Title: Attraction
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters: Charles/Erik
Rating: adult
Length: ~2300 words
Content notes: Contains nothing I would warn for. Proudly features a disabled character in smutty, sexual situations!
Author notes: Post-beach, post-divorce, post-injury.
Summary: Five times Erik's overcome by his attraction to Charles, on a visit four years after Cuba.
***
It isn't as though Erik needs to sign in at the front desk in order to pay a visit here, although sometimes he thinks it would alarm the children less if he did. He's come back over and over again, to see Charles, to talk to him, to play chess and discuss the question of whether Charles might ever be won over to Erik's view of things, the right view of things. Human society will never accept them; they'll make their own. Someday, they'll be together on it, doing what Charles offered him a chance to do four years ago. Guide them. Shape them. Lead them. Someday...
He rounds the corner, his senses reaching out for Charles's chair. It's in a room with a great deal of other, dense metal, and it doesn't occur to Erik until he gets there what he might find...
Charles, still in his wheelchair, but in track pants and a white tank top. Sweat drenching it, leaving his hair dripping in strands that lay across his forehead. Bent over partway at the waist, his hand half-gloved, holding a twenty-five pound dumbbell, and Charles does one curl after another, his biceps moving and flexing, muscles straining with the effort.
When he ends his set, Erik pulls the dumbbell out of his hand, and Charles looks up with a grin.
"You almost distracted me," Charles says, rolling himself backward and reaching for a towel. He dries his face off, rubs the towel over his hair before settling it down across his shoulders. "You aren't wearing the helmet today. But I think those thoughts might have come through without it. You are thinking very loudly today, my friend."
Erik swings the door shut and holds it there, moving swiftly over to Charles, sinking down on his knees before him. "I can do some other things very loudly, too, you know."
Charles reaches up, fingertips caressing Erik's temples. «I know,» he sends, and his voice in Erik's thoughts is a weight off Erik's shoulders. «Let's try for that, today.»
Charles lifts himself up, out of his chair, transferring himself to the bed with the help of a bar at his bedside. His shoulders flex, his back tight and muscular and perfect to Erik's sight. He still has all those freckles decorating them; his skin is still pale and perfect, all the way down to the scar at his lower back.
"Stop it," Charles murmurs, pushing himself back, and back, settling down in bed and moving his legs, one at a time, into straight lines ahead of him. "We've had it out about that."
"Should I tell you that you ought to get more sun, then?" Erik walks around to the other side of Charles's bed, disrobing and ensuring that everything is neatly stacked on the chair at the side of the bed. Nothing to trip over, for him; nothing to roll over, for Charles. Erik is given to neatness anyway, for the most part. This is the least of the things he's willing to do for Charles today.
Charles has a sly look on his face, and he waits until Erik climbs into bed to answer him. "I know what you're thinking..."
"Don't you always?"
"Mmm." Charles reaches out and strokes his fingers through Erik's hair. "There'd be more if I got more sun, yes. Why you'd want that, I don't know..."
Erik bends his head down and starts the kisses at the back of Charles's wrist, and perhaps he can't kiss each individual freckle, but there's no reason he can't try.
"Now why I'd want that," Charles murmurs, "well, I can't say I'd complain about having you at this a bit longer..."
Erik keeps kissing.
Erik swore, years and years ago, that he'd never beg anyone for anything ever again.
Charles shattered that oath nearly as soon as they met, and he seems to delight in breaking it over and over again, every time they're together.
This time all it takes is one hand, his right hand, which is distracting enough even at rest. The sharp angle where his thumb meets the base of his hand is captivating, especially when Charles has been teasing him all morning with little mental flashes of what he wants to do with that hand.
He ends up doing it in the shower, Charles on the shower seat, Erik standing in front of him. Charles's smile as he watches his hand on Erik's cock would be distracting enough, but oh, it's his hand, moving back and forth, palm slick with waterproof lube, fingernails still short and bitten to the quick, that oh-so-familiar, oh-so-beautiful hand, that has Erik pleading for more, and more, and more.
The first night Erik met Charles, after he recovered from the rage at letting Shaw slip away, after the shock from finding someone else like him passed, he noticed Charles.
