into Charles’ mouth, slamming Charles’ shoulders against the wall, and Charles looked up at him, mortified still but strangely delighted, and teased Erik’s head a little with his tongue and Erik let out a string of vulgar German imprecations and Moira said distinctly, “What?” and Erik said, “I apologize, I’ve just spilled coffee” and then bellowed and came into Charles’ mouth, and said into the phone, “No, I’m all right, would you like to speak to Charles?”

“Hello Moira,” Charles said, sliding up the wall, aware that this was not at all the way Charles Francis Xavier generally sounded on the phone, and also aware that while one of Erik’s hands was holding the phone to his ear the other had made its way southward and that Erik was making short work of his pajamas top.

“Is everything all right there?” Moira asked. “Erik sounded – I don’t know – off, a little.”

“Everything’s marvelous here,” Charles said, and as he said it Erik’s mouth slid down his neck and latched onto his nipple and did something incredible and Charles bit down hard on his lip to keep from crying out. “Oh, a lead on our next candidate?” he said to Moira. “How wonderful. How absolutely wonderful. Marvelous. Give me a moment to get a pencil –” He signaled frantically to Erik to move the phone away and Erik looked mischievously up at him and – didn’t. “Just a moment, Moira,” he said, and thought, “Erik please don’t, please don’t, how am I going to explain it, this isn’t a thing Charles Xavier does” and Erik whispered, “Yes it is” and Charles sighed and said, “All right, Moira I’ve – got – a – pencil – gah”  and thought, How does he know exactly how to bend me like this?

Erik grasped him through the fabric of his pajamas and --“Ah,” Charles said, thinking Moira is on the phone and I am listening to Moira. Moira is on the phone and I am listening to Moira. “Oh. God. Yes. Absolutely. Noted. Well, then” and then Erik was kissing his neck and murmuring, "Tell her, Charles; tell her what's happened to you, that you belong to me now," and then Charles thrust so hard against him that he knocked the phone away and came with a helpless groan and when he picked back up Moira was gone.

Chapter 8 (is this a surprise? if so, surprise!)

 

Chapter Text

Good Boys (8/11)
Title: Good Boys, Chapter 8
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Summary; Charles has always been a good boy. Erik is working very hard to change this.
Genre: first time! road trip!

 

“Erik that was humiliating,” Charles said in the car.

“You liked it,” Erik said. “Look, Charles, you’re delightful, but this whole charade where you behave like a complete maniac in the bedroom and moan and pant my name and look at me like you think I’m some sort of god and then in the morning want me to act as though it hasn’t happened, as though I couldn’t tug off your shirt and see the marks where I’ve touched you, where you’ve begged me to touch you, as though the next instant we get alone you’re going to be totally aloof and demure instead of dragging me onto the nearest bed and wrapping your wanton little body around me like you know it belongs there -- it’s getting a bit tiresome.”

“Erik,” Charles said. “I’m sorry. It’s a failure of c-”

“It’s a failure of control,” Erik mimicked. “Yes, Charles. So you tell me. But I don’t think you’re even trying to control it.”

“Look, Erik, it’s wrong and dirty and—”

“And you love it,” Erik said. “Don’t say it’s wrong. That’s bourgeois of you, Charles. You’ve read the Greek texts enough times to have an inkling.”

“There were significant differences between our cultures,” Charles said. “The Greeks felt that a manly love between –”

Erik emitted a vague German imprecation that Charles could tell indicated a high degree of disgust. “Charles,” he said. “If you weren’t so entirely fantastic when you allow yourself to be I’d have lost patience with you a long while ago.”

Charles swallowed. Erik had said it almost casually, the way he delivered most compliments, as if unveiling an unpleasant fact. But it made something start humming around inside his chest. “Erik,” he said. “You’re just using me to prove a point,” he said. “You think you can swagger over to me and mutter filthy things and I’ll just bend over and let you do whatever you please to me.”

“I’m not,” Erik said.  “I gave up trying to prove a point a long while ago.”

“What do you want?” Charles looked at him.

“I want you to admit that you want me,” Erik said. “And then stop looking away whenever I catch you looking at me. You do that rather a lot.”

“What does it matter if I say it?” Charles said. “I’ve already said it.”

“Things you gasp into my mouth in the throes of passion hardly count,” Erik said.

“You’ll be waiting rather a long time, I’m afraid,” Charles said. “As I said, it’s a failure of control.”

“Ah yes,” Erik said, emitting a rueful chuckle. “It’s a lapse, Charles? I’m chocolate cake? And when we get back to civilization and – Moira – you’re arrogant enough to think you can bottle it all back up, aren’t you?”

“And you’re arrogant enough to think you’ll have bent me so far that I won’t be able to,” Charles said.

“I don’t doubt that you’re able to, Charles,” Erik said. “But I think you’d be a fool if you did.” His hand strayed over to Charles’ knee. “Don’t you ever have any fun?” Erik asked.

“I don’t think we have similar ideas of fun,” Charles said. They had gotten on the road rather later than hoped and now the sun was setting on their left.

“You’ve never fooled around in a car?” Erik asked. “Come, Charles. Fifteen girls? Never one?”

“It’s imprudent,” Charles said.

There was a pause. Erik was wearing dark glasses and Charles tried to read his face without reading his mind.

“Charles, if you keep looking at me like that you’re going to make it difficult to drive.”

“I’m not looking at you,” Charles laughed. “I’m looking out the window. America is rich in scenery.”

“I’m scenic,” Erik said. Behind the glasses he was more than usually inscrutable. “Besides none of the other scenery wants to do indelicate things to you in the back seat at the nearest overlook.”

“Erik,” Charles said warningly. “I think that’s illegal.”

“Not more so than anything else we’re up to,” Erik said.

Charles stiffened.

“It’s unjust to obey an unjust law.”

“I’d find that line of argument more convincing if you weren’t using it to get me in the backseat.”

Erik sighed. “You’d enjoy it. I think you like the danger, Charles.”

“I don’t relish the idea of having myself exposed to the highway patrol as some sort of – debauched exhibitionist.”

“So you admit you are,” Erik said.

 

They both saw the sign for the overlook at the same time. Erik shot him a look and Charles pointedly stared at the scenery. 

Then Erik pulled the car over and they drove up a small road and found a breathtaking chasm and a guardrail and a whole gravelly lot full of empty parking spots. 

“Well, Charles,” Erik said. 

“I almost think you must have planned this,” Charles said, glancing over to him. “There’s a sunset, for God’s sake.” 

“I don’t need a sunset to seduce you.” 

Charles’ lips parted around an objection and then he felt Erik’s hand steal over to his other knee and decided not to contest the point. Erik pulled him nearer and Charles glanced around nervously. 

“There’s no one here,” Erik said, and something in Erik’s voice made Charles’ pulse begin speeding up and he opened the car door and said, “Well come on then, let’s look at it at least.”
Then Erik caught him by the arm and Charles was kissing him, hard and with a strange relief, like he’d been holding his breath all day long, and then Erik pulled back and said, “All right, let’s look at it.”

 

They leaned on the hood of the car and watched the sun sink into the gorge. Even with Erik wearing the glasses he was aware of the other man’s gaze on him, and for some reason the scrutiny made him less uncomfortable than usual and he gazed back, taking Erik in, because even though he’d been staring at him for days it had all been furtive glances over chess or from the car or even once or twice a knowing look that blossomed into something longer, and he knew that Erik could see him staring, and – liked it, and Charles propped himself against the car and raked his eyes down Erik’s frame, his gaze lingering a bit in spite of himself at exactly the point Charles Xavier’s gaze wouldn’t have, exactly the spot Charles Xavier would have bent over backwards to avoid, and momentarily he allowed himself to wonder what Erik would look like without the jacket or the turtleneck or the pants or anything at all, body spread over him, thighs clamped around him, hands locking his hands to the bed, taking him from behind while Charles bit into the pillow, and he thought, “For the love of God, Charles, this is an overlook, you’re supposed to be thinking about horses and poetry and hands clasping on deserted beaches, and all you can think of is him fucking you senseless?” And he quickly thought, “Besides that’s an idle speculation.” 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Erik said.

Charles found that he was blushing. And, possibly, a bit hard. “Take off those glasses,” he said, and Erik noticed the strain in his voice and said, “Or maybe I can guess.”

“Here,” Charles said, reaching over and taking off the glasses, and then after glancing around another time he caught Erik by the face and kissed him.

“Charles,” Erik said, and Charles muttered, “How would you like it if I – there’s no one here, Erik, I could—”  and sank to his knees in front of Erik and Erik said, “Charles, you’re completely debauched” and Charles said, “No, I’m not,” and yanked Erik’s pants open.

“Admit it,” Erik panted. “I think you’re admitting it now. It’s what you want. I’m what you want.” Charles had shoved his pants down and was planting a tantalizing line of kisses along the inside of his thigh, looking up at him, and Erik’s breath caught. “I bet I can tell what you were thinking, Charles,” he murmured. “It’s the only thing you can think of. Let me fuck you, Charles. You deserve to be well fucked. And hard. And often.”

Charles inhaled sharply and Erik’s fingers reached down and tangled in his hair. “You’re disarmingly easy to read,” Erik said. Then Charles’ mouth was on him.
 

A few moments later Erik hissed warningly, “Charles,” and tugged him up and Charles felt the headlights on them.

“This is almost too typical,” Charles whispered.

But he could feel Erik’s whole body tense, the metal humming in the fender as though Erik were a small engine, felt Erik coiling into something dangerous beside him, and he thought, “Erik, I’ll handle this” and enlaced his fingers in Erik’s and could almost feel the car bending behind them and said, “Erik, trust me.”

The cop car stopped and its lights went off.

“If you can’t I’ve got ways,” Erik said, and Charles got a very definite image of bent fenders and broken limbs and said firmly, “No, I’ll handle it,” and Erik didn’t seem to be standing down at all so he did the only thing he could think of and kissed him, enlacing his other hand in Erik’s hair and claiming Erik’s mouth and meanwhile sensing the door of the cruiser open and the cop step out.

As the cop approached he carefully pictured an abandoned car with no one leaning on its hood, certainly no one whose hands and mouths were locked together, for all the world like a couple of teenagers, furtive and desperate and not doing anything to be too ashamed of, but probably still violating the Mann Act somehow -- Charles always worried that he was violating the Mann Act somehow -- and the man said, “Humm,” and rubbed his face with a hand. Charles thought, “See?” and he felt a warm amazement burning out of Erik and Erik’s indignant thought, “Then why didn’t you let yourself – all those years you could have” and Charles held the image and the cop got back into the car and the headlights flickered on again and they stood there in each other’s arms as the wheels crunched away on gravel and the sound of the engine faded in the distance.

Erik kissed him, plastering his body back against the hood of the car. “Charles you’re a marvel,” he said. “But we’d better try it in the back seat next time.”

“All right,” Charles said.

He didn’t look at Erik for the rest of the car ride. But Erik’s hand rested on his knee and he didn’t move it off.

--

 

“Ellen,” Charles said, enunciating each syllable carefully and trying not to look at Erik. “There but for an H and you’d be launching ships with your face.”

“I think I’ve heard that before,” Ellen said. He could feel Erik sigh loudly from the other end of the bar.

Perhaps this was how it was going to go. Too close – he had been getting too close, too complaisant, and that morning he’d awakened Erik by crawling into his bed and sliding his mouth down Erik’s chest and wrapping his lips around Erik’s cock, and he didn’t want to think of how many times he’d done that in the past few days, without Erik’s even asking, and it was almost obscene – definitely obscene – and this was not how it was supposed to go at all.

He was going to put a stop to it.

He just needed to remember how.

“Was this the face that launched a thousand ships and something somethinged the towers of Ilium?” Charles asked, wishing he’d paid more attention to Marlowe’s writing and less to the man’s less than savory personal habits. Not that in practice they couldn’t be quite delightful habits. Not that he couldn’t feel Erik’s eyes on him from the other end of the bar, the gaze humming with the lust that Erik no longer bothered to conceal. “Sweet Ellen, make me immortal with a something-or-other.” Not that he wished he were talking to Erik. Fuck it. Was he still trying to recite Dr. Faustus? The girl was giving him a strange look.

“Is he giving you trouble?” someone said, and Charles noticed for the first time that Ellen was not exactly by herself, and that the man attached to her and now returning from the restroom looked large enough to crush his head in and was giving off a distinct air of menace.

“No,” Ellen said, nervously, and then suddenly Erik was standing at his elbow and asking, “Is he giving you trouble, Charles?”

Charles glanced warningly at him. “Erik,” he said, and he could see the slur forming in the man’s mind before it escaped his lips, something in the way Erik’s hand landed on his shoulder that was almost too casual, as if you could tell from the way Erik’s fingers splayed on his sweater that this was not the only time Erik had touched him, far from the only time -- And then the man said it and Charles said, “I beg your pardon?” and Erik hit him, fist thwacking solidly on the stranger’s square jaw.  

The man caught Erik in a headlock.

Then there was an awful wrenching sound, bone tearing from metal, and the man crumpled, clutching a hip, and Charles said, “Erik,” warningly as two more men descended on them. Their bodies were more than usually free of metal. At first Erik held his own in spite of that, but one of them caught him at a disadvantage, shoved him against the bar, was readying a knee for a devastating blow to Erik’s groin—

That was when Charles, almost without meaning to, sent a swift jagged shard of pain into the man’s skull. He dropped to the ground, clutching his head, and Charles grabbed Erik by the arm and turned towards the whole bar and with an effort caught all their attention and said, “Return to your drinks,” and dropped five dollars on the bar and tugged a slightly dazed Erik by the elbow out into the warm night air and down the street to a diner and pushed him into one side of a booth and sat down on the other and hissed, “Don’t ever make me do that again.”

“You looked so concerned, Charles,” Erik grinned, looking only slightly the worse for wear. “You could have made the whole bar do the can-can if you’d a mind to.”

“Erik that was reckless and foolish and you could have gotten us both killed,” Charles said.  Without even wanting to he reached over and pushed Erik’s mussed hair away from his forehead and said, “You’re all right?” and Erik laughed.

