Archive of Our Own ^beta

There is a chance that perhaps Charles sealed his fate the second he decided to wear loose pajamas. 

He had put on a loose white tank top and his pajama pants, choosing simple ones over the typical silk pair he wears. When he crawled on bed, Erik had hummed in approval, but continued reading his book like nothing had happened. Interestingly, he couldn't even predict this outcome by reading his mind. All Erik had radiated was warmth and peacefulness, so Charles had assumed this would've been a quiet night in. 

Him and Erik have plenty of those. Even if Charles doesn't particularly feel sleepy tonight, it's still enjoyable to be with Erik—as always. He's a warm, solid presence next to him, and sometimes Erik stays up late reading, sometimes he puts his book down as soon as Charles comes to bed. Tonight had been the latter, but it was still not anything Charles could pick up on. 

It's only when Erik comes up behind him, putting Charles' back against his chest and wrapping his hands around his torso that things finally make sense for him. 

“Long day?” Erik murmurs, hands slowly tracing tiny circles on his stomach. Charles laughs a little at that, but Erik continues anyway. 

“Sort of,” Charles sighs, letting the warmth of Erik's hands spread around his body. His right hand goes up slowly, tracing everywhere he can with his fingers, and really—Erik's got to know how much Charles loves his hands. He must, otherwise, what would this be about? “Certainly a calm day compared to all the meetings I have scheduled for tomorrow. It's, ah, quite—quite hectic.”

Erik's hands freeze where they are—under Charles' shirt, still aimlessly tracing patterns, going up and then going down again. Oh, my God. He’s definitely picking up that Charles’ speech is being slightly ruined bit by bit.

Perhaps Erik never had a secret agenda when doing this. Maybe, and just maybe, Charles is just too sensitive to his hands. Erik begins tracing him again, but this time slower, with more weight supporting his movements. His fingertips go from his navel to his sternum, agonizingly slow, gentle and firm at the same time. Charles sucks in a breath. “I thought you were asking me about my day?”

“I am,” Erik says, but Charles can tell lust is starting to seep into his mood. He presses closer to Charles, until his hands reach his chest, cupping it. “Tell me about it. What meetings do you have?”

Erik is massaging him, Charles’ brain belatedly realizes. He’s squeezing gently and letting go, and Charles’ breath is starting to get short and frantic. He licks his lips, trying desperately to follow their conversation, because God forbid he actually started a sexual encounter with his husband by accident when he was just being lovey-dovey. “Tomorrow morning… It’s, ah, it’s that meeting with that director—”

Erik’s fingertips start tracing circles on the areola, hardening his nipples. Charles sucks in a breath, and God, is he actually hard already?

“Hm, which director?”

“The,” Charles tries again. He has it on the tip of his tongue; the old man with the drugstores that Charles had no idea why they were contacted for, but he was too intrigued to let it go. “The man we spoke to a week ago—”

Erik does the same treatment to the other nipple now, making Charles moan. Why is he being teased? The other hand mirrors what he was doing earlier; still massaging softly, making Charles look his composure. Erik chuckles at that. 

“You know, I wasn’t intending on this to escalate,” he laughs against his neck, adding more to the stimulation. “You just started to like the massage.”

“And you just—you just weren’t going to let it pass, were you?”

“Of course not,” Erik’s grin meets his neck, and it’s the only warning he gets before he begins kissing his neck—slow, open-mouthed kisses pressed against his skin in the places only Erik knew about. “It’s too good to let it pass, Charles.”

He moves his lips down to his shoulder, biting softly, and finally squeezing Charles’ right nipple with his thumb and index finger. Charles gasps at both of the actions, throwing his neck back, giving Erik even more space to kiss and bite. If Erik wanted, he could fill him with bite marks—he doesn’t care. As long as he kept doing that to his nipples, he could do whatever he wanted.

Erik trails his mouth up again, kissing the back of his ear, down to his earlobe. He moves a little closer, catching it between his lips and sucking, squeezing both of his nipples at the same time. Charles pants, incapable of forming any coherent sentences, only ‘Erik, Erik,’ repeated inside his head like a mantra.

As any dedicated lover would, Erik lets go one of his nipples to let his hand wander down again, going past his navel and down to his cock, where it’s definitely hard and begging for attention. Charles bites his own lip, but he doesn’t let his hand go inside his underwear. He grabs Erik’s hand and takes it up again, up to his chest, and puts Erik’s hand where he wants it: against his nipples.

“Please,” Charles says, grasping for words again. “Make me come like this. I know you can.”

“Charles—” And oh, the way Erik’s mind lights up at that… the prospect of making Charles come untouched, only stimulating his nipples—it’s so much, and his own excitement feeds into Charles. “Are you sure?”

“Do you doubt your own ability, Erik?”

“No, never,” he answers, and as if to prove a point, he squeezes his left nipple again. Charles moans, which just encourages him to do it again, and the sensation of it is really like nothing else—that, followed by his hands cupping his chest and squeezing gently makes Charles briefly see the stars. “Okay. Alright. Charles, you’re going to kill me.”

Charles manages to laugh at that, because it’s true that somehow, this simple petition got Erik even more turned on than before. Erik’s right hand abandons his chest again, and from behind he feels him move—soon enough, he has Erik’s cock hard against his still-clothed ass. 

He slides his cock between his thighs, and God, as if Charles needed any extra stimulation. Erik’s truly merciless when he wants to be, pinching his nipples harder, setting an agonizing pace of slowly thrusting up and searching for friction, and sucking spots into his neck. It’s exhilarating, and Charles didn’t know this about himself— certainly had no idea how badly he wanted Erik to constantly do this, nor did he know that he could genuinely take him all the way, but he’s not complaining.

And then Erik changes things up—he twists his nipples gently, as if trying to test that it didn’t hurt him too much, but that’s exactly—Charles is panting, trying to thrust back against something, and when the reaction is clearly what Erik wanted, he does it again and again. An overwhelming cloud of desire washes over him, the press of Erik’s cock between his thighs still so painfully hard, his sporadic but long kisses that have started to reach the trail down his spine—it’s all so much. He doesn’t have time to tell Erik he’s coming, he just does, and he’s breathing so heavily it’s like he ran a marathon.

Erik slows down, leaving his nipples—now extremely sensitive—be. Charles takes a deep breath, trying to stabilize himself, and now he realizes how much he’s sweating. Christ, Erik had a way with his hands that no one else in the universe could match. When he turns around, he’s met with Erik’s incredibly smug grin. Charles rolls his eyes as he smiles anyway.

“Yes, yes, you can make me come untouched, you can gloat about it,” Charles says. Now that he’s face to face with Erik, he makes a mental note that next time—because there will be a next time—he wants to be facing Erik. If he had been gazing at him this whole time, perhaps Charles would have lasted even less. “You won’t let this live for a week.”

Erik's grin widens even more, as if that could be possible. Then, unexpectedly soft, he leans in and kisses him deeply—hand coming to rest on his neck, tilting his head to deepen it even more, leaving him breathless. Erik smiles, but leans in and kisses him two, three, four times more.

“I missed doing that,” he explains. Charles is so fond of him, it could genuinely kill him. Erik kisses down his chest, pressing butterfly kisses to his covered nipples, and grins again.

Charles is suddenly aware that Erik still hasn’t come, he’s just being gentle and loving, and shakes his head. He reaches down and wraps his hand around his cock, moving his hand up and down, and Erik makes such a beautiful noise that Charles has to smile. He knows that Erik would’ve been okay with only making him come and go to sleep, but—Charles wants to do this. Having Erik with his eyes closed and mouth open in pure pleasure is the best sight in the world: he doesn’t feel like missing it today.

It doesn’t take much for Erik to come. He takes a look at the thoughts inside his head: love, lust, a vague thought about how he’d like to come on Charles’ chest sometime are all doing the trick for him. He jerks him faster—after that, twisting his hand the right way and his thumb pressing on the head do the trick. Erik goes boneless against him, his head coming to rest against his chest, arms wrapped around his torso.

“Next time,” Charles says, kissing his forehead. Erik looks up, a little confused. “I’ll let you come over my chest next time.”

Erik makes a frustrated yet delighted noise. “You are going to be the death of me, Charles.”

“Aren’t you so romantic?”