Charles was gracious enough to chalk it up to the very physical elements of what Erik had been doing that night-- the swim, both intended and not; the confrontation; the urgent, thrilling use of his powers-- but Erik remembers differently. Erik remembers Charles's mouth, red and vivid in the dark of night, contrasting with his pale, chilled skin. He remembers the perfect bow shape of Charles's upper lip, the lush curve of his lower lip, the way Erik wanted to grip Charles by the back of the neck and take that mouth for his own.
There was probably something to Charles's argument that Erik had been all too affected by the emotional upheaval of the night's encounter, but when they were dry and clean, when they'd gone back to the spot on the beach where Erik had stashed his dry clothing, when they were in the car on their way to the CIA's installment back in Richmond, Charles's mouth was still the first thing Erik looked at when his eyes moved to Charles's face. Watching him purse those lips at different mutant recruits over that summer was almost fatal, and might have been if Charles hadn't finally decided to put that mouth where Erik wanted it most.
His mouth is every bit as affecting now as it was on the night they met, but these days Erik knows just what that mouth can do, and what Charles likes. He straddles Charles's shoulders and lets Charles draw him down, hands on Erik's arse, and Erik catches a glimpse of Charles's radiant, sly smile and a flash of tongue across lower lip before Charles opens his mouth wide and tips his head up, tongue stretching out to help guide Erik's cock in.
«May I,» Charles asks, and Erik throws open the floodgates, drops every barrier and shield he's learned to erect over the years. He gives Charles what he's feeling, not just the warm, thrilling lust that comes of having his cock in Charles's mouth, but the way his heart skips a beat-- still, now, today-- when he watches Charles's gorgeous red lips stretching around him.
It's Charles's pace, as usual, but that pace is fast and rough, just what Erik likes, just what he needs in order to slam right up against the edge and stay there. Or maybe it's more than Charles slams him against the edge and keeps him there, because Erik has no doubt that Charles is using that glorious mutation of his to hold Erik back from orgasm, that he could do it all day if he wanted.
Erik has withstood pain, torture, any number of things these last few years in the name of interrogation, he's been on the losing side of battles, he's found himself in enemy hands, but this... reaching down to thread his fingers through the strands of Charles's hair, he knows that Charles wouldn't need telepathy to make Erik spill all his secrets.
«You don't have any secrets from me,» Charles sends, and Erik's mind fills with all the imagery of their lives together, their lives apart, urgent heated moments in hotel rooms, frantic late-night arguments, Erik's frustration and grief when they leave each other again. It hurts to be reminded of that grief now, when he's said nothing about going, and it's excruciating to have that emotion held up alongside all this arousal and desperation, but to feel anything else right now would be a lie.
He's done many things to Charles since their meeting in the water, but he's never lied to him.
«I still love you,» he projects, and Charles makes a soft noise, the vibration traveling all the way up the length of Erik's cock. Charles moves his head faster, his tongue pressed hard against Erik's cock, and when Erik comes, he can feel Charles in his head, riding the sensation alongside him, coming with him, because of him, in a way he's certain Charles never lets himself come with anyone else.
He's in the motorized chair today, controls at his right hand. They walk through the grounds together, a simple thing, the soft whirr of Charles's chair and the continous crunch of gravel beneath Erik's feet and Charles's wheels all too comforting, here and now.
"Where to this time?" Charles asks, brightly, as if whatever Erik's going to do might not require intervention from the young members of his team.
"I suppose it depends on what Mystique finds in Colorado," Erik answers. "You don't actually believe that those mutants have been disappearing by coincidence?"
"I very much fear not, no." Charles reaches up, catches Erik's hand as they keep moving. It's a little thing, holding hands, but Erik's glad for it. He squeezes Charles's fingers between his own and rubs the pad of his thumb across the back of Charles's hand.
It's not as though he didn't know where they were going; he knows every inch of this mansion of its grounds, every weakness, every place they waste resources protecting when others are more ill-guarded. But when Charles stops and pulls up to the railing in front of the satellite dish, Erik takes a deep breath and holds it.
"Could you turn it? Today."
"You know I could."
"By yourself?"
Erik can feel all that metal from here, the open-air construction of so much of the satellite dish and its base. He can feel the gears, everything designed to let the dish turn, and he knows just how much it would take to bring the dish around to face them.
"I'd sweat through my shirt," Erik concedes, "but yes. By myself."