“Course I’m all right, Charles.”

Then Charles nodded curtly. “Good.” He saw himself – two lapses in ten minutes, three if you counted the look of concern he knew he was failing to keep out of his eyes, four if you counted the way his pulse was going when Erik looked at him like that, lustful and amazed and grateful.

“We have to protect each other,” Erik said. “Or what’s the point?”

And was that the price of it, Charles wondered, looking at him. To be fighting all the time? And was that why Erik’s body looked always tense and coiled and ready to spring, even when he perched on a barstool or was trying to look innocuous?

“Erik this is getting out of hand,” Charles said. He reached over and pressed Erik’s hand on the countertop. “You’re using my – weakness to make me do things I otherwise would not. I’m sorry, my friend, but this has to stop.”

Erik looked at him with almost contempt. “You’ll have to do better than that Charles,” he said.

“I mean it, Erik, I’m done with this,” Charles said. “It’s already gotten us into too many scrapes. It’s dangerous.”

“Of course it’s dangerous. I’m dangerous. You’re dangerous. The two of us together would always be dangerous, Charles, even if you weren’t giving yourself to me every night. Even if you weren’t unhealthily fixated on my cock, which you are.”

“Fuck you,” Charles thought.

“You wish you were,” Erik said.

“I told you, that’s done with,” Charles said. “It has to be.”

Erik looked levelly at him, and Charles flinched a little under the gaze. “Come on,” Erik said, catching him by the elbow, and they were out of the diner and headed back to the hotel room at almost a run, the warm night air singing into Charles’ lungs, Erik’s fingers gripping tight and implacable on his arm. “That’s idiotic, Charles, and you know it’s idiotic, and I’m going to show you,” Erik hissed, as they walked.

“Erik that’s enough,” Charles said, and Erik glanced around and shoved him up against the side of a building and kissed him, forcefully enough to make Charles gasp, and Erik said, “Will that shut you up until we get back to the hotel at least?” and Charles didn’t say anything else.

When they got in Erik started taking off his jacket. “Get on the bed,” he said, almost casually.

Charles lay back, startled, still fully dressed. There was a curious edge to Erik’s tone.

“I’m not going to fuck you, Charles,” Erik said. “But I’m going to make you wish I were.”

“Erik,” Charles hissed.

“Don’t try to stop me,” Erik said, tearing off his shirt, and Charles’ eyes widened in spite of himself at the lean neat network of muscle. Erik was undeniably masculine, and – flawed probably somehow, Charles knew conceptually, but entrancing, and he moved like a panther, as though he had no doubt that he looked magnificent like this, and Charles felt a hot flare of arousal at the pit of his stomach. Then Erik tugged off his pants and his shorts and climbed on top of him and literally tore Charles' shirt off, fabric rending under his hands, and Charles gasped and caught him by the shoulders, for a moment unsure whether he were pulling Erik towards him or pushing him off, but he found that his fingers were running appreciatively over the muscles in Erik’s shoulders, and then Erik hissed, “And everything else,” and Charles complied, tugging his pants and shorts off with more force than he’d expected, and he felt Erik’s gaze on him like a brand, suffused with desire, and Erik said, “Turn over.”

Charles looked at him. 

“I told you, I’m not going to. Trust me,” Erik said. But Charles couldn’t help diving into his mind for a moment, and the image he emerged with made him blush and obey. He lay down and then Erik’s body spread over his and he shivered involuntarily at the touch and felt his breaths coming hard and fast and he could feel Erik’s arousal stir against him. 

“Are you going to stay put or do I need to do something about it?” Erik asked, his hands clamping Charles’ wrists to the bed, his lips brushing Charles’ ear, and Charles shivered a little into the touch and said, “I might not stay put.” 

Erik kissed the back of his neck. “I should have known you’d say that,” he said, and Charles heard, “Of course he’d say that, he’s practically your wet dream,” and then he felt the metal bedstead begin to unravel, and the iron locked his hands to the bed and snagged around his ankles, and he knew when he looked up at Erik that he had almost run out of room to bluff. 

Erik pushed Charles’ hair out of his eyes almost gently and kissed him very delicately on the back of the head, half in his hair, half on his neck, and Charles shuddered and muttered, “Erik, please,” not quite knowing what he was asking.

“Charles,” Erik said, getting up and crossing the room and rummaging in one of their suitcases, “whenever you try to pretend you don’t want me in the worst way possible, I’m going to think of this.”

“Downside of being a telepath,” Charles said, because he couldn’t think of anything else. He knew that Erik could see the way he was looking at him, as if he couldn’t get enough of that lean angular body and the perfect immense cock, flushed and erect, and Erik said, “Not for me,” and Charles could tell he was memorizing the look.

Then Erik came back to the bed with something in his hand.

“Don’t worry, Charles,” he said, “although I got this with the inevitable in mind it has other uses,” and Charles choked a little and said, “Don’t call it the inevitable, Erik.”

Then Erik bent down and kissed him and their mouths locked hungrily and fiercely and he bit Erik’s lip and said, “Don’t,” and Erik said, “Why not, Charles, look at you.” Charles felt the image ripple behind his eyelids, and Charles kissed him again and said, “Don’t make me look,” and then Erik began kissing his way across Charles’ shoulders and into his hair and down his back, punctuating the kisses with words. “You’re filthy, Charles, you want to be fucked, you deserve it, you’ll never be able to contain yourself again and I don’t want you to, I want you like this, Charles, I want you as much as you want me, and if you’d just let yourself I think we’re perfect, Charles, no one else is ever going to do this to you, so just admit it and stop running from yourself because there isn’t any point, I’m the only thing you want, you’re mine now, you’ve always been, since you pulled me out of the water, and I’m not letting you drown yourself either,” and then Charles felt Erik’s fingers sliding between his thighs, slick with something and a little careless and Erik said, “Keep your legs together” and then whispered, “I know that’s difficult” and Charles laughed and held his thighs together and Erik slid into the tight space between them and hissed, “Fuck,” and Charles’ back arched helplessly against him and a hot flare of arousal shot through him at feeling Erik there, and Erik laughed against his back and kissed the skin over his shoulderblade and Charles’ eyes flickered shut and he shoved back against him, and the friction the next time Erik thrust into the space between his thighs made him writhe and mutter, “God, Erik,” and Erik hissed, “Do I have to fucking tie you down to the bed to make you admit that you like being ruined, Charles?” and Charles was panting helplessly, rutting into the sheets, and gasped, “Maybe you should, Erik,” and then Erik’s hands clasped over his and Erik thrust against him again and Charles muttered, “Touch me, please,” and Erik had reached around him and was stroking him in time to his thrusts, and he could feel how close Erik was, and Erik half-grunted, half-whispered, “Knew you’d like it Oxford style, Charles,” and then Charles laughed and he could feel Erik’s body jerk against him, and that he knew what it felt like when Erik was about to come was delicious but a little unnerving, because that was the sort of knowledge you only got one way, and he knew how he’d gotten it, mouth stretched around Erik’s cock or hand wrapped around him or body latched onto his, they’d done dozens of things, and he wanted to do dozens more, and then Erik hissed, “You’re close, aren’t you,” and Charles realized he was, and Erik kissed him, his hand pulling a little carelessly the way Charles liked, tugging a wordless cry out of him, and they came together, making a sticky indecent lake in the middle of the sheets, and then Charles felt the metal uncurl from around his wrists and ankles and let Erik pull him into his lap. He rubbed one of his wrists absent-mindedly and Erik noticed and caught the wrist and pressed it to his lips and he heard the thought, “God you’re perfect” and glanced at Erik and said, “So are you, sometimes," and then he was up and in the shower because Charles Xavier wouldn't have said that.
Chapter 9

 

Chapter Text

Good Boys (9/15)
Title: Good Boys, Chapter 9
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: NC-17
Genre: first time! road trip!
Summary: Charles has always been a good boy. Erik is doing his level best to change this.
A/N: There was a time when I thought I only had to write 3 more chapters to resolve everything! But Charles and Erik wanted to go somewhere else with it, so I have obeyed. I still think it'll be over by Chapter 12 but I don't want to make any definite promises! In the mean time, I appreciate your patience and your willingness to marry The Saga of Erik's Awkwardly Closeted Boyfriend in certain states where this is legal! Your comments are air and water and pie. Mm, pie.

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8

The next morning Charles awoke before Erik did and without thinking very much about it peeled off his pajamas and climbed over onto Erik’s bed. He stretched carefully out on his stomach and lay there on folded arms gazing over at Erik.

Erik as he slept was still guarded, somehow; the faint worried lines on the brow never quite dispersed even in the depths of dreams, and Charles was reminded of those mysterious fish at the bottom of the ocean who were always at least half awake, swimming through their nights. It seemed such an inadequate comparison. Instead Charles thought of poisonous anemones whose sting was death to everyone except for certain fish who passed through their tendrils with impunity, and thought, “So I’m to be a clownfish, then? Charles, this is why you don’t go in for metaphors,” and snickered in spite of himself and Erik woke up and looked at him and he remembered that he was lying spread naked on Erik’s bed.

“Well, this is a surprise,” Erik said.

“Erik,” Charles said quickly, not looking at him, “do that to me again right now and I’ll worry about it in the car.”

Erik’s sharp sudden intake of breath made Charles feel almost smug. Then Erik laughed and reached over and cupped one hand possessively around the smooth curve of Charles’ buttocks.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Charles,” Erik said, and Charles flushed. “Or did you miss the point of the exercise?”

Charles looked over at him. Erik’s grin was entirely too smug, as usual, and he wished there were some way to prove him wrong. Then Erik’s fingers traced slowly and delectably along the line of his spine and Erik said, “Something you wanted to ask me, Charles?” and Charles felt his whole body begin to respond to the touch. “Erik,” he hissed.

Then Erik had thrown off the covers and was kneeling over him, one knee on either side of Charles’ torso, and Erik’s mouth followed his hand, kissing a careful line down his spine, and Charles whimpered. “Please,” he said.

“What?” Erik said

Charles found that he was clenching his thighs together almost without meaning to, and he watched the lust kindle in Erik’s eyes as Erik’s gaze ran approvingly over the length of his body.

“Please,” Charles said, “I want to feel you there again,” and arched his body just a fraction up towards Erik’s, and he could feel Erik’s arousal already, and Erik’s hands grasped his waist.

“Charles,” Erik said, and they were both having difficulty not moving against each other, he could feel how much Erik wanted to, and Erik whispered, “Just behave like yourself today, Charles, don’t try anything funny.”

“All right,” Charles hissed, arching his neck up towards Erik, and Erik seemed to know what he wanted, half-kissed, half-bit him on the white exposed flesh, and Erik whispered, “All right?” and Charles shivered and nodded and said, “All right, Erik,” and reached over to the bedside table and found the stuff Erik had used the last time.

He unscrewed the cap, coated one of his hands with it, and slid the hand between his own legs, glancing up at Erik, and Erik’s nostrils flared and Charles could feel his erection throb suddenly against him.

“You should see yourself, Charles,” Erik murmured. Charles flushed but met his gaze, and the look in Erik’s eyes was more than molten lust – Erik was actually entranced, as though he could not manage to tear his eyes away when Charles was like this, pliant and flushed between his thighs, blue eyes wide with desire, and Erik purred, “Look at yourself,” and Charles slipped into his mind and caught a glimpse of himself and gasped a little. There was a confidence that he had not been expecting – still shy, still reticent, but a bit cockier, as though he could tell how sexy he looked like this, and there was an almost feral glint in his eyes, wide and hungry with lust, his hand moving between his thighs with a tantalizing slowness, and he heard, “Charles, you have no idea what you’re doing to me,” and Erik said, “Charles, that’s enough,” and then Erik’s hands braced on his shoulders and Erik thrust into the spot between his thighs, and watching himself gasp and writhe like that when Erik’s cock slid against that sensitive zone was almost too much. He slipped free of Erik’s mind and thrust his body back against him, back arching, fingers clenching in the sheets.
“Fucking God,” Erik muttered, and he heard, “Charles you are possibly the sexiest thing on this planet.”

They were thrusting together now, his thighs clamping together around Erik’s cock, and the friction was overwhelming. Erik’s hands were locked tight on his hips, holding him steady, and it was too much – too good – and not quite enough, he couldn’t help thinking, but shoved the thought away because it did not do to think too much right now, and he whispered, “Please,” and Erik began thrusting harder, hips slamming into him, making the bed jounce beneath them and Charles cry out, and Erik muttered through clenched teeth, “That’s what you like, isn’t it, Charles? Tomorrow you’ll wear the marks of this on your perfect white thighs, you’ll feel where I’ve been when you walk, and you’ll feel where you wish I was” and Charles choked out, “Erik,” and came, feeling Erik’s own release welling up and Erik thrust into him once more and then their seed mingled in the ruined sheets.

Erik kissed him slowly and carefully and then got up, grinning down at him like a carver grins at a masterwork. “Remember, Charles. Try not to be so – difficult today.”

“I’ll try,” Charles said. With those eyes on him, possessive and still dark with lust, he was regretting it already.

--

They were eating dinner in some anonymous diner.

“I used to be taller,” Charles was saying. “Not objectively but relatively speaking, naturally.”

“Naturally.”

“One starts off tall, or middle of the pack at any rate, and then everyone else gets taller and one doesn’t.”

“Ah,” Erik said.

Charles frowned. He ate a last mouthful of potatoes and put the fork down. “Suppose that didn’t happen to you, did it?”

He could heard Erik thinking, “I wouldn’t change a thing” and some muddled Shakespeare about being just about the middle parts of fortune that swiftly turned into an obscene vision of exactly where Charles’ head wound up when he was on his knees.

“Erik,” Charles muttered.

“Stay out of my head,” Erik grinned back.

“The reference was apt at least,” Charles said, shooting him a look that was supposed to be reproving but couldn’t help being slightly mirthful. Where had all the indignation gone? Charles thought momentarily that perhaps that sector of his brain was now occupied with tidbits about Erik – the way he liked his eggs or the faintest hint of a strut that was always in his walk somewhere, or the precise dimensions of the bulge in his– But he wasn’t going to think about that now. That thought led places.

“And admit you set yourself up for it,” Erik said. “I’m amazed you don’t have rugburn.”

Charles swallowed. Feeling suddenly a little rash he said, “I might actually.”

Erik chuckled. But the look he turned on Charles was enough to make Charles blush helplessly and suddenly wish they were alone. He met Erik’s eyes and noticed that Erik’s mind was swiftly carding through locations for a quick indecorous – yes, those were his thoughts exactly.

“Men’s room,” Charles said, reaching over and letting his fingers linger just a little too long on Erik’s elbow.

Erik looked at him and Charles felt his ears burn. This was exactly what Charles Xavier had been afraid of, he knew. That once he let up control he wouldn’t be able to – he’d wind up in strange restrooms with strange Germans and the next morning he’d wake up sticky and sore in all the wrong places and --

“I mean, I have to go use the euphemism,” Charles said, trying to cover the blush that had risen to engulf his entire face, and Erik laughed.

“You’ve been good today, Charles,” he said, levelly. “Better than I’d any right to expect, if I’m to be honest. You don’t have to--”

“Stop talking,” Charles said, getting up and beginning to walk towards the restroom with a strange nervous fluttering in his chest, and he could feel Erik’s eyes following him as he walked. He shut the door and made his way into the stall and leaned against it for a moment, shutting his eyes. Then he could hear Erik’s footsteps outside.

Erik had known what he meant.

--

Afterwards, the taste of Erik still on his lips, his hair a little mussed from where Erik's fingers had clenched in it, shoulders sore from the bruising kiss afterwards when Erik had slammed him against the side of the stall, he followed Erik out of the diner and they wandered aimlessly, talking, until they found a waterfront park with a picnic table and shooed away two decrepit-looking seagulls and deployed the chessmen on it.

Charles won.

Erik watched him fold the board and put away the pieces and said, “Come sit over here, Charles, it’s scenic.”

Charles chuckled ruefully. He settled next to Erik on the other side of the table and gazed out over the water. The air felt different between them, somehow; it had all day, but more this evening, since their frenzied coupling in the men’s room, and the fact that it had already been twice in a day and Erik’s presence at his side still set something strange kindling in the pit of his stomach was one of those things that Charles was adamantly not going to think about, not today at any rate. 

Erik’s fingers, under the picnic table, found Charles’, and Charles did not attempt to disentangle them. Momentarily he wondered what Charles Xavier would think but shoved the thought underwater long enough to make it stop thrashing. He felt curiously aloof from his body, as though the young man sitting at a picnic table looking over at Erik with a new little half-smile in his eyes were a stranger. Erik said something a little indecorous and Charles felt his blood sing in his ears, wondered, “How did this happen, how did I wind up here like this, how on earth am I going to fix this, will I be able to fix this?” and began stroking Erik’s knuckles with his thumb, flushing at the half-conscious look Erik turned on him.

“I read all of Shakespeare when I was twelve,” Charles was saying. “My stepfather had him in a big folio. They say everyone falls into two camps: Shakespeare or Einstein. I’m in the Einstein camp. Naturally.”

“What’s the matter with Shakespeare?” Erik asked. Some odd-shaped birds walked past, moving like houses on stilts. Erik’s thumb began to run over the ridge of Charles’ index finger.

Charles frowned. “Everyone seemed a bit – uncontrolled,” he said, trying to calm the sudden surge of his pulse. “I kept wanting to shake them by the shoulders and tell them to get a grip on themselves.”

Erik laughed. “How like you, Charles,” he murmured. The sun was down now, the night air still warm.

“Also being a telepath I suppose I lack sympathy for plots based on misunderstandings,” Charles admitted.

“So little suspense in your life, Charles,” Erik muttered. “Doesn’t it ever get boring?” His hand caught Charles’ and slid their intertwined fingers to rest on Charles’ knee. Suddenly the touch was all Charles could think about.

“No,” Charles said, thinking, Not since you at any rate.

“I was always partial to Richard III,” Erik said.

“So was I,” Charles said. “And the Tempest.”

“I would have pegged you for a Prospero,” Erik said. “Alone with your books on your personal island?” Charles thought, he has no right to sound that sexy when he’s not even trying to be. “Looking for the right spell to fix the world’s problems, Charles? And did you find it?”
Charles smiled. "Not yet, Erik."
Erik's knee slid over and touched his. "They played chess in that, if I'm remembering it right."
"Not Prospero," Charles said. "Ferdinand and Miranda, at the conclusion."
"Brave new world that hath such creatures in it," Erik said, not looking at him, as though the words were slightly the wrong size for his mouth.
"Exactly." Charles glanced over at him.
"Funny, if you think of it," Erik said. "To spend your whole life thinking no one else exists who's like you, and you meet someone who is, and somehow this gives you the urge to play chess."
"Wouldn't have pegged you for a Miranda, Erik," Charles said lightly, sliding closer on the bench, and Erik snorted.

The night wind stirred around them. Charles’ hair blew into his eyes and Erik reached over and pushed it out of his face, and he noticed how close together they were sitting, their legs pressed together on the bench as though for warmth, an electric current humming between them. He could feel Erik’s slightly startled delight at their proximity, and suddenly a little careless he leaned his head onto Erik’s shoulder and threaded an arm through Erik’s.

“Well, Charles,” Erik muttered, “to what do I owe this honor?”

“Not to Einstein,” Charles said, feeling queerer than he had in a long time.  It was dark on the water and he almost couldn’t see Erik’s expression.

“Is anyone here,” Erik asked. His voice sounded a little rough.

“No one who’s looking,” Charles said, after a moment, furrowing his brow in concentration.

“Good,” Erik said. He leaned over and bridged the gap between their mouths. The kiss was different – all this was different, this day had been absolutely wrong and strange and Charles couldn’t quite chase away the word “date.” Erik’s kiss demanded nothing; Erik’s mouth claimed his carefully, almost delicately, like Erik was trying to memorize him. It felt – like finding something fascinating, like -- all the words that sprang to mind were the wrong words; this was a lapse, Erik was dangerous and a bad investment and he’d been craving Erik’s sinewy powerful body with a strange insistence that was, he reassured himself, merely carnal, a flaw in the works somewhere, but physical, and yes Erik’s mind was fascinating and the way he spoke and drove and played chess were endlessly mesmerizing but Erik was incapable of things like this, men were incapable of things like this, this was the sort of thing you could only get from certain more traditional avenues, it couldn’t go anywhere or turn into anything besides a few furtive and increasingly sticky fumblings in beds or bathrooms or – anywhere, Charles thought, anywhere, I’d do it anywhere if he looked at me that way.
He slid a hand up to rest on Erik's chest. Erik's eyes flickered open and met his.

Then he heard the thought, "What are you doing Erik? What are you trying to - he's a good boy but you could bend him over and take him right here if you wanted, stop kissing him like that, you don’t kiss people like that” and then Erik pulled away suddenly and neither of them looked at each other. Charles was glad; he knew his own expression was entirely transparent, eyes wide and helplessly open and that Erik could have seen the nervous flush on his cheeks and heard the way his breath was going.

“You see, I can be a nice boy, Charles,” Erik murmured, reaching over and stroking Charles’ chin with a finger, and there was something about the touch that reminded Charles of a cat trying to caress a mouse.

“I don’t like nice boys,” Charles said, clasping his hand over Erik’s hand and leaning over and kissing him roughly, plundering Erik’s mouth with his tongue, trying to make it rough and fast and desperate the way things usually went because whatever had just happened was unnerving, and if spending a day with Erik trying to ignore what Charles Xavier would do resulted in something like that—

“Let’s go back to the hotel,” Erik said, pulling back and looking at him. “I want you. Unspeakably, Charles.”

“All right,” Charles said.

Erik laughed. “All right?” he mimicked. “Well, this is progress.”

Charles flushed. “But – not that, Erik.”

Erik barely seemed disappointed. “Speakably, then.”

Then they were walking as fast as they could back to the hotel.  Halfway there Erik’s hand reached over and found his fingers again. Charles, he thought to himself, this is the most reckless thing you’ve ever done in your life -- and it's not bridges or heights or water, it's him, kissing him on a bench in the dark even manages to be dangerous somehow-- But he caught Erik’s hand anyway.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

Good Boys (10/15)
Title: Good Boys, Chapter 10
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: NC-17
Genre: first time! road trip!
Summary: Charles has always been a good boy. Erik has been doing his level best to change that. But will they be able to stop?
A/N: Hi, still no internet at my place! I knowwww I suck, on the day I man up (ovary up?) and get some, I'm going to write you all heartfelt notes or something equally fructiferous, and that is definitely the wrong word but whatever, we'll cope. 10 minutes before this starbucks closes! It's getting ridiculous! I love reading your comments! Please, please totally friend the bejezus out of me! I don't want you missing any updates either and all I really do these days is post fic whenever I get to teh internets! The chapter after this will get a little more plot intense, I think. Wow that was vague. Hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9

Charles didn’t realize what sort of a bar it was where the next mutant worked until they were both inside and he heard Erik emit an unmistakable chuckle.

“Well, this is handy, Charles,” he said.

And then Erik’s hand settled proprietarily in the small of his back and stayed there.

“Erik,” Charles said, feeling his stomach begin to flutter, “we’re on government business, and we may have to bring him with us, and he may not be blind.”

“But then again he may be,” Erik said.

“Erik,” Charles said, and Erik shrugged and gave him the reassuring look a cat generally turns on a canary and removed the hand. They settled together at the bar and Erik said, “Two brandies.”

“But not together,” Charles put in, glancing nervously around the bar.

Erik grinned. “Of course not.”

Then someone else came up to the bar and Charles could feel him standing a little closer than he thought was strictly necessary, and darting over into his mind for a moment he noticed that he was being – scoped out, he supposed, was the most accurate way of putting it.

“What are you drinking?” the man said, leaning over, and Charles had to glance over at him. A little too Aryan maybe, but not an unattractive specimen. “Well, brandy,” Charles said, “but I’m here on business—“ and then, catching himself, “Besides I’m not--”

“Charles isn’t,” Erik said. “But he’s with me” and Charles felt the absolutely murderous glance that Erik leveled on the stranger and then Erik’s hand slid around his waist and he heard “So go back to the fucking Hitler Youth where you came from and leave him the fuck alone,” and said, “Erik,” warningly and Erik said, “I didn’t say anything.”

The bartender approached with their brandies and then turned to the new arrival. “What are you drinking?”

The man was staring at his pocket in shock. “Maybe I’d better not drink tonight,” he said. “I have this strange feeling that my keys just melted.”

Then Charles had to stifle a laugh, and he turned a reproachful glance on Erik and Erik shrugged and turned to him with that delightful dangerous grin and said, “Cheers.”

“Cheers,” Charles said. They drank. Then Charles set his glass down and his fingers found Erik’s under the bar. He couldn’t help grinning.

--
When they got back to the hotel room Erik said, “Come here,” in a voice that made something strange start fluttering around inside his chest, and kissed him with less force than warmth and then stood back from him a moment and muttered, “Wanted to do that all night, Charles.”

“You’re nicer when you’re jealous,” Charles murmured, and Erik said, “No, I’m not,” and kissed him again, bruisingly, and Charles gave a little whimper and Erik said, “Besides you don’t like nice boys,” and tugged Charles’ shirt and sweater-vest off and they hit the floor and joined another pile of Charles’ discarded clothes, because this had not stopped happening, and the realization that Erik Lehnsherr was now taking these liberties with him quite definitely as a matter of course made Charles feel a bit peculiar.

“Get on the bed,” Erik hissed, and Charles obliged, and felt his belt buckle open and the zipper of his pants begin dragging down, and he said, “Erik what?” and Erik said, “I’m not deflowering you, Charles, just returning a favor,” and Charles found himself grinning smugly and said, “Oh.”

Erik’s mouth was always delightful – Erik’s hot slick tongue tracing careful circles along his collarbone, Erik’s mouth plundering his own – but when it began a slow pilgrimage down his chest Charles thought he was about to die. He had not realized how much he wanted this. Erik kissed his navel and pushed his shorts down to pool at his ankles and kept kissing his way down the sparse trail of hairs, eyes glinting mischievously up at Charles. Charles almost didn’t breathe. His fingers knotted in the sheets and he whimpered, “Erik, please.”

“Keep talking, Charles,” Erik whispered, and Charles blurted out, “I won’t -- be able to – soon.”

Erik took him in his mouth and Charles’ fingers whitened in the sheets. “Oh God.” Erik’s eyes met his and Charles thought he had never seen anything sexier in his life; the sheer startling intimacy of the look, and the naughty glint in Erik’s eyes, and he let out a little moan. “Erik,” he hissed, and Erik began to suck, watching Charles for reactions. Erik noted every infinitesimal shudder of the hips and the way Charles would gasp and clutch his shoulders and hiss “You’re – oh God do that again” and the way Charles shut his eyes and let out a helpless moan, noted and experimented so that Charles felt as though he were an instrument and Erik was quickly learning all the stops. How did you manage to have a knowing smirk with someone’s dick in your mouth? Charles knew he never did; Erik had let him watch the last time. He felt as though he were losing control of his body, Erik’s mouth dragging a symphony of helpless thrusts and grunts and, “Erik – how did you – perfect – you’re – that yes that – I’ll make you jealous all the—fucking – time if this is what happens” and he heard, “You’d better not” and Erik’s mouth sped up, and he couldn’t help thrusting into the warm hot wetness and muttering, “Erik – you’re going to make me inco—“ and Erik’s laugh was what did it, and he came with his fingers clenching in Erik’s hair.

Erik swallowed and slid up along his body and Charles said, “Incoherent was the word.” And Erik said, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

The taste of himself on Erik’s lips was novel and made him feel unspeakably filthy. There was a strange new enthusiasm to the kiss; Erik’s hands slid around his waist and Erik finally disentangled their mouths and planted a line of kisses along Charles’ neck and said, “God, Charles, you,” and Charles said, “What?” and Erik said, “Kiss me again,” and Charles did and then Erik looked at him with that strange look that made Charles’ stomach jump and Charles heard the thought, ‘You’re going to ruin me’. Then he had climbed on top of Erik and locked his legs around Erik’s hips and was kissing him frenziedly, and his hand found Erik’s cock and began carefully sliding along the already familiar length, and he could tell Erik was close, and grinned at him and settled back on his hips and thought, “Look at what you’ve made me, Erik,” and Erik’s eyes widened and he could feel Erik’s breathing shift and hear the thought, “Perfection,” and Erik was thrusting into his hand and Erik muttered, “Charles” and came, hot and sticky against Charles’ fingers.

He felt Erik looking at him. When Erik looked at him he didn’t know what Charles Frances Xavier would do because no one had ever looked at Charles Xavier like that, like he belonged to him and like he might be the only thing of value in the whole collection. Charles felt suddenly emboldened and brought his fingers to his mouth and carefully licked the traces of Erik’s seed off them, making Erik shudder a little and murmur, “Charles you’re filthy.”

Charles grinned, “Perfectly.”

Erik’s eyes on him were almost too much. He ran his tongue questingly along his fingers again.

“Charles,” Erik hissed.

“I like the way you taste,” Charles said, with an almost innocent shrug. The way Erik was looking at him made his stomach tingle strangely and he muttered, “Don’t look so surprised, Erik, you did this,” and Erik sat up and pushed him back on the bed, hands clamping on his wrists, and whispered, “No, Charles, this is you.”

“I’m not like this,” Charles began faintly, but the words tasted dry and stale in his mouth and Erik bit his neck, making him arch up towards him, and Erik whispered, “This is better than deflowering you, Charles, look at yourself, this is what you’ve always been, what you were terrified that you were,” and Charles couldn’t help slipping behind Erik’s eyes for a moment and seeing himself, spread out beneath Erik, blue eyes shining with lust, and his whole body looked like an invitation, the way it was poised between Erik’s thighs. He ran his tongue thoughtfully over his lips and Erik said, “Do you see now?”

Charles shook his head.

Then Erik was kissing him, mouth moving along his collarbone, and Charles’ whole body shuddered and Erik said, “Charles, you’re a slut, you’ve always been, you just happen to be smart enough to hide it," and Charles shivered a little into the touch. Erik hissed into his ear, "You never told anyone about the things you imagined someone would do to you, but I know, and I’m going to find them all out and do them to you no matter how unspeakable they are," and Charles couldn't help shifting against him, "you’re going to tell me everything, Charles,” and Charles choked, “Erik, I-”

Erik’s mouth latched onto one of his nipples and then Erik pulled back and whispered, “What did you think about, Charles?” and Charles muttered, “I can’t remember, Erik” because since having Erik there, taunting and looking at him, every time he’d touched himself it had been all Erik, all visions of being ruined on that perfect huge cock, dozens of ways, some he thought might not be anatomically possible but wanted to try in case he turned out to be wrong. He pulled Erik’s face down to his and kissed him, gasping a little as their mouths met.

“Charles what if those fifteen girls of yours could see you now,” Erik hissed. "Or last night or tomorrow night," and Erik's hand traced possessively over his chest and Charles couldn’t help blushing. His eyes locked on Erik’s and Erik muttered, “But you’ve always been like this, Charles. Willing. Filthy. Mine. You knew it the moment I touched you.”

“Erik please stop talking,” Charles muttered, struggling a little, and Erik's hands caught his and held them.

“You’re spoiled now, Charles, even if I tried to be gentle you wouldn’t want it,” and Charles hissed, “You’re right, I don’t” and kissed him, their mouths locking in that strange way that was angry and gentle both together, and then Charles had pushed Erik to a stand and slid down off the bed next to him, planting a kiss on the ridge of Erik’s hip. He licked a deliberate line down Erik’s chest and wrapped his lips around Erik’s cock with an almost greedy little moan of satisfaction, and the sudden kindling in Erik’s eyes told him that Erik had heard it. “Charles you are a filthy cock-hungry little whore,” he managed.

Charles sucked carefully down and traced his tongue obscenely along Erik’s length and then pulled his mouth free and murmured, “Well in that case you’re in luck, aren’t you,” and rubbed his face against it, and Erik actually gasped. Then he slid his mouth up all the way and Erik groaned, “Charles sometimes I – think I just happen to be attached to – your favorite thing.”

Charles chuckled, low in his throat.

He felt Erik’s hips twitch against him and he slid his mouth off Erik and looked up at him, and the look was new. “Come on me,” he muttered.

Almost immediately Erik’s expression was absolute devouring lust, but there was a moment when Charles could have heard a pin drop in Erik’s mind. For a second Erik’s eyes widened and Charles heard, “He did not just say he wanted me to – Gott im Himmel” and knew it was because he was offering like this, because he had silently said, “Fuck Charles Xavier” since Erik was here and Erik was willing and Erik was – magnificent and he couldn’t think of anything else in the world he wanted more right now than to be defiled and see that startled kindling of lust in Erik's eyes.

Erik’s fingers clutched in his hair and Erik’s eyes screwed shut and then Erik came, in three great bursts, hitting him in the face and on the neck and trailing obscenely down his chest, and Charles gasped a little and found that he was hard again, and Erik hissed, “Hold still,” and knelt on the bed and caught Charles by the waist and licked it off his neck. Charles’ whole body shuddered against him. "You're a mess, Charles," Erik said against his neck, and Charles reached up to wipe his face but Erik shook his head and caught his hand, “Let me, Charles,” and Charles nodded, biting his lip because it was almost too much, and he could hear Erik thinking, My God, you are a dirty irredeemable little slut, and you have no idea how perfect.

He watched the top of Erik’s head move over his chest, and reached down and tangled his fingers in Erik’s hair and Erik blurted out, “Charles,” and then Erik’s tongue made him forget whatever else it was he had been planning to think.

He felt strange and filthy and – beautiful, he kept finding the word beautiful when Erik’s mouth moved over him – perfect – and he brought their mouths together again -- God, he’s perfect, this is insane -- and a few minutes later Erik had taken him in his mouth again and his fingers were locking in Erik’s hair and it was even better, and he noticed that Erik was a little disarrayed, and those eyes were devouring him, and seeing Erik’s head between his legs was strange and wrong and wonderful, and the thought, “He’s doing this to me, and he likes doing it,” and he was thrusting harder into Erik’s mouth and then their eyes met and held and he gasped, “God, Erik – look at us –” and came.

He tugged Erik up on top of him and their mouths crashed hungrily together. By the time Erik was done kissing him he had forgotten which one of them it tasted like.

He fell asleep like that, limbs locked comfortably around Erik’s. In the middle of the night he woke and clambered into his own bed. He almost didn't know why he'd bothered.

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Good Boys (11/13)
Title: Good Boys, Chapter 11
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: NC-17
Genre: first time! road trip!
Summary: Charles has always been a good boy. Erik is doing his level best to change this. But will they be able to stop?
A/N: Hey, remember when I was like "Ooh, I bet I can update Saturday?" and then life got really really crazy and I couldn't make it to a starbucks? I do! Sorry this took me like a decade; this chapter was being recalcitrant as BALLS. And work/life was ridic. I have really appreciated all the comments (and blackrosefire11 made some art which is epic as epic) and so anyway without further ado: the boys. Sidenote: who thought Charles would be able to hold out this long? certainly not me! anywho.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10

 

That morning he awoke to the noise of Erik in the shower and got up and slipped into Erik’s bed, kicking off the sticky sheets and settling back in the indentation where Erik had been lying and thinking, “Again? What are you doing, Charles, for God's sake at least try not to look like you’re trying to be so tantalizing.” Then Erik stepped out of the bathroom, naked and rubbing his hair with a towel, and Charles swallowed a little uncomfortably, because the sight of Erik like that was – God, had he always looked like that? Erik naked – gloriously naked, splendidly, spectacularly, marvelously naked – was the sort of thing you simultaneously wanted to throw as many adverbs at as possible and that made you realize how utterly pointless adverbs were. All neat effortless lines of muscle, his cock swinging idly between his legs, moving with a mesmerizing precision. Most people out of their clothes looked vulnerable, somehow, and a bit soft – Charles was sure he did – but Erik looked as dangerous and assured and – cocky wasn’t the right word, but it was a word that sprang insistently to mind – as he did when he was fully dressed. If anything he looked better. So it isn’t the leather jackets, Charles thought, it’s him, he always looks like that, like a Greek statue, for God’s sake, but ten times better, fuck but I want him, I want to kiss every inch of that, I want that sinewy body locked around mine, I want to be clamped between those muscled thighs shouting his name like it’s the only word that has an ounce of meaning.

Erik saw him and halted mid-step and Charles watched him swallow and thought, “Do I do that to him, too?” and when their eyes met he thought he knew what the answer was. He could feel Erik’s gaze smouldering along his body like a rough caress.

“Erik,” he said, hating the way his voice curled around the syllables, like he was used to gasping them out, like they were a secret shibboleth as warm and familiar to him as his own name, like the name of a lover, he couldn’t help thinking, and then found he was blushing.

“You’re a sight in the morning, Charles,” Erik said, his voice a little rough.

“So’re you,” Charles muttered.

Erik frowned, and Charles writhed a little under his gaze, because he could tell exactly what Erik was staring at. “Be careful, Charles,” Erik breathed. “I’m going to think you’ve gone sweet on me if you start saying things like that when I find you in my bed in the morning.”

Charles swallowed again. “Come here and kiss me,” he muttered, and then Erik had tossed away the towel and climbed on top of him and kissed him, damp hair falling into Charles’ face, and then Charles muttered, “Sorry, don’t know what came over me, Erik,” and instantly regretted the turn of phrase when he heard Erik’s answering thought “I’m pretty sure you do, Charles” and at the sight of that smug grin Charles felt himself flushing and tried to get up. “You’re impossible,” he said, managing almost to climb past Erik, but Erik caught him by the waist and held him.

“You like it.” Erik whispered, and he didn’t bother resisting.

They tumbled back together on the bed and then Erik settled against the backboard with Charles between his legs, chest pressed against Charles’ back, arms wrapped around his waist.

“Possibly,” Charles said, and he found that he was leaning into the touch, settling in the space between Erik’s legs and arching his neck a little like he was asking to be kissed, and then Erik was kissing him there, and he couldn’t help thinking, What am I doing, why am I in his bed, why am I so – pliant and how did we wind up tangled together like this, why is he being so nice, when did we start touching each other like this, this is worse than I thought – and Erik said, “You’re thinking too much, Charles, don’t think, I want to kiss you,” and then Charles twisted and caught him by the chin and pulled their mouths together with a little half-sigh and the thought, “This can’t be happening,” and the kiss was warm and strange and – natural somehow, and Erik pulled back and said, “Stop thinking, Charles,” and Charles said, “I don’t mean to,” and Erik said, “I can make you stop,” low and suggestive, mouth grazing his ear, and reached around and carded his fingers through the dark curls at the juncture of Charles’ legs and Charles choked, “I know that—Erik – you’re insatiable,” and Erik said, “Not compared to you I’m not,” and then for some reason they were both laughing.

Charles leaned up and kissed him on the chin, mouth grazing stubble, and thought, “What are you doing, Charles?” and Erik planted a kiss on his neck, running a finger down Charles’ chest, tracing the edge of a bruise, and muttered, “You’re turning into a map of places I’ve touched you,” and then Charles shuddered a little into the touch and Erik said, “Do you like seeing me whenever you look at yourself?” and Charles arched back against him, almost involuntarily, and breathed, “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”

“Still asking for the opposite of what you want?” Erik asked, sliding his hands down Charles’ chest and grasping his thighs, and Charles couldn’t help shifting back against him, acutely aware of what Erik wasn’t touching because all the blood in his body seemed to be rushing to it, and muttered, “Erik, please.” Erik’s hands didn’t move.

“Beg me,” Erik said.

Charles looked helplessly at him. “I thought I was,” he managed. “Erik you were being so nice.”

“You don’t like nice boys,” Erik said.

“You’re nice boys,” Charles said.

“No, Charles,” Erik said, tracing a finger very slowly along the inside of Charles’ thigh. “I’m not. Fortunately for us that’s why you like me.”

“That’s not why,” Charles hissed, already uncomfortably hard.

“It is, Charles. You’ve known all along.” Erik’s fingers casually brushed along Charles’ swollen cock and Charles bit his lip and muttered, “Erik, please, please touch me,” shifting back against Erik again, and Erik continued, his fingers tracing teasingly along Charles’ stomach and the slight muscles in his lower abdomen, to where the sparse trail of dark hairs began, “You don’t want ‘nice’ or there would have been a dozen pasty-faced Oxford boys with small pricks who would have gladly taken you punting and recited Plato to you afterwards as they delicately removed your sweater vest.”

Charles choked out a laugh. Then Erik’s mouth slid along his neck, Erik’s tongue teasing the hollow of his throat, and he shuddered, “Erik for the love of God, if you don’t touch me I’m going to myself,” and was reaching to, but Erik caught his wrist and hissed, “That would be delightful, Charles, but no, you’re not,” and caught his other hand too and slammed Charles’ wrists against the headboard, and Charles felt Erik’s concentration as the metal curled around his wrists and couldn’t help moaning a little, his eyes fixed on Erik. Erik’s expression was mesmerizing, that dark flicker of control that only lit up his eyes when he moved metal, and if Charles had been hard before he was even harder now, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. He heard the thought, “God you’re beautiful like that, you have no idea” and thought in spite of himself, “You, too,” and then Erik caught his face and kissed him, hard, and Charles nipped at his lower lip and slid his tongue desperately into Erik’s mouth and mumbled, “Erik,” half into Erik’s mouth and Erik pulled back and kissed him bruisingly on his neck and he shivered and felt his breaths coming hard and fast and his eyes flickering shut and heard the thought “I may actually be addicted to seeing you like this,” and then Erik had slipped out from behind him. Charles whimpered a little at the loss of contact, and Erik was looking at him, eyes full of unabashed lust and a possessive hum of satisfaction and – something else, and then Erik leaned over and pushed the hair out of his eyes and planted a kiss on the side of his face, almost gently.

Erik said, “But somehow or other it seems you want me.”

“Erik,” Charles gasped.

Erik ran a finger very slowly down the curve of Charles’ cheek and along the line of his throat and slowly down his chest and traced excruciatingly down the line of dark hairs and skimmed the length of Charles’ cock and Charles shifted desperately and muttered, “Erik that’s enough – for God’s sake, fuck, what do you want me to say,” because it was impossible to think of anything else, he had to make Erik touch him, and he was straining towards him, and Erik shook his head warningly.

“Don’t try anything, Charles,” and he had climbed easily down the bed and settled at his feet and was kissing him with an infuriating gentleness, his mouth pressed first to Charles’ ankle, then to Charles’ calf and then his tongue toying with the spot on the inside of Charles’ knee, and Charles choked out, “Erik, what are you doing to me.”

“I thought you wanted me to be nice,” Erik said, glancing up, that predatory grin illuminating his face, and Charles bit his lip to keep from crying out as Erik reached over and slid his hand slowly along his length and then withdrew it. It was like the shock of emerging from the warm riot of someone else’s mind into the stillness of his own thoughts. He couldn't help moaning.

“Charles if you really don’t like it stop making that sound and don’t look at me like that,” Erik muttered, kneeling between Charles’ legs.

“Erik please, please,” Charles gasped, struggling a little. “You’re nice. Be nice.”

 “Charles I’m not,” Erik said, kissing his way slowly up the inside of Charles’ thigh. “And you don’t want me to be. You’ve known all along how to stop me, you’ve always been able to, but you haven’t” – Erik leaned down and kissed him just below his navel, and Charles gasped – “you never have, and maybe that’s because you like what a bad idea it is, Charles, letting a boy like me touch you like that—“ His hand slid along Charles’ cock with an agonizing slowness and Charles bucked into the touch – “you beg me every single time I touch you, you’re forgetting how it feels to say any name but mine when you come,” and Charles’s neck arched back and he gasped, “Erik,” and Erik climbed on top of him, legs astride his hips, and he realized for the first time that Erik was as hard as he was and muttered, “You’re forgetting too, Erik,” and when their eyes caught and held Erik looked momentarily as if he’d lost a bluff. Charles strained closer so his lips brushed against Erik’s ear and managed, “You love seeing me like this, don't you?” and before either of them could say anything they were kissing fiercely, starvingly, and Erik let out something between a grunt and a moan into his mouth and muttered, “Charles,” and he heard, “I’d be insane not to, you’re gorgeous, Charles, always, but flushed and pliant like this, with my name on those swollen lips – God” and at the thought Charles gasped, “I’m not going to hold out much – longer” and Erik managed to look a little wry and said, “You’re not alone” and gripped them together, and they both groaned simultaneously. Charles strained towards him and Erik bit his shoulder, his hand working quickly between them, and Charles came explosively a few seconds before him, gasping, “Fuck, how is this so – good – Erik,” and then Erik’s hips twitched against him and their eyes met and Erik came, shuddering against him.

They collapsed together and Charles felt the metal uncurl from around his wrists and Erik said, “Did I hurt you Charles,” and Charles shook his head and said, “No, Erik, you’re a good boy.”

Erik frowned. "Maybe you think I am. In which case God help you.”

“You’re nicer than you let on.” Charles ran a finger caressingly down Erik’s chest. 

He heard the thought, “Only to you,” and then Erik said, “I’m not, Charles.” Charles leaned against him, head nestled in the curve of Erik’s shoulder.

“I know everything about you, Erik,” Charles said. “There’s so much more to you. So much good.”

“And so much not so good,” Erik said. “You’ve seen that too. But it’s all rather theoretical to you, isn’t it, Charles? Bad, good? It’s all a sort of logic puzzle. It’s a game of chess with all the pieces neatly labeled. And God help you on the day it ceases to be theoretical.”

Charles ran a hand along Erik’s arm and suddenly was acutely aware of how they looked, spent and sticky and leaning together, bodies intertwined, Erik’s arm possessively about his shoulders, as though they were – and yet he didn't want to shake it off, felt something hum in his body at the touch, and -- God help us, he thought, God help Charles Xavier, and leaned over and muttered, “Erik we ought to go find the mutant,” and Erik said, “Of course we ought to,” and grinned at him and didn’t move his arm.

Chapter 12

 

Chapter Text

Good Boys (12/15)

Title: Good Boys, Chapter 12
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: NC-17
Genre: first time! road trip!
Warning: violence
WC: About 2200
A/N: Enjoy! See, here's two for the price of Sorry It Took Me A Decade!

The mutant’s power, they admitted, turned out to be best suited to his present line of work.

Erik looked a bit miffed during the walk back to the hotel. 

“Erik, you’re magnetic,” Charles said. “That has many, many more uses. Several of them innovative and related to the bedroom.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t think it was a neat trick,” Erik said.

“Well, yes, but so limited in its applications,” Charles said. “I can’t think of a single, decent, public use for that.”

Erik frowned. “If you could have, I bet you’d have taken him along.”

“Erik,” Charles said, with a little laugh of disbelief. “You’re being ridiculous. It’s probably more of a handicap than a blessing, even in private. Besides think if you lost control of it in public. It’d be like an – obscene elephant."

“I’m sure he can handle it.” 

“For God’s sake, Erik,” Charles said. There was a silence. Then Charles reached over and threaded his hand through Erik’s arm without thinking too much about it. “Besides yours is plenty for anyone,” he said, “at least it certainly is for me,” and then he felt the strangeness of hearing those words emerge from his lips into the air and suddenly was glad it was dark and Erik couldn’t see him blushing. 

“So you admit it,” Erik said, a little roughly. Erik’s arm slid around his waist and Charles found that he was leaning into the touch. 

They passed under a streetlamp and Charles was immediately aware of how they looked – bodies pressed a little closer than was strictly proper, as though the contact were somehow necessary, his fingers gripping Erik’s arm in the jacket, Erik’s arm fitting casually around him. It looked almost – natural. He waited for the mortification that generally followed that sort of thought.

 Instead he heard Erik say, “Stop looking at me like that, Charles."

“Like what?” Charles asked, and they passed out of the light again.

“Like you’ve fallen for me.”

--

They walked past the bar again on the way to the hotel and Charles frowned. “Something’s happened,” he said, slipping his arm out of Erik’s.

“How can you tell?” Erik said.

“There’s –” Charles tried to convey the curious thickness of emotion in the air, but it was like trying to explain a smell to someone not born with the sense. While he was trying but failing to explain it the picture hit him. “Oh God,” he said. Erik looked nervously at him.

“What, Charles?” he asked.

There were reasons that Charles Xavier did not do certain things, reasons Charles had been forgetting lately, and a very vivid stream of those reasons were now rushing up at him from the darkness at the end of an alleyway two blocks away. 

“What, Charles?” Erik asked again, and Charles flinched away from him, wincing at the image that was playing behind his eyeballs.

“They’re beating him,” Charles said.

“The mutant?” Erik said. “Where, Charles?”

Charles pointed vaguely.

“Show me,” Erik said.

“We aren’t going to get mixed up in this, Erik,” Charles said. “The CIA—”

“Charles, don’t be worse than you are,” Erik said, with almost contempt in his voice, beginning to walk in the direction Charles had pointed. Charles followed him, finding that he had to nearly jog to keep up with Erik’s pace.

“Erik, I don’t think,” Charles began, panting a little.

Then Erik had rounded a corner and Charles pointed. “There.”

There was the distinct sound of something metal hitting flesh, and then Erik smiled tightly. “See, Charles? I’ll be able to handle it without any assistance from you whatsoever.”

A bloodied tire iron suddenly froze mid-swing in the air and Charles watched Erik’s brow furrow in concentration, and he could see Erik’s sixth sense at work, locating the bits of metal, and Erik laughed, “Nice watch,” and he heard the crunching of delicate wrist bones and a dark figure doubled over in pain and emitted a horrified scream and Charles got a very definite panicked image of a baseball flying through the air with effortless ease, and then another dark figure was trying to get away and there was the dull sound of metal connecting mercilessly with flesh and a sharp crack and then it had fallen to its knees like a broken toy and was screaming in pain and Charles felt a slice of agony and a third man began trying to climb away from Erik over a chain-link fence, and Erik laughed and said “Smart,” and the chain-link fence unreeled and dropped him squealing on the ground and the tire iron came down on his head and a storm of scrap metal was thudding dully into his skull and he was screaming, a wretched animal sound.

Charles glanced over at Erik, curiously frightened, because the expression on Erik’s face was horribly familiar, eyes kindled, lips parted just a fraction, the barest hint of a smirk, and the furious and instinctive motion, the command, and Charles thought, “This was always a bad idea and now you see why, Charles Xavier was right, it’s the other side of the coin of what he does to you. What you’ve let him do.” Charles flinched. “Erik,” he said. It sounded as useless as it always did.

There was another spine-melting scream. Charles felt a stream of furtive nervous images blurred through the pain and whispered, “Erik, it’s not his idea -- he’s one too – not a mutant but -- ” and only then did Erik stop, and Charles walked over and touched the bloodied figure of the mutant and said, “He’s going to be all right, but we’d better call someone.”

Erik’s power was handy for making stretchers out of mailboxes.

But Erik was stubborn and they only took the mutant, brought him to the door of the bar and set him down gently. Erik went in and told the bartender to call an ambulance. Charles stood outside feeling around in the mutant’s pain and finally hissed “Go to sleep,” and leaned against the door-frame, exhausted, still feeling the broken shins and ruined throwing wrist and the other boy’s throbbing head and disjointed thoughts, and not wanting to be involved fumbled into the mind of a bystander and made him find a payphone and call an ambulance for them.

When Erik came back they didn’t look at each other. There was silence for two blocks, only the sharp sounds of their shoes on the pavement.

Then Charles felt the words pouring out of him. “You broke his legs,” he said. “And his wrist. And you gave the other boy at best a concussion and at worst he’s brain damaged.”

“They were beating him with a tire iron,” Erik said wearily. “I’m sorry I didn’t kill them.”

“He’ll never throw a baseball again,” Charles said.

“That’ll teach him,” Erik said.

“Erik,” Charles said.

“They’re bastards,” Erik said. “They deserve worse than that.”

“They were drinking,” Charles said. “They’re just kids.”

“You could have stopped me,” Erik said blandly. He kept walking faster. When they got back to the hotel room Charles felt all the metal fixtures humming angrily. Erik sat down on his bed and began removing his shoes. “I tried to warn you, Charles,” he said, finally. “I’m sorry.”

Charles didn’t look at him. “I’m going to take a shower,” he said. “Don’t try anything with me.”

“The pains of being a good boy, Charles?” Erik asked, almost too casually, and Charles couldn’t help hearing, Lost him, Erik. That’s the trouble with good boys. Should have known. “Can’t you look at me, Charles?” Erik said. “Or are you frightened that I might call your bluff?”

Charles slammed the door shut.

As Charles stood in the shower he found the night playing over in his mind in spite of himself. The screams. The dull crunch. The sharp cracking. And the darkness, and Erik’s face illuminated in the lamplight beside him. And Erik’s look of utter disgust and control, the absolute assurance that hummed from him as he dispensed his rough brand of justice. It was awful, Charles thought. Wrong. The worst part was that Erik was good at it. Looked good like that – something in the set of his jaw when he bent things. Dangerous.

He shivered. It was the water, he insisted to himself. He bent his head under the faucet and gulped like a dog, trying to steady his breathing.

Dangerous. No longer veiled by the expression of vaguely bored restraint he wore like a jacket in polite company. Erik was most in control when he wasn’t. When he was like that the world seemed to bend around him, and it was awful but incredible, what he could do, the feral smile, the malignant concentration. He was frightening like that, Charles thought. And I could stop him if I wanted – any second I could have reached out and stopped him. But I didn’t. Why didn’t I? Because I trust him? Of course I trust him. But –

Something flared in his stomach. It was all terribly familiar. Erik’s expression of precise satisfaction as he tugged the fence down, flung the iron through the air, bent things and broke them. Erik’s dirty half-smile. Erik’s hands, pulling the metal to his will – the mastery that hummed from him, the predatory glint in his eyes--

Fuck. No, Charles.

He was hard. Painfully hard.

No. Charles felt a hot tide of rage and mortification sear through him. “No,” he whispered. He slammed his forearm against the tiles and rested his head on it. Charles Xavier wasn’t like this. Charles Xavier didn’t get off on fights in alleyways. This was worse than he’d thought, he’d hoped a few nights ago that whatever was happening between them was in spite of and not because Erik was like this, dangerous, casually brutal – When Charles Xavier’s hand reached down and grasped himself he wasn’t thinking of the dark-haired man in the next room with the dangerous leer, of his large hands and his taunting eyes and his immense cock and his face when he broke things–

“Fuck,” Charles groaned. “Erik.”

Then the door swung open.

Erik stood in the doorway in a bathrobe gazing at him in – shock and – wonder and – something like hope. “Yes, Charles?” He took a step nearer, taking him in, raking his eyes along Charles’ body, noting the flush of arousal, the eyes wide and a bit frightened.

Charles flushed. “Erik please don’t, I didn’t mean –” but every phrase he could find still sounded like a capitulation.

“My God, Charles,” Erik said, and Charles felt lust slowly begin displacing the wonder in those eyes.

“Erik, please, no,” Charles choked, but the way Erik was looking at him, the total unabashed lust and something like startled delight, like a gambler at the beginning of a winning streak, was curiously emboldening.

“We’re a better fit than I thought,” Erik managed. “That’s lucky, isn’t it?”

“Erik what you did to them was wrong,” Charles hissed.

“You liked watching me do it.” Erik watched him swallow. “You do have a hard-on for bad boys, Charles. You wish you were repelled. But you aren’t. If that look you’re giving me is to be believed you’ve never wanted me more in your life.”

Charles met his gaze, blue on blue, and he knew that Erik didn’t have to be a telepath to tell what the look meant. “Erik,” he said, and he could hear the helpless lust in his tone, the mortified voice that muttered, “I’m sorry, I love the way you look when you’re breaking things, I want you now, I can’t help it,” and he knew that Erik heard it too, that he knew now, that there would be no turning back.

And then Erik said, “Tell me what you want me to do to you, Charles,” and slipped the bathrobe off.

Charles felt his ears redden, and Erik slid the shower door open and stepped in and brought their mouths together, and Charles moaned helplessly into the kiss. Then Erik fell to his knees and planted a kiss on Charles’ inner thigh, making Charles shudder, and said, “This?” and planted another one in Charles’ navel and said, “This?” and Charles was gasping for air like a drowning man and Erik said, “This?” and licked a line down the ridge of Charles’ hip and Charles choked, “Erik,” and Erik laughed and then murmured, “Or this?” and planted a kiss just at the base of Charles’ spine, where his intent was unmistakable.

“That,” Charles gasped. Erik laughed against him, his breath warm in contrast to the cold water, and murmured, “You have a perfect ass, Charles,” and Charles’ breath caught and Charles heard, My God, he’s letting me, and Erik said, “I was a fool to think you ever could be a good boy” and planted a careful line of kisses around Charles’ entrance and Charles shuddered and braced himself against the shower, feeling his skin tingle with anticipation, and then Erik’s mouth sealed over him and he felt the hot slick point of Erik’s tongue inside him and his hips bucked helplessly forwards, like metal drawn suddenly to a magnet.

“Fuck,” he hissed, and he felt rather than heard the thought, “you’re talking,” and said, “my mouth’s generally – otherwise occupied –” and Erik’s laugh rippled through his whole body and he groaned, “Erik,” and felt the thought, “Say it again,” and hissed, “Make me,” and Erik’s tongue was sliding into him, deeper but still carefully, nudging against the secret ridges of muscle, and he thrust back against him, obscenely, feeling desperate for more, and Erik’s hand slid around his legs and grasped his cock and began stroking him, excruciatingly slow, and he whined, “Erik, please,” and Erik laughed again and his tongue hit something that made Charles let out an inarticulate moan, and then Charles was thrusting back against him helplessly, craving more, blurting out, “God I want you, Erik, all the time,” and Erik’s hand slid along his length again – “you have no idea – I don’t like nice boys -- I never did, Erik – fuck – just you”  and Erik drove the point of his tongue hard and slippery against that spot again and Charles let out an inarticulate moan and shoved back against him, panting-- “please fuck me, Erik, ” and Erik hit it again and then the combination of touch was too much, and Charles came with a wordless cry, his hips bucking into Erik’s hand. Erik kissed his way slowly back up his spine and reached his neck and bit the tender flesh there and Charles winced and shivered, and pulled Erik’s face to him and kissed him fervidly, like a confession.

“There isn’t a word for what you are, Charles,” Erik muttered, looking at him.

Then Charles kissed the ridge of his ear and, feeling his stomach somersault a little at the indecorous words, whispered, “I want to suck your cock, Erik,” and he could feel the breath leave Erik’s lungs.

“When you ask like that,” Erik said, and then Charles was on his knees looking up at him and there it was again, that – strange look in Erik’s eyes that was different than lust, and Erik’s fingers clamped in his wet hair and Erik’s thumb brushed along the line of his jaw and Erik said, “Charles,” and then Charles had shut his eyes and taken him in his mouth and begun an excruciatingly slow suction that made Erik’s eyes flicker and Erik mouth, “Charles, please,” and then he’d speeded up the rhythm, reaching up with one hand and toying with one of Erik’s nipples, cold and hard under the jets of water, and that made Erik groan like a stop being pulled out of an organ, but then it was too much, he could only do so much, and he had taken him all the way in, paused and glanced up at Erik and thought, “It’s good, isn’t it?” and Erik gasped, “More than good, Charles,” and Charles thought, “Fuck my mouth,” and Erik began thrusting, slowly at first, watching Charles’ face, and then faster, working out a rhythm, his breaths coming more and more shallow, and then he murmured, “Charles, I’m,” and climaxed, and Charles swallowed and pulled free and grinned up at him.

When they emerged from the bathroom and Charles was walking towards his own bed Erik caught him by the wrist and shook his head. Charles looked at him.

“Not tonight,” Erik said. “Tonight I want Charles Francis Xavier in my bed, and I want him naked.”

Charles felt his ears redden. “I might snore."

“But then again you might not,” Erik said. They settled under the comforter together and then Erik was looking at him as though he wanted to kiss every inch of him, as though -- and then Charles had run out of analogies and leaned over and kissed him.

“Do we have to go anywhere tomorrow?” Erik asked.

“Baltimore,” Charles said.

“So, no,” Erik said.

“You’re awful,” Charles said, not really wanting to go to Baltimore either.

“That’s my whole appeal,” Erik said.

Charles flushed. “It’s not, Erik,” he said seriously, yawning in spite of himself. “There’s so much more to you than that.”

“How like the good boy you are to say that, Charles,” Erik said, yawning too.

“I’m not a good boy,” Charles said. He settled on the pillow and pulled one of Erik’s arms around him and heard, “You aren’t good, you’re perfect,” and said, “Erik,” and Erik said, “Get out of my head, Charles” and it didn’t sound as angry as he’d meant it to.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Good Boys (13/15)
Title: Good Boys, Chapter 13
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: NC-17
Genre: first time! road trip!
Summary: Charles has always been a good boy. Erik has been doing his level best to change that. But will they be able to stop?
WC: about 1800 this chapter
A/N: Ahhhhhh finally the last three chapters! I apologize for taking like 1800 years. In the course of the time it's taken me to update this story you folks probably forgot all about it and you're into, like, Planet of the Apes fandom now, but, hey, that's my own dang fault for turning out to need 7000 words to conclude this and not, like, 2000. Oops. Anyway, you're amazing and were it not for your comments this would have been over at, like, chapter 6 and I'd be in the Planet of the Apes fandom with you, or wherever you are now. If you're still here, I hope you enjoy, you sexy sharks!

“Let’s go to Baltimore tomorrow, Charles,” Erik said when they woke up. It was strange waking up next to Erik; in the course of the night their positions had shifted and he found when his eyes opened that he was lying half on Erik, half on the bed, cheek pressed into Erik’s shoulder and arms latched around Erik’s neck and legs straddling Erik’s hip, and was not quite sure why his body thought this was a good idea, as though Erik were somehow more comfortable than the bed.

“How did I get into this position?” he asked.

“I am not entirely sure,” Erik said. “You were like this when I woke up.”

“How long have you been awake?” Charles asked, yawning, trying to pull an arm free of Erik’s neck and finding that it was asleep. Erik noticed what he was doing and began kneading Charles’ arm with his fingers and said, “Not long,” and Charles felt the circulation begin humming slowly back into it and leaned over and kissed him.

“Let’s not go to Baltimore today,” Erik said. “I can think of better things to do.”

“Can you,” Charles said, and when he met Erik’s gaze he saw himself spread out on the bed, Erik kneeling over him, kissing him with an astonishing gentleness, down his chest and at the juncture of his legs and himself moaning and gasping, “Fuck me, Erik, please,” and Erik saying, “No.” He shivered.

“Can I,” Erik said.

Charles propped himself up on an elbow and looked at him, and Erik continued, tracing a finger along Charles’ chest, “Fuck Baltimore. I want to take you, Charles. Every inch of you. I’ll be gentle. Until you can’t stand my being gentle any more, and then I’ll take you as hard as you can take it and make you tell me how much you like it.” Erik’s finger traced back up Charles’ chest and strayed along the curve of Charles’ cheek. “Is that what you want, Charles? Tell me what you want.”

Charles flushed.

“Erik, we really ought to go to Baltimore,” Charles said.

---

On the road to Baltimore Charles’ hand strayed over to Erik’s knee and rested there as he drove. Erik grinned.

--

“I’m not going to fuck you, Charles,” Erik said. “Not until you beg me to.”

“Erik,” Charles said. “What makes you think I want you to?”

“You told me,” Erik said. “Every time you look at me you tell me again. Whenever I touch you, you tell me. How do you think you’ll sound when I’m taking you, Charles? Like you did under that infernal machine, all gasps and laughter, my adorable lab rat?”

“Erik,” Charles said, “that wasn’t a representative sampling.”

“What’s worse is you’re half in love with me already,” Erik said. “By the time I’ve done everything to you I can think of you won’t be able to walk for days, Charles. I’ll come back in the evening and you’ll be stretched out on my bed begging me to fuck you again, and harder, and make you scream my name so the whole world knows what you are and who’s to blame for it.”

“Erik,” Charles said.

“I’m not going to,” Erik said. “You’re going to have to admit to me that you want it.”

“You’ll be waiting rather a long time, I’m afraid,” Charles said, suddenly aware of their position, Erik’s body curled around his, Erik’s fingers lazily exploring his chest. How had they gotten like this? When had this thing that was happening between them turned into something that left them glancing at each other all day and locked in each other’s arms every night? When had it been decided that one of the beds in their suites would always be suspiciously untouched and the other a tangle of sticky naked limbs and mussed sheets? And when had he started walking around the suite naked because he liked the way Erik’s eyes felt on him when he did and when had he started touching Erik like that in public, carefully at first and then almost recklessly, and when had Erik stopped needing to seduce him every time they touched, and when had this become his idea, too, practically every time, and when had he started napping on the road because he couldn’t get enough of Erik at night, even though some of the time it was just talking, but talking was different somehow when they were like this? And when had wanting Erik bled into wanting this, whatever this was? And when had Erik started looking at him like that?

“Where’d you get this?” Erik asked, finding a scar, and Charles began telling him about a bicycle accident he’d had on the grounds of the Westchester house when he was eight, and Charles could tell he was actually listening and the way Erik had been looking at him these days had gone from predatory to something – distinctly – else. Not that the predatory leer wasn’t there. But sometimes Charles would turn around and catch Erik giving him a look of simple amazement. If he’s marked me, Charles thought, I’ve marked him just as badly.

“Where’d you get this one?” Charles asked, touching the only scar on Erik’s body, a mark on his elbow, that didn’t hum warningly of Shaw.

“I burned myself on a menorah,” Erik said.

Charles began laughing helplessly.

“What’s so funny, Charles?”

“You,” Charles said. He kissed the spot on Erik’s elbow. “Erik,” he muttered, suddenly emboldened. “If you think it’s telling when I look at you, you ought to see the way you look at me.”

Erik didn’t look at him. “How do I look at you, Charles?” he said.

“Like you couldn’t stop looking if you tried,” Charles said. “Sometimes I think you’re more terrified of me than I am of you, because no one has ever done this to you, have they, Erik?”

“Done what?” Erik looked at him.

“I’m all you can think about,” Charles said. “You wish it were just my ass, don’t you, Erik? But it’s me. It’s the way I laugh or the way I lose to you at chess or –” Charles paused for effect and ran his tongue over his lips, “the way I look when I’m sucking your cock--”

“Charles,” Erik said, his voice suddenly rough, and Charles couldn’t help reaching out to his mind and grabbing the first thing he found.

“And you even like the sweaters,” Charles said, elated. “Good God, what have I done to you, Erik?”

“I don’t like the sweaters, Charles,” Erik said. “They’re asinine. They make you look like someone’s uncle.”

“Don’t argue with a telepath, Erik,” Charles said, kissing him, and Erik was devouring his mouth and he could tell that his words had found their mark. Then Erik’s mouth pulled free of his and Erik was kissing his hair and the nape of his neck and Erik’s mouth was hot and tantalizing along the ridge of his ear. “Tell me what else, Charles,” Erik said. Charles swallowed and shuddered a little as Erik’s tongue teased the spot on the side of his neck that always unscrewed him a little and began fumbling towards Erik’s mind. “You like the way I walk,” Charles said, “and -- my height, you like that I’m shorter than you, and my mouth, you love my mouth, and the way I look after you’ve kissed me and you like the way I still blush when I say some things and the way I don’t blush any more when I say other things and you like watching me use my mutation, you think it’s incredibly sexy, the way I look when I’m concentrating, and you like the words I use and the way I tremble when you touch me and –” Erik’s mouth had made its way down Charles’ torso and Erik glanced mischievously up at him.

“And I think you talk too much,” Erik said, and took him in his mouth, and Charles let out a totally abandoned moan and his fingers found Erik’s hair and clenched in it.

---

They were in the car again. His fingers were casually running along Erik’s knee.

This was the last mutant they were trying to recruit. And then they would be done and have to head back to civilization, where there would be people they would have to see more than once, where he would be expected to be Charles Xavier again. He thought he might be forgetting how.

The thought of all the things that Charles Xavier generally did was suddenly intensely exhausting. All the bars and the girls and the wink-and-nod and waking up in strange beds and – he shut his eyes and leaned back against the seat and exhaled – and more than that, acting as though this were what he enjoyed, when if he were to be completely honest he’d rather – but all the things that came to mind that he’d rather be doing revolved around Erik. Waking up next to Erik was intensely nice. Nicer than anything. Well, not quite anything, he admitted, flipping through an increasingly elaborate catalogue of vices whose only omission was fast becoming all he could think about. Waking up entirely and embarrassingly tangled around Erik, as though he had to cling to him for dear life – even that had been oddly nice, and the way Erik had looked at him – no one had ever looked at Charles Xavier like that. There was a curious loneliness in other people’s beds. But with Erik even these strange hotel beds had felt – warm and companionable and – Oh God, he thought, Charles, if you think “more like home than Westchester ever did” I’m going to – I don’t know – you’re far gone, aren’t you?

He frowned. They would get back and under the scrutiny of the CIA would settle back into separate beds in separate bedrooms and he would have to stop touching Erik like this and Erik would have to stop giving him that look and – something would have to be done; he felt as though anyone who met him now would notice that something had altered, but he had no idea how to stop it.

He glanced at his face in the rear view mirror. He was not physically changed, he thought. His hair was still all in place. His eyes were the same color. He had not ceased shaving. But there was a difference—

“You look happy about something, Charles,” Erik said, and Charles flushed, because he had hoped it would be some other word.

He glanced over at Erik and thought, maybe I can memorize him, give myself something to think about when things get back to normal, but as he studied Erik’s face and his absurdly large hands on the steering wheel and his posture in the seat and the expression of slightly puzzled concentration that played over Erik’s face as he drove the thought struck him like a slap in the face: you can stop having him, Charles, but you won’t stop wanting him, will you? Not now. Maybe not ever. And he’s here and he’ll still be there when you get back to civilization, and he’s not going to stop, so why should you? And then he thought, No, that’s insane, all this is insane, a small slip-up is one thing but a big one doesn’t bear thinking about, and the phrase almost made him laugh. This is the biggest of your life, he thought.

“What are you thinking about, Charles?” Erik asked.

“Erik, what are we going to do about this once we get back to civilization?” Charles said.

“I thought you were planning to act as though it had never happened, Charles,” Erik said, staring straight ahead. “You’ve always insisted that that was the plan.”

“Well suppose it weren’t the plan,” Charles said, a bit huffily.

He could feel the nervous tension coiling through Erik’s body. “Can’t break the habit, Charles?” Erik asked, a little too casually. “I told you.”

“Erik,” Charles said. “It isn’t that I can’t.”

“Well as long as you don’t mind then it’ll keep happening,” Erik said.

“It’s not that I mind it, Erik,” Charles began, avoiding his eyes. "But it's hardly that simple."

"Isn't it," Erik said, and it wasn't a question. He removed his hand from Erik's knee and they drove in silence for a while. After a time he found that his fingers had crept back to rest there.

"Hm," Erik said, with a little snort, and they didn't talk about it again.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Title: Good Boys, Chapter 14
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: NC-17
Genre: first time! road trip!
WC: 2200
A/N: Finally. Or, for people who remember the first chapter, "once more, with feeling(s)"!

They were sitting on the bed facing each other, Charles’ legs entwined with Erik’s and Erik’s arm around his waist, and Charles could still taste himself on Erik’s lips whenever they kissed. They had been making love slowly and with a surprising caution; the last mutant was collected and the CIA, still scraping for a lead on Shaw, had suggested they take their time getting back and without even needing to look at Erik for confirmation Charles had booked a hotel and if they’d gotten out of bed at all Charles couldn’t remember when it had been. He thought he could recite Erik’s body blindfolded.

Around the room were the detritus of two days’ coupling – a crossword puzzle and a pile of discarded clothes, Erik’s turtlenecks draped casually over his sweaters the way Erik’s body casually draped over his when they lay tired, spent and sticky, Erik’s chin nesting in the crook of his shoulder and Erik’s lips brushing his ear whenever he spoke.

“I know why you won’t, Charles,” Erik had said the night previous, after they’d come painfully close. “It’s because you think if you did you wouldn’t be able to stop. You still have this idea that somehow you’ll be able to stop.”

“No, that’s what you think,” Charles murmured.

“I don’t want to fuck you to prove a point, Charles,” Erik said, planting a kiss in his hair. “I want to fuck you because you want me to.” Charles swallowed. “And I know you do, Charles. It’s almost painfully obvious.”

Charles had flushed. “What makes you think that?” he muttered.

“Charles look at you,” Erik said, and Charles admitted that his position might have been stronger had he not been lying face-down on the bed between Erik’s thighs, Erik’s arms stretched over his and their fingers entwined. But they still hadn't.

He had found himself telling Erik everything – Westchester and Oxford and things he’d thought about and dreams he’d had -- it was easy to talk, they could talk for hours and argue and then one of Erik’s hands would steal towards the juncture of his legs or he would arch his neck and kiss Erik on the shoulder and then the argument would dissolve unresolved into the air.

It was harder to get Erik to talk about himself. Charles had begun cheating. It was not strictly cheating – he asked, and Erik gave him one of those too-casual nods, but he could feel his whole body tense. And then he was inside the strange riot of Erik’s mind, feeling around, most of it a bit dark, some of it pitch-black, with astonishing pockets of brightness around Mama and a few strange faces and then Charles. He was already being woven into the fabric of a great many places, and it was gratifying and terrifying.

He was inside Erik's mind now, brow furrowed a little with concentration.

This time Erik wanted him to see the horrible things that went on in the camps. He let Erik’s mind pull him in and Erik snarled, “I don’t want your pity, Charles, but it's something you ought to see.” But there was never pity in Charles’ eyes when he looked at Erik, he knew that, Erik was so unaccountably strong and it was a curious mixture of sadness and admiration and wonder and – anger, he was startled how angry it made him that anyone would have done this. The pain was impossible for anyone to bear without bending.

Now he sat there seeing the horror of it and finding that he had made a mental catalogue of everyone who had ever hurt Erik and thought, If I ever find them, they won’t ever know what happened to them, they’re going to pay. Somehow someone has to make this right, and I can’t even begin to –

Erik looked at him.

And in spite of it, you, Charles thought, there’s so much of you that’s whole and perfect and good, how did you manage it, I couldn’t have managed it.

Charles caught Erik’s arm by the wrist, turning it so the appalling number was visible. Then he bent and pressed his lips to it. Erik shuddered and his eyes widened. The gesture felt more terrifyingly intimate than any touch they had attempted before. There was an overpowering surge of emotion from Erik; he glanced over and saw as in a snowglobe the image of himself, naked, pale limbs tangled with Erik’s, dark head bending and lips reverently pressed to Erik’s arm, and felt the sad awful tangle of memory and something like fear, fear mingled with lust and wonder, and the thought, If anyone hurts his little finger I’ll break them.

“That’s the closest I’ve come to not hating that,” Erik said. “Charles.”

They kissed slowly and carefully, Erik’s fingers steady on the side of Charles’ face and in his hair, a strange new electric current humming between them. “Charles,” Erik said again. “You’re—perfect,” and Charles heard, “I love you,” and Charles opened his eyes and looked at him and he could tell Erik knew.

Charles kissed him. Then he pulled back and looked at Erik. “Please,” he said, and swallowed. He had said it almost without thinking, but when Erik’s eyes flickered up to his he didn’t look away. “Take me, Erik. All of me.”

Erik’s hand roved down to cup his buttocks, and Charles held his gaze. “Everything,” he murmured. "That."

Erik laughed. “What a good boy you are, Charles. You would wait until – I’d showed my hand.”

“If you still want to,” Charles said, leaning down and kissing Erik’s neck. The air in the room seemed to have changed somehow. He was flushing to the roots of his hair but the words kept pouring out, his eyes fixed on Erik. “Please. Fuck me. As hard as you like. Do everything to me, Erik. I don’t care how filthy it is. I want it. From you. I – I always have, I think. I don’t care if it hurts. I almost want it to hurt. I want to feel you in me, Erik. Ruin me. I can’t stand another second not being ruined. Please.”

Erik was looking at him. “Charles be careful,” he said. “You’re going to make me come just talking.”

“Good,” Charles said, and tugged Erik down on top of him. Their eyes locked.

“Charles please don’t try to pretend you aren’t mine when we get back to civilization,” Erik said, the need evident in his tone. “Promise me.”

“Do you really think I could?” Charles asked curiously, holding Erik’s gaze.

“You could do anything,” Erik said. Charles was amazed by how vulnerable he suddenly sounded, could feel in Erik’s mind that somewhere between food and air was the category “Charles” – talking to him and not looking at him or talking and looking or letting his hand find Erik’s under a table or casually touching his knee as they played chess or laughing his strangely assured older-sounding laugh or quivering between his thighs and crying his name or waking up next to him or using his mutation or kissing him, mouth latching onto his like finding another limb, saw himself catalogued behind Erik’s eyes, inch by inch of his body and the shades of color that stood in his cheeks or in his eyes, his hair, his mouth, his voice – and Charles blinked, a little dazed, because he’d thought he might be alone in storing up a secret cache of images like that.

“Please,” he said, and Erik reached down and stroked his temple with two fingers and Charles leaned into the touch and pushed into Erik’s mind, a string of images of the two of them and the warm tangle of emotions at the base of his stomach, and Erik whispered, “Then here’s what we’re going to do, Charles, I’m going to fuck you so many ways you won’t be able to get up from this bed.”

Charles laughed, feeling a nervous fluttering begin somewhere in his chest. “All right.”

Erik clambered over him to the bedside table and got the stuff and shot him a look that made the pit of his stomach dance.

Charles stretched out, head resting on his arms, and looked up at him, and Erik grinned, “Charles you look like I could break you in half and you wouldn’t mind.”

“I hope you aren’t planning to,” Charles murmured, feeling a little shiver of anticipation ripple through his whole body, and Erik knelt with one knee on either side of Charles’ leg and muttered, “Tell me what you want, Charles.”

Erik leaned over and kissed the back of his neck and ran a hand through his hair, and Charles shivered against him. Then Erik began kissing his way slowly and carefully down Charles’ back and Charles murmured, “Erik,” and Erik laughed against the curve of his spine and murmured, “Charles, don’t worry, teasing you any longer would be against my interests too” and kissed his way down so that Charles could feel his breath ghosting over his entrance, “Although this has proved a surprisingly entrancing pursuit,” and then Erik’s mouth had sealed over him and he writhed into the bed, gasping.

Finally Erik pulled back and their eyes locked and he heard, You blush like a virgin, Charles, I think you always will, and Erik had coated his fingers into the stuff and slipped one very carefully into Charles. Charles nodded.

“Tell me if I’m hurting you,” Erik muttered.

“You aren’t,” Charles said, smiling up at him, his breaths coming a little faster and raggedly, and Erik slid another finger into him and he felt his body stretch a little to accommodate the intrusion and gasped.

“Breathe,” Erik said.

“Give me a moment,” Charles hissed, aware how fast his pulse was racing. It felt—different, having Erik there, and Erik’s eyes on his were almost meltingly hot, like Erik couldn’t look away even if he’d wanted to, and then Erik had slipped another finger into him and hit something and Charles gasped and his eyes shot open and he was shoving back against Erik’s hand, liking it, and Erik grinned, “Found something you like, Charles?” and Charles nodded and shifted against the touch and hissed, “Fuck, Erik,” and Erik’s fingers worked carefully inside him, hitting it again, and he bucked into the sheets and choked, “Erik, please, I want you now” and Erik slipped his fingers free and Charles found he was whimpering. Erik coated his fingers in more of the stuff and slid the hand along his length and Charles could feel his breaths coming hard and fast and uneven and knew that there was an absolutely devouring lust in his eyes. “Now, Erik,” he muttered.

“Wait, Charles,” Erik hissed, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. He pulled Charles up and muttered, “I want to see you. Get on top,” and Charles gasped, “All right” and climbed a little awkwardly onto his lap, straddling Erik, so hard he could barely think, his entire body crying out to feel Erik there again, and Erik caught him by the waist and held him. He lowered himself carefully onto Erik’s cock and hissed, “Fuck,” his eyes flickering shut, and Erik said, “All right Charles?” his voice rough so it almost didn’t sound like a question and Charles bit his lip and nodded, his breath coming in ragged gasps, and shoved his hips down, wanting more of Erik more than anything, and hissed, “Don’t-- look at me like you think I might – break, Erik, please – fuck me,” and Erik began thrusting into him, carefully at first, sliding deeper into him until Charles shut his eyes and gasped, “That,” and then they were thrusting together, and he’d muttered, “All of you, Erik, I want all of you,” and shoved down farther, wincing a little but his eyes alight and – hungry, and Erik looked at him with that warm indefinable something in his eyes and without a thought their mouths came together and Erik groaned “You feel perfect, Charles, God, you have no idea,” into his mouth and he gasped, “Erik, God, Erik,” and kissed him again, and then their mouths had severed and he was panting and shoving back against him, and Erik lifted his hips and thrust into him again, and Charles let out a sound he didn’t realize he was capable of making. His hands tightened on Erik’s shoulders and he heard himself choking out, “Erik, want you so fucking much,” heard the thought, you’re magnificent like this, Charles, you're insane, I should have fucked you every day since the instant we met, and his eyes flickered shut and he thrust against Erik again, arching his neck, and Erik muttered, “You like having me inside you, don’t you, Charles” and Charles couldn’t think of any words, just panted, “Erik,” and let out an entirely undignified moan and Erik laughed and kissed him.

Afterwards they lay tangled together and Erik kissed his way thoughtfully over Charles’ entire body and Charles felt sated and – oddly beautiful and – desperate to do it again and that was how it went all night.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

Good Boys (15/15)
Title: Good Boys, Chapter 15 (final chapter!)
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: NC-17
Genre: first time! road trip!
WC: 3000ish
Summary: Charles had always been a good boy.
A/N: Welp, here this is. Hope you enjoyed the ride. Exciting news: next week I have internet! Less exciting news: But for now, I'm still at Starbucks and I think that old gnome-looking guy who always sits in the corner is trying to read over my shoulder! ANYWAY YOU'RE BEAUTIFUL AND I HOPE YOU LIKED IT AND SORRY BOUT THE SAP AND INEVITABLE GRAMMAR ERRORS AND RUN-ON SENTENCES PLEASE COMMENT I REMAIN A COMMENT WHORE SEE I WASN'T JOKING ABOUT THE RUN-ONS.

Charles was going to be a good boy.

Charles is panting into the pillow, Erik’s hands pinioning his wrists to the bed, and he doesn’t think he has ever been so hard in his life. He can feel Erik’s control starting to slip behind him, Erik’s breaths are coming in ragged gasps against his neck, and their hips are thrusting in frantic unison, and Charles emits an incoherent stream of words that culminates in, “Fuck – Erik – this,” and Erik mutters, “You’re so fucking tight, Charles,” and finds that spot in him again, and Charles lets out a desperate moan, and gasps, “There, Erik – God, you’re huge, it’s insane, do you want to feel what you’re doing to me,” and Erik kisses the back of Charles’ neck, drenched with sweat, because they have been going at this almost without stopping for hours and Charles’ only regret is that they didn’t start earlier– and whispers, “Please.”

On the road back to the CIA facility he stared at Erik so intently that Erik shuddered a little and said, “Charles, if I didn’t know better I’d think you were trying to memorize me,” and Charles muttered, “Pull over a second” and kissed him, hard and soundly and a bit violently, biting his lip and drawing blood, and then pulled back, gasping, and said, “All right, go.”

Erik’s face clouded. “You’re a fool, Charles,” he said. Who’s the more foolish? Charles heard. Goddammit, Erik, you should have known.

Erik shifted the car into park. “You’ll never succeed at that, Charles. And don’t make me tell you why because we both know why, and it’s not that I’m so spectacular in bed, or that two days from now you’ll come begging for it again, and of course I’ll give it to you, it’s miles worse than that, do I have to say it? Are you so determined to make yourself unhappy? It’s quite normal to be unhappy, and I hear you’re fond of being normal.”

Then Charles said, “Erik don’t” and Erik said, “Kiss me properly at least,” and caught Charles’ face in his hands and pressed their mouths together, and it was rough and gentle at the same time and Charles couldn’t escape the thought “perfect, you’re perfect” and wasn’t sure whose thought it was. For a moment he felt unaccountably like crying.

They got out of the car at the CIA facility and he nodded ambiguously at Erik and went and effusively greeted Moira.

She seemed delighted to see him – talking to her, it was easy to remember the sort of thing Charles Xavier would say and the way it would sound when he said it – and only once did he feel Erik’s eyes on him, and the look was scalding.

There was no good in pretending he had not realized how often they were doing it, how often their eyes locked casually in the midst of a room of people and it set a hot snake of anticipation coiling through his stomach, how often their fingers brushed, but he had thought it would be the sort of thing he could handle.

Well, not handle. Stand.

Charles’ hands are shackled to the bedpost and Erik is thrusting roughly into him from behind and Charles is whimpering, “Yes,” and then “God Erik why is this so – fucking -- good,” and Erik bites his earlobe and whispers, “Because you’re in love with me, Charles,” and Charles says, “I am, Erik – fucking God – Erik.”

The worst part was sleeping alone.

No. The worst part was the chilliness in Erik’s demeanor over breakfast. The worst part was watching Erik do the crossword puzzle by himself. The worst part was not being able to touch Erik casually. The worst part was everything.

The first slip-up was in Russia, in the back of the truck. He had glanced at Erik as they rode back, just the two of them again, the troops already waiting in the hangar, and Erik had at first not looked at him and then Charles had shoved his way into his mind and thought, “Do that to me,” and Erik had met his gaze and Charles had flushed. “What you did to her.”

Erik didn’t. Instead he hissed, “Make sure they don’t see us, Charles,” and took him, on the bed of the truck, hard, and Charles could feel Erik’s frustration and Erik was a little less careful to be gentle and the only thing between them was spit from when he’d shoved Erik’s fingers into his mouth, and of course it hurt but it was almost better like that, and he gasped, “Erik – I’m sorry – fuck – I couldn’t any longer – fuck I missed you I fucking missed this – God – I think I’m in love with you –” and then he’d come, hips shuddering, panting Erik’s name and they kissed roughly and hungrily, and Erik whispered, “I know, Charles, I’ve known all along,” and the next day he was sore all over and whenever he felt Erik’s eyes on him it was all he could do not to blush.

In Westchester he picked out separate beds for them in different rooms on different floors. Charles thought he had never exerted so much control in his life and with so little benefit to anyone. All he could think about was not looking at Erik, not touching him, not – not – not. It was like being told not to think about elephants. It was the only thing he could think of. It was giving him a headache.

Lying awake in bed the first night he had difficulty remembering why it was imperative for Charles Xavier to be like that. Even the house did not remind him. It felt oddly sterile and theoretical, and Erik was warm, flesh and blood and that lopsided grin and -- but that thought led places.

He tried to sleep. He couldn’t. The minute hand on the clock crawled in painful slow circles like a wingless dragonfly.

That first night at the mansion Erik found him outside smoking – Charles had never smoked particularly, but it seemed like the sort of thing to do, hard habit to break, he’d heard -- and shoved him up against a tree and their mouths came together with a gasp of relief and Charles practically tore down Erik’s pants and took him in his mouth with a rushed, “God I missed your cock,” and midway through Erik tugged him up by the shoulders, seeming to know what he wanted, and Charles shrugged off his trousers and they did it again, Erik’s fingers clamping on Charles’ hips and Charles panting his name, their bodies already sliding together as though it were natural to be like this. With chagrin he thought to himself, “Suppose you were to do this ever again, Charles, it wouldn’t be like this, no one else would ever fit you quite like this,” and the thought made him blush and thrust back against Erik as though he was trying to brand him on his body. “Erik, you’re perfect,” he gasped, the words pouring out in a helpless torrent, punctuated by Erik’s thrusts, “I wish I’d let you take me the first time I saw you -- and every time after that – God that’s good – I’m yours, I’m everything you—fucking – said, filthy abject little slut for you – God – and I fucking love it, and -- there, yes – Erik, God.”

Only you would say 'abject' at a time like this, Charles, he heard Erik think, and he was laughing and groaning at the same time, feeling his body clamp around Erik's cock, and then Erik gasped, "Charles" and came.

Afterwards they sat a few minutes tangled around each other, Charles feeling blessedly sore and painfully aware of their surroundings, and he found he was telling Erik that he blamed himself about Armando and Erik said, “There wasn’t anything you could have done, Charles, and we’re going to make Shaw pay.” Charles sagged against him, thinking, Why do you have to be so nice?

Then Erik turned and kissed him very carefully on the side of the neck exactly at the spot that always made Charles gasp and shudder. “Come to bed with me, Charles.”

Charles felt something hot surge in the pit of his stomach and nodded, mutely, and found himself following Erik down the hallway two doors too many.

They were both still half-dressed. He settled in Erik’s arms and kissed him and Erik whispered, “Charles, you’re an idiot,” and Charles was frankly disinclined to argue, ran a hand caressingly along Erik’s arm, kept kissing him, and Erik said, “Charles you belong here,” and Charles sighed and murmured, “ All right, Erik,” and then they were tugging off their remaining clothes and Erik said, “What?” and he was blurting out, “I missed seeing you naked,” because seeing Erik covered up in turtlenecks and jackets so all you could see of him was his wrists and his head was almost unfair when there was that whole secluded magnificent expanse of – everything else, and Charles stopped unbuttoning his own shirt and pulled Erik down onto the bed and tugged Erik’s boxers off and muttered, “Don’t yet, let me,” and then suddenly he was kissing him, everywhere, mouth tracing a line along Erik’s collarbone and planting kisses down the line of his chest and burying his face in the dark curls at the junction of Erik’s thighs and then kissing his way back up deliberately from Erik’s navel, and Erik stared at him, shuddering a little at the touch, and whispered, “Charles.”

Charles felt startlingly unguarded like this, as though the touch couldn’t help being more honest than he’d meant to be; every time his lips pressed Erik’s skin it was like a confession; there was more than simple lust in the way his fingers traced along Erik’s collarbone, and when he glanced up at Erik and their eyes met it was terrifying and intoxicating at the same time.

“I’m sorry,” Charles said, finally. “I don’t know what to do about this, Erik.”

“You never have, Charles,” Erik muttered. “So stop trying to stop it. It’s absurd.” Then he’d pulled Charles up by his face and they were kissing hungrily, Charles’ mouth latching onto his with a little half-sigh. “If we’re both as deep in as we are, and we are.”

“What do you want?” Charles asked.

“Stop hiding,” Erik said.

Charles laughed ruefully. “I suppose you’ll want me strolling out of your room in a bathrobe next, and sending detailed four-point memoranda to the CIA informing them I’m taking it up the ass from a Mr. Erik Lehnsherr and directing them to telephone if they’ve any concerns.”

“Charles don’t be an idiot,” Erik said, and their mouths come crashing together again, and Charles heard, ‘My God I really never will get enough of you, stop letting them bend you like this, Charles, for God’s sake.’ “You wish you were just fucking me,” Erik continued. “Hide from them if you like. You’re too English to be indiscreet. Just stop hiding from yourself. They aren't stopping you, Charles. You are. They couldn't if they tried. Not while there’s the two of us. Together. Protecting each other. We’re forces of nature. It’d be like telling the wind or the tide not to—”

“I doubt the wind and the tide are sleeping together,” Charles said, his mouth quirking up into a smile in spite of himself, and Erik grinned.

“You don’t know that,” he said.

"But if we could control ourselves, avoid liabilities, think what we could achieve," Charles said. "Why force the issue?"

"Even you don't sound convinced," Erik said, and kissed him. "No point in being a martyr, Charles. Not when no one's even asking you to volunteer."
--

He awakened just before dawn, Erik nudging him, whispering, "Since you insist on leaving, Charles," and he leaned up and kissed him and thought, “I could live like this, I even like the way he tastes in the morning” and then No, Charles, that’s ridiculous, but the whole day the thought, “What’s so ridiculous about it?” hummed in the back of his mind and when Erik shoved the boy off the satellite and caught him without breaking a sweat he was amazed everyone couldn’t see the expression in his eyes.

As soon as Banshee stopped pirouetting across the sky he shot Erik one of the looks that only meant one thing and they wound up in a broom closet, Erik’s arms clamped familiarly around him, and he was fairly certain that Raven had heard the sound he made when he came, and wondered if she could tell it was Erik’s name.

There were bits of afternoons and mornings that Moira was missing now, when she’d thought the bathroom on the first floor was unoccupied, and Raven had lost an evening when she’d opened the door on them playing chess and caught sight of Erik’s fingers on his thigh, and this was not what Charles ought to be doing with his gift.

He told Erik this. Erik laughed. “Then stop making them forget.”

“I can’t,” Charles said, seeing his clearance revoked and them suddenly without the CIA and the humans and the machinery, persecuted and living out of hotel bedrooms and silencing the little voice that muttered, “and what’s the matter with that?” and the other voice too, “without him nothing else would ever be enough, Charles, you know that” and Erik frowned. “I survived, Charles,” he says. “You could.”

“Not like you,” Charles muttered.

“You’d have me,” Erik said.

“They need us here,” Charles said.

“You need me,” Erik said, and Charles could hear the converse humming in the back of Erik’s mind.

Charles is straddling Erik’s hips and thrusting enthusiastically down onto his cock, and he can feel Erik’s eyes staring amazedly and greedily at the point where their bodies are meshing, and he slides carefully all the way onto Erik’s cock and they both moan simultaneously. “Charles,” Erik hisses, “this is my favorite yet,” and Charles nods and then his hips are pumping desperately again and he whimpers, “Erik.”

“God you look so fucking beautiful like that,” Erik mutters.

Charles can’t quite pull a sentence together, too close to the edge, and gasps, “This, Erik,” and comes, coating Erik’s chest.

The next time was in Charles’ bed.

Erik had been lying there when he came in and he’d said, “Erik what?” and half-chuckled, because the sight of Erik lying smugly back on his bed thumbing through one of his old books on Charles Darwin was – wrong, but perfect. He thought ruefully that that was a good phrase for this thing between them, wrong but perfect. Erik threw off the scale of everything else in the room somehow. Seeing all the things that for so many years Charles Xavier had thought comprised a life – the books and pictures and textbooks and trinkets and notes and the furniture with its familiar nicks, and Erik in the middle of it, made him think, Well I certainly know what I’d grab if the house were on fire.

Everything around Erik seemed quaint and insignificant and silly, somehow, and Charles began laughing. It was as though he were seeing the room for the first time. “I am an idiot,” he said, and then he’d climbed into bed and Erik’s warm arms, thinking, Fuck Charles Xavier, and then, yes, Charles, he’s about to, and then he was laughing again.

“You seem happy to see me,” Erik said.

And sod the CIA as well, Charles thought, although I hope it never comes to that, but I’ll burn that bridge when I come to it, I feel unaccountably like burning bridges, and he leaned over and kissed him.

--

The next evening Erik comes in and finds Charles shackled to his bed and Charles says, “I couldn’t sleep,” and their eyes meet and Erik knows that Charles has given up trying to stop.

“Took you long enough,” Erik murmurs.

“Hmph," Charles says. "Erik fuck me for Christ’s sake and I’m going to spend the night here.”

Then Erik's eyes narrow. “Why now, Charles?”

“Because,” Charles says, swallowing, thinking, because this morning I leafed through everyone’s minds, just to be sure, and no one seemed even to notice, because the great secret of telepathy is that no one is ever really paying attention, but beyond that it’s because the thought of waking up without you terrifies me, because no one has ever looked at me like you do, because you pulled me into the water, because you know me, because you’re like me, because you’re marvelous, even leaving aside the indecorous and large reason between your legs, because you allow me to be like this, because every way I try to say it sounds silly and overwrought, but I need you, I think, because this is a fire that warms as it consumes, “because I l–“ Charles began, and Erik’s eyes caught his and Erik pressed a finger to his lips.

“You don’t have to say it, Charles,” he says. “I didn’t say it either.”

“I promise, Erik,” Charles says.

--

Charles is spread out on the bed, metal frame locking his hands and feet in position, and Erik is thrusting into him, hard, making the bed jounce beneath them, and Charles is choking out, “Harder, harder, yes, God, Erik,” and comes, and the sheets may no longer be salvageable at this point. Charles’ body clamps around Erik’s cock and Erik whimpers, “I’m going to,” and Charles hisses, “Please.” Then Erik’s hips jerk against him and he feels the hot flood of Erik’s seed.

Erik looks appreciatively at him. Then the metal unwinds from Charles’ wrists and Charles rolls over and looks up at him and the look is lust and wonder and delight and – that other thing that they hadn’t bothered to name for such a long time, and Charles whispers, “I love you, Erik,” and Erik leans down and kisses him.

--

Some nights after they do it Erik looks at him and Charles gets a flash of them in a different bed but for some reason he’s wearing reading glasses and sensible pajamas and his hair’s thinning at the temples and Erik’s hair is grey and he wants to be irate about the hair but something about the vision makes him too happy.

“Yes,” he says.

“Good,” Erik says.

--
There were things that Charles Xavier did and things that Charles Xavier did not do. But then there was Erik. Charles couldn't remember why the other things had mattered.