Title: Chosen
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters: Charles/Erik, references to Erik/Shaw, Erik/others
Rating: adult
Length: ~2200 words
Content notes: Dark. Dubious consent. References to past noncon. Drugged character.
Author notes: For the fifth Amnesty challenge, previous challenge of "Performance Anxiety". (There's a performance. There is anxiety. Creative interpretation GO!) Also, ahem, for cesare. :)
Summary: "I could've thrown him to the barracks for recreation, but he's got some potential. So here he is. He needs a mentor. Any takers?"



* * *

Another one. It wasn't as if this happened every week, but often enough-- too often for Erik's taste. He'd been on the receiving end of this treatment once himself; he still remembered the feel of the leather-and-nylon cuffs, the way Henri had laughed when Erik had tried to fight.

A lot had changed in the past three years. Erik still gritted his teeth and tried not to watch as Shaw dumped the latest one onto an empty sofa. This one couldn't even stand on his own; at first, Erik couldn't tell whether or not he was conscious. His eyes were open, but he was limp, unable to do more than lay where Shaw had put him. He was still dressed, mostly, though he'd lost both shoes and one sock along the way, and his shirt was open, unbuttoned to the waist. Nothing beneath it; Erik could see his bare skin, pale and freckled, unmarked and unbruised. That wasn't going to last.

"Meet Charles," Shaw said. The rest of the room took in the new mutant in silence: Janos, seated up at Shaw's fully-stocked bar; Emma, draped across an armchair with Azazel at her feet; Angel, sipping tea and looking more at Shaw than at his new acquisition. "I could've thrown him to the barracks for recreation, but he's got some potential. So here he is. He needs a mentor. Any takers?"

A mentor. Erik remembered the mentor who'd taken him on, three years back, and the way Erik had finally ended it. It had been a long, slow, ugly process, cutting Henri's throat with what had once been Erik's own collar. But when it was done, Shaw accepted Erik into his favored lieutenants, trusted him with assignments that he'd give to no one else. He'd only called Erik to his bed four times. Better than life with a mentor. Anything was better than that.

He'd promised himself not to visit that on anyone else, he'd been kind to the other recruits since he'd made it up the ranks, and this one-- he'd help Charles if he could, later. Maybe he'd be lucky and it would be Angel; she'd been kind to the people she'd had to train.

He met her eyes for the briefest of seconds, and was startled when hers widened. She was staring at him in shock, unable to keep the expression off her face, because he was up, he was moving, he was doing something he'd sworn he'd never do. He turned away from her to face Charles on the sofa there, and he was reaching for Charles's shirt and parting the fabric and what in hell, this was Emma, it had to be--

«I apologize for this, but if someone hadn't moved it would have been Shaw. I don't want that. Forgive me.»

Erik slid his hands up Charles's chest, curved one to the front of his neck. It wasn't him. He couldn't do this, wasn't doing this-- he wouldn't have chosen to do this, not to anyone else, never.

«My name is Charles Xavier,» and Erik would have jerked back, if he'd been able to move. He couldn't. He was bending his head down now, brow pressed against Charles's, and his lips were forming words that weren't his own: "He's mine. I'll take him."

"About time," Shaw said. Erik heard him moving, heard the soft shift of cushions as Shaw took a nearby seat, one with a good view of the sofa. "I can't wait to see what you've learned."

"Enough," Erik didn't say, his lips moving and his breath forming the words. "At my own pace, Sebastian."

"Of course." Shaw snapped his fingers. "Glass of the good stuff, Janos."

Erik could hear Janos pouring out a drink, bringing it over, but he couldn't turn to look. He was moving his hands inside Charles's shirt, stroking his bare skin. I don't want this. I don't want to do this to you. Whatever you're doing, stop.

«I'm sorry, Erik,» Charles told him. Erik was beginning to recognize the feel of those words; with no one else reacting to them, he could only figure that Charles was a telepath of some kind. Like Emma, maybe. He wondered if she knew what was happening, if she could tell what Charles was doing to him.

He drew back and unbuckled Charles's belt, unfastened his trousers while Charles lay there, inert, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

«I don't want to hurt you,» Erik thought, trying to push those thoughts at Charles.

«I'm grateful,» Charles sent back. «It's why I chose you. I'm sorry I didn't ask your permission first. I would have liked to. If it helps matters, under other circumstances, I would have asked. And I would have hoped the answer would be yes.»

Other circumstances. Erik couldn't imagine what those other circumstances might have been. He didn't remember ever having a normal life; nothing he could remember from before Genosha mattered anymore.

His hand closed around Charles's cock, soft and warm beneath his boxers. Even then, Charles didn't move.

«I've been drugged,» Charles told Erik, «and I know this collar around my neck is meant to block my ability. I can't move, I shouldn't be able to communicate. If Shaw's drugs had worked the way he meant them to, I wouldn't be able to feel any of this. I'd just be trapped here, in my body, aware of it but feeling none of it.» Erik's hand tightened on Charles's cock. «Shaw's expecting you to be rough with me.»

Erik nearly shuddered-- inside, he was shuddering. Outside, his body did nothing, just kept squeezing Charles's cock, his other hand curved to the side of Charles's neck. «That's not what I want.»

«What will he do to you if you stop now?»

Erik's stomach twisted. Four times. He'd been in Shaw's bed four times. He didn't want it to be five. And he didn't want Shaw's hands on Charles, either.

«We're in it together,» Charles sent. «Help me get through this and we'll be in it together from now on. I can help you, Erik. I can help all these people. I just need time.»

Erik felt himself dragging Charles's trousers off, watched as he tossed them aside in a crumpled heap. He had to nearly pick Charles up in order to roll him over, and he turned Charles's face so it was pointed towards Shaw. Charles's blank, insensate expression hadn't changed, not since Shaw had brought him in, but Erik knew-- and Charles must have known-- that Shaw would want to see it anyway.

«Please, Erik. Please, I want you to. I need you to. Please.»

This wasn't him; it wasn't his choice to unbutton his jeans, to shove them down around his thighs. It wasn't him stroking himself until he was hard; it wasn't him, spitting into his hand and getting his cock as slick as Shaw would allow for.

«If I do this--» He was climbing up on the sofa now, pushing Charles's legs apart. One of his legs slid off the sofa, dangling onto the floor. Erik pinned him, hard, at the hips, to keep him from going anywhere else. «If I do this, I'm going to hurt you.»

«I'm sorry about that,» Charles said. His eyes were open, staring at nothing. His lips were parted slightly. A trickle of saliva left the corner of his mouth, ran down over his chin. «Erik. Please. Will you?»

Erik hesitated, one hand on Charles's hip, the other holding his own cock, lining himself up with Charles's hole. Charles's grip on him had gone slack. Erik had a choice now. He could do this, do what had been done to him three years ago, or he could stop, and face whatever Sebastian wanted from him in exchange for backing out at the last second.

No. It wasn't much of a choice after all.

«Do you want me, Erik? Even a little?»

Erik swept his gaze down over Charles's back, up to the soft waves of his brown hair, his lush mouth... the warm curve of his ass, ready for Erik, his if he just pushed forward, pushed in, made Charles give him what he was offering up. He could own Charles now; he could own Charles in the eyes of Shaw and Emma and everyone in the whole damn country of Genosha.

«I want you,» Erik thought, stroking his cock again, rubbing his thumb against the head. He shivered. «You said you'd have asked me, under other circumstances. Do you want me to do this?»

«Yes. Now. Hurry,» Charles urged him. «Erik, please--»

Shaw set his glass down. "Any time, Erik. Do you need me to come over and show you how this is done?"

"No," Erik gritted out, and pushed in, hard, Charles's body offering no resistance but no help, either. He was warm beneath Erik, but a dead weight, like fucking someone who wouldn't wake up. Couldn't wake up; he was drugged, Erik reminded himself, none of this was Charles's choice.

«You are,» Charles sent. «I chose you. I got that, at least. Don't feel guilty.»

«I can't help it,» Erik sent back. He couldn't help the guilt or the shame, not when it was this good; he shivered all over as he drew back and shoved in again, forcing his way inside, making Charles take him all the way to the root. Charles didn't squirm; he didn't make a sound. He was just there, and his body belonged to Erik now, Erik's to use and hurt and fuck.

Erik sucked in a deep breath as he eased out and shoved in again, harder this time. Charles's body moved under his, a response to Erik's motion, his head shoving up against the armrest as Erik's thrusts pushed him up the sofa. Charles couldn't cry out, the drugs had seen to that, but Erik had to bite back his groans of pleasure. He didn't want Shaw to hear them; he didn't want Charles to have to remember them.

Charles's expression didn't change, his breathing never faltered; Erik held him down and kept him pinned as he fucked him, and now it was him, just him, fucking Charles and using him and driving his cock into him, over and over, until his breathing stuttered and his body curved forward and he gritted his teeth together, trying to form words in his mind again, trying to retain enough humanity to ask.

«I'm close, but I can stop, Charles. I can fake it, I can stop now if I have to--»

Charles's voice was a sharp snap in his mind, urgent but not angry. «Too risky. Don't stop. You're close, that's good, come then, come and get me out of here--»

It was easy, coming for him after that. It left Erik shaking, shamed, wanting to take Charles out of here and make sure no one else laid a hand on him. Erik glanced over at Shaw as he pulled away and got his clothes set back to rights; Shaw smirked at him, standing and pulling something out of his pocket.

He tossed it to Erik; Erik caught it out of the air with his ability and drew it close, looking at it. It was the key to Charles's collar, tagged with a four-number code.

"He's yours," Shaw said. "When he's broken, you can let him out of the collar."

"What can he do?" As if Erik didn't know... but did Shaw? Did he know how far Charles's abilities went? Collared, drugged, and he'd still had Erik moving across the room and speaking words Erik would never have spoken on his own. Charles was more powerful than anyone else in this room, maybe more powerful than anyone in Genosha.

I can help you, Erik. I can help all these people. I just need time.

Maybe he was telling the truth.

"He's a mindreader," Shaw said. "Not too strong. He'll be good to have on our side, once you've got him trained."

Erik nodded and pocketed the key. "We'll see," he said quietly. He glanced down at Charles, who still hadn't moved; he was messy, now, clothes mussed, sticky between his legs because of Erik...

«Get me out of here,» Charles thought. «Get me out. And we'll talk.»

He took a few seconds to tug Charles's trousers back up as best he could-- not easy, with Charles still too drugged to move-- and rolled Charles off the sofa and into his arms. Charles's head lolled back as Erik stood up with him, and he was a much more solid weight than Erik had been expecting; Erik's back and arms strained with the effort.

"I think the rest of what I'm going to do with him doesn't need an audience," Erik said, over his shoulder. "Good night."

"Breakfast tomorrow. Seven," Shaw said. "Bring him, if he can walk on his own by then. Or crawl."

"You think he's going to be walking after a night with me?" Erik tossed back. Charles's throat moved; Erik could see him swallowing. «I don't want him touching you at breakfast. You'll be safer in my room.»

«I'm not arguing,» Charles thought. «Come on, Erik. Please.»

He carried Charles out of that room, away from Shaw, away from the rest of them, and if he wasn't taking Charles to safety, at least it was as close as Erik could get him.