Charles is smiling at him. "I'm almost sorry. Every time I'm out here, I remember--" He lifts his hand to the side of his head, a gesture Erik hasn't seen him make in a long time. His fingers move, the same way they did then, and Erik feels the same thing he felt at the time: desire, love, a need to try, the urge to please this man-- not for the sake of training or proving his mutation to either one of them, but because this was Charles, and Charles had asked him to do something.
"Come inside," Erik murmurs, and if his throat is tight and his voice is a little thick, well, the world has changed around them in many, many ways since they last stood here together, facing that dish. "Please."
Charles smiles, beautiful, brilliant, and though he doesn't need the affectation of bringing his fingers to his temple anymore, today he does it all the same. His eyes close, his tongue wetting his lips before he closes them, too, and then Erik can feel him, feel him as well as watching him, this beautiful man and all his power.
Four years ago it was his mother, a memory of boyhood and unconditional love. Today, if Charles is looking for the brightest corner of Erik's memories, Erik knows what he'll find.
«...is that...?»
Charles, in Geneva, in Paris, in Washington; Charles, in the mansion, in a hotel room, rolling along beside him in a city park. Charles's laugh, rare and precious that first year after-- after; Charles's thoughtful expression, the first morning they woke together in a hotel room.
None of these moments are without their bittersweet shadows, but Erik savors them, holds onto each one as Charles floats over it, draws it out, caresses it. The memory of Erik's mother, so long ago, left Charles tearful. As the memories grow more and more powerful-- Erik, on his knees before Charles, licking up the inside of his thigh while Charles rides the sensations from Erik's side; Charles, on his stomach, Erik being careful, so careful; Charles's mouth on Erik's cock; Erik's hands and mouth on Charles's face, his ears, his neck-- Charles takes a soft, shuddering breath, but he doesn't back away.
«We'll embarrass ourselves if we go back inside this way,» Erik teases.
«You will. That particular autonomic reaction isn't happening for me just now...»
Finally, Charles drops his hand from his temple, and for all that that reaction isn't occuring, he's still flushed and out of breath, his lower lip redder than usual where he's been biting it.
Erik bends down, hand behind Charles's neck, and kisses him, sharing that: the look on Charles's face, the clear bright evidence of his arousal, the way it affects Erik every time, every time, to see it. How grateful he is that he and Charles didn't lose each other completely, that he knows Charles well enough to have learned the signs all over again.
«I know you. I know what you look like when you want me.»
Charles's hands move up, take handfuls of Erik's shirt as he holds Erik down to him.
«You only ever had to look at me to know that,» Charles grins, and he kisses Erik again and again, adding another memory to that bright corner.
-end-
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters: Charles/Erik
Rating: adult
Length: ~2300 words
Content notes: Contains nothing I would warn for. Proudly features a disabled character in smutty, sexual situations!
Author notes: Post-beach, post-divorce, post-injury.
Summary: Five times Erik's overcome by his attraction to Charles, on a visit four years after Cuba.
***
It isn't as though Erik needs to sign in at the front desk in order to pay a visit here, although sometimes he thinks it would alarm the children less if he did. He's come back over and over again, to see Charles, to talk to him, to play chess and discuss the question of whether Charles might ever be won over to Erik's view of things, the right view of things. Human society will never accept them; they'll make their own. Someday, they'll be together on it, doing what Charles offered him a chance to do four years ago. Guide them. Shape them. Lead them. Someday...
He rounds the corner, his senses reaching out for Charles's chair. It's in a room with a great deal of other, dense metal, and it doesn't occur to Erik until he gets there what he might find...
Charles, still in his wheelchair, but in track pants and a white tank top. Sweat drenching it, leaving his hair dripping in strands that lay across his forehead. Bent over partway at the waist, his hand half-gloved, holding a twenty-five pound dumbbell, and Charles does one curl after another, his biceps moving and flexing, muscles straining with the effort.
When he ends his set, Erik pulls the dumbbell out of his hand, and Charles looks up with a grin.
"You almost distracted me," Charles says, rolling himself backward and reaching for a towel. He dries his face off, rubs the towel over his hair before settling it down across his shoulders. "You aren't wearing the helmet today. But I think those thoughts might have come through without it. You are thinking very loudly today, my friend."
Erik swings the door shut and holds it there, