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[personal profile] monstrousregiment
Title: Brief Lives (11/?)
Author: monstrousreg
Word count:  3174.
Warnings:  Um. Lives up to its rating?. 
Pairing: Erik/Charles.
Summary: Erik thinks he's going to seduce, interrogate and murder some nondescript CIA intelligence agent, and winds up biting more than
he can chew. Charles is not keen on being murdered, he doesn't favor interrogations, and he's certainly not willing to be seduced. That he's
not cooperating is midly put.   

Notes:  Unbetaed, and stuff. Uh, guys, welcome to my first attempt at writing something resembling a sexual situation. You're welcome to tell me if I pulled it off.


Of all the things Erik imagined might pose a problem when in a relationship with Charles Xavier, funnily enough, he didn’t consider the first to arise would be sleeping arrangements.

It’s obvious Charles hasn’t shared a bed with a partner in many years—even then perhaps was never afforded freedom and comfort in such a thing. Erik’s also keenly aware of the fact Charles is desperately touch-starved, craves warmth and contact and the presence of another body near his.

All of these seemingly independent tangents converge, then, in Erik’s bed early Tuesday morning.

Erik is somewhat gratified Charles had no issue with admitting he wanted to sleep with Erik. He had a bit of a problem with the fact he did mean only sleeping, whereas Erik could have used the opportunity to gladly do something else, but no one can claim to be surprised on either account. Eager as he is—and he is eager—Charles finds comfort in the implied ability to turn down the invitation. Erik had offered, and Charles had declined. That in itself was fine. That Charles hadn’t freaked out about it tasted well to Erik, anyway.

The problem now is that Erik is a sexual creature, has been for a long time. He is a young healthy man and waking up in the mornings hard is hardly surprising. This all could be easily solved by a simple trip to the restroom; Erik rarely takes his time in the mornings, an indulgence he believes is borderline negligence when he has other things he can divert his attention to.

So all he has to do is get up and go to the restroom.

If only he could manage to untangle his limbs from Charles’.

“Goddamn octopus,” he mutters, dropping his head back to the pillow with a huff. Charles doesn’t even stir, face pressed against Erik’s neck, arms wrapped around his waist, one leg thrown over his. Erik stabs him in the kidneys with a finger, forgoing gentleness—because there are limits to everything, even what he will do for Charles, and Erik doesn’t cuddle—and thinks harshly Rise and shine, you anaconda.

Charles’ mind shifts, like a gentle tug at the back of Erik’s consciousness, and something that feels like lucidity begins to blossom, slow and lazy, until Charles’ mind lights up fully and his eyes open.

He blinks. “Hm?”

“Either you let me get up,” Erik says, strained. “Or you do something about this.”

Charles blinks again, shifts to sit up a bit. The movement jostles them a little. The inside of Charles’ thigh brings friction against Erik’s groin, making him tense. The penny is in the air—the penny drops.

“Oh,” Charles sits up completely, withdrawing so that Erik can move. “Oh, I am terribly sorry—I should have known I would be a rather handsy bed partner, I apologize, Erik.”

“That’s fine,” Erik grumbles, throwing off the covers with a flick of his wrist. “Just try not to smother me while I sleep, next time. I have nightmares too, you know, and you won’t want to be caught in the reach of one of my elbows.”

“Those are lethally sharp,” Charles grins. “You’re a tad on the gangly side, hm?”

“As opposed to you, who is buff and tall and the epitome of masculinity,” Erik retorts, “Especially those lips of yours.”

“You have a problem with my lips?” Charles arches a brow, pushing his hair back out of his face with a careless, graceful gesture that Erik can’t help but appreciate.

“They look like they should be wrapped around something,” Erik bites out, because it’s morning and it’s Charles, so he can be an asshole unimpeded. “Speaking of which, I’m not the only one with a problem.”

Charles’ eyes flick down, and Erik has a spare second to see his perfectly genuine bewilderment to find that he’s aroused, as well, before he ducks into the restroom and takes care of his own situation.

By the time he comes out, Charles has abandoned ship.

You cowardly little fool, Erik thinks, not without fondness, as he towels his hair dry savagely.

I didn’t run away, Charles protests. I waited until I calmed down and then came to take a shower. What else would you have me do?

What everybody else does, take care of it, Erik rolls his eyes. Anyway, why are you even showering? I want to train.

Charles feels slightly embarrassed to not have thought of it, which is news for Erik. Charles hasn’t shared any kind of embarrassment before, certainly. Erik was beginning to think the whole feeling has been trained out of him.

When they meet at the door to the danger room, Charles’ hair is still wet. Erik tangles his fingers in it briefly, pulls Charles in for a quick, deep kiss. He’s aware he’s developing a fixation with Charles’ hair, soft and rich and dark, and he doesn’t care to do anything about it.
Charles normally crops it all out in the beginning of the summer, unwilling to suffer the heat of Westchester county with a head full of thick dark hair. But he won’t, this year, he knows—because Erik likes it, and Erik’s abstained from shaving this morning because Charles likes the prickly, ginger scruff.

Small things. Enough, for now.

They train, and it’s a mess. All of their reflexes are off. Erik jerks at things he’s never even flinched at, and Charles’ mind is sluggish and slow to react, dragged down by Erik’s. Erik’s mind is quick as a snake, but it does work differently than Charles’, and the difference is jarring. Charles is much less violent and aggressive than Erik, dodging things that Erik would normally simply destroy. The split-second indecision between the impulse to dodge and the urge to crush slow him down nearly to a crawl. Erik himself is faring quite better, swiftly understanding how to dial Charles’ mind down to a faraway murmur as he focuses on the circuit. Erik is, after all, extraordinarily single-minded.

By the end of the session they’ve not only wasted away the entire morning and part of the afternoon, but they are both full of darkening bruises and clusters of scrapes and cuts.

They share a long look.

“Again,” Erik says grimly.

It goes only marginally better. They stop only because the danger room inlaid alert system, monitoring their life-signs, shuts down the weaponry and withdraws the equipment.

“That’s a first,” Charles gasps, winded, as he doubles over to lean his hands on his knees. “I had it programmed in as an anecdotic precaution.”

He grins, eyes alight, says, “I’m my own worst case scenario. How brilliant,” and then he fists a hand on Erik’s damp sweatshirt, bring him in and bites his bottom lip. Erik goes all too willingly, sinking into the kiss with a gratefulness not even he expected. Willing for now to be lead, he easily opens his mouth when Charles seeks to deepen the kiss, and isn’t aware he’s being pushed back until his back touches the wall.

Erik wraps his hands around the curve of Charles’ trim hips and crushes him against his own, not surprised to find Charles is hard.

Charles, on the other hand, is both surprised and embarrassed. It’s all too easy for Erik to keep him from pulling back, but Charles’ mood has shifted none the less, cheeks flushed pink.

“I don’t understand why you’re confused,” Erik says honestly, wrapping his arms around Charles’ back and rolling his head back to look at him over the slow oh his own cheekbone, lazy and aware he’s being deliberately sensual. “You’re physically healthy enough, and the adrenaline of battle should almost always draw this out. Have you really not been hard in years?”

Unable to escape Erik’s stronger arms, Charles slumps instead against his chest, looking at him out of the corner of his eye. “As I said, I haven’t had any sexual impulses. Adrenaline-induced erections aren’t always about sexual release. Just endorphins activating an increases blood-rush to—“

“Must you rationalize everything away?” Erik interrupts, irritated. “Can’t it just be as easy as to say, ‘the physical rush gets me excited’? You think too much, Charles.”

You’re not excited,” Charles points out a little petulantly.

“That was a pathetic training session. I’m frustrated. Besides, I have some measure of control over it considering it’s something I’m used to dealing with, as opposed to your case.”

“So I’m the blushing virgin,” Charles mumbles, rolling his eyes, and then stops, and grins. “You know, that morning before they left Logan called me on the phone.”

Erik arches his brows, “How’s Logan fallen into a conversation about how you get hard?”

Charles tugs harshly at a damp strand of hair near Erik’s forehead, giving him a caustic look.

“What did dear Logan need, sweetheart?” Erik asks sweetly, smiling like a wolf about to eat a lamb.

“Wanker. Logan, who is very nice when he’s not being a homicidal psychopath, thank you very much—“

“Charles, we talked about this. Lying isn’t nice.”

“Oh, bugger, Logan was right, you are an unworthy bloody asshole.”

Erik laughs out loud. Charles curses again in his dainty English way and drops his head heavily to Erik’s clavicle.

“He called to let you know you ought to defend your honor?” Erik teases, slipping his hands casually inside Charles’ sweatshirt to splay on the long curve of his back, where the sweat of the training session if beginning to cool. He’s rewarded with a pleased sigh and a shiver.

“He’s convinced you want to pin me down and, um, have your way with me.”

Not far off the mark, Erik thinks, but he asks, “Was that the term he used?”

“No, of course not. You know Logan.”

“Well, what was the precise expression?”

He probably enjoys too much the way Charles can blush. It’s truly unbelievable that his short English upbringing up until the point he met Shaw has made such a deep impression that even to this day, Charles behaves quite British indeed. Charles has said he hardly remembers his father, but surely that must be a misinterpretation of a blurry childhood. Charles is not Shaw’s child, so he must be someone else’s, and Mathias Lehnsherr was never a man to be proper and shy. There is something of Francis Xavier there still.

“Right. He said that you meant to fuck me until I was sweating come.”

Erik laughs so hard he has to let go of Charles to bend over. The telepath swats the back of his head, but Erik can tell his annoyance is only a mockery, hardly there at all and dissipating quickly.

“Maybe that’s your forth mutation,” he gasps, and when Charles means to shove him he catches his arm and brings him down to the floor with him, only half-remembering to pillow Charles’ head with his hand so it won’t hit the concrete. Charles has a delicate head and ferocious, spontaneous migraines can be triggered with the ease of a breath. Erik can be more sympathetic of those now that he understands how they feel, so he has the heart to attempt to prevent them.

Erik settles his longer body on top of Charles, not minding in the least that he’s crushing him because he’s much heavier. The other man pushes at him half-heartedly, but there’s a curl to his lip and he relaxes easily when Erik slides an arm under his head and bends down to claim his mouth. The German smiles into the kiss and rolls his hips pointedly. Charles jumps, startled, and clutches as Erik’s free arm.

“Just relax,” Erik murmurs against Charles’ lips. “It probably won’t take very long.”

He stills momentarily, pulling back to look down seriously at Charles, cheeks flushed and pupils blown, lips parted.

“Or do you want me to stop and let you do it yourself?”

Charles bites his bottom lip, suddenly shy. “Don’t stop.”

Erik smiles, settling his weight once again against Charles’ body as he surges down to catch Charles lips again. Charles arches eagerly up into the kiss, bringing his arm around to the back of Erik’s neck to bring him even closer. Erik rolls his hips in a slow, lazy motion, feeling the way Charles grows even harder through the combined layers of his sweatpants and underwear. Erik himself is quickly rising to the occasion.

Charles is honestly attempting not to writhe in pleasure, which amuses Erik because, clearly, it’s an all-powerful effort that is taking too much out of the telepath.

“Just let it happen,” he breathes on Charles ear, and without a moment of hesitation lifts himself up, reaches down to wrap a hand around Charles’ knee and draw his leg up and out, to seat himself between Charles’ thighs. Charles hips move in an abortive thrust that Charles quickly controls. Vindictive, Erik presses down harshly and makes Charles moan loudly.

“Stop holding back,” he gasps, swallowing. His own climax is mounting, which is ridiculous given the small amount of stimulation and time, but it’s mounting nonetheless, and he wants to get Charles off first. It shouldn’t be this difficult; Charles should be fit to burst. But he’s scared and holding back against the loss of control, and it’s warring against his arousal and the urge to come.

“Charles, stop—“

“Touch me,” Charles gasps, eyes flying open suddenly. He arches up to kiss Erik deeply, wrapping a hand around Erik’s wrist and leading it insistently down to his own stomach. “Please. Erik.”

Erik grins, “With pleasure,” he purrs, shifts himself slightly to the side and lifts himself up enough only to wrap his fingers around the waistband of Charles’ sweatpants and pull them down enough that he can reach into his underwear and—

He’s not sure anyone’s spine should be able to arch at that angle. Erik’s been with men who weren’t cut before and he’s relieved Charles isn’t, because it means they can skip the immediate problem of lubrication. His own erection can wait for the moment, relieved somewhat by the steady pressure of Charles’ thigh.

Erik bends down again to kiss Charles deeply, thrilled at the fevered motions of the telepath’s body under his, now quickly reaching the point where he’s not trying to hold back anymore. Charles returns his kisses with delicious urgency, struggling to breathe in short puffs and pants, alternatively moaning and whining. Erik’s always been a silent type of lover, something people often find unnerving, but Charles doesn’t seem to mind. Erik’s own heavy breathing alone seems to be erotic enough for the telepath.

Erik is right—it doesn’t take long before Charles surges up, hides his face in the crook of Erik’s shoulder and neck and comes, so hard that his throat closes and he doesn’t even whine. What Erik isn’t expecting is the way Charles climax crashes over him through their link and drag him along, pushing him messily over the edge before he was ready, so abruptly it nearly hurts.

Erik relaxes until he’s sprawled halfway over Charles pliant body and focuses on breathing and getting his heartbeat back to a normal rate. Charles is out like a light, and no wonder. Eris is kind enough to get up, reach for a towel and do whatever he can to make them both presentable.

It isn’t much, because Charles has come all over the both of them and Erik’s own semen is cooling uncomfortably in his underwear, but he figures he fights the good fight.

Charles comes to halfway through it anyway, and squeaks weakly at the roughness of the towel over his sensitive cock.

“Oh,” he breathes when he realizes what Erik is doing. He leans up on his elbows, all long lines and lazy satisfaction, full lips red and kiss-swollen. He looks positively wrecked. Erik thinks it’s a good look on him. “Thank you, my friend. I’m sorry I blacked out on you.”

“Hm,” Erik means to say something, but Charles sits up fully to smooth his hair back tenderly and kiss him in the mouth. Charles nearly always ends his kisses by pressing one more, chaste peck on Erik’s lips, smiling. It’s a habit that he’s evidently picked up from Erik, and while at the beginning it was slightly off-putting, Erik has to admit that he’s warmed to it.

“It’ll pass,” Charles promises as he disentangles himself to stand, offering Erik a hand up. “Soon I’ll be my own man again.”

“What will happen when you touch other people, now that you’ve anchored yourself?” Erik asks curiously.

“Well, I haven’t yet achieved it completely. I’d rather not risk it at the moment. But theoretically, if everything’s gone aright, as it seems to have, I should be able to soon be in contact with anyone, as I was as a child. As… a normal person ought to be, I suppose.”

Erik smiles, “Ororo will be happy. She’s been itching to hug you, and since she can’t she uses all of her instincts on me. I don’t like hugging.”

Charles laughs indulgently and pointedly wraps his arms around Erik’s torso from behind, undeterred when the taller man makes no effort to return the embrace.

You spectacular liar, Charles thinks fondly, pressing a kiss to the side of Erik’s neck before releasing him.

“I am going to shower. It’s your turn to cook,” Charles calls out as he runs exuberantly up the stairs, leaping neatly over two or even three steps. “Be creative. No chucrut!”

“It’s healthy food!” Erik gripes, scoffing. “I eat your tasteless English food, the least you can do is tolerate my German traditions.”

You absolutely hate fish and chips, you giant toddler.

As well I should, it makes my stomach turn. I’m making gulash and you’re eating it, and should I hear one noise of complaint, we’ll have potato mash until Moira comes back.

Laugh isn’t really a sound inside the mind, but there’s an undeniable feeling of merry amusement and contentment flooding through Erik’s thoughts like liquid light, warm and honest.

Erik showers much quicker than Charles. By the time the telepath comes down, carrying a few folders and papers with him to spread on the kitchen table, Erik is already working on preparing dinner. Charles grades papers, pours over essays with admirable focus as Erik deftly maneuvers several knives and utensils to work on the ingredients.

Erik has a split second of contentment as he realizes how ridiculously domestic it all is, and a second later he thinks, darkly, It can’t last.
Charles looks up and catches his eyes, face serious, brows pulled together. Erik expect him to say nothing bad will happen, that they’re safe here in Xavier Hall, that life will go on as it is now, with the both of them together and all of the children, and Ororo will continue to be preternaturally wise and Logan will get even more blunt and rough-spoken.

Charles says—nothing.

“No,” Erik says ruefully, reaching over to rest his hand lightly on Charles’ shoulder. “I suppose not.”

Chapter 13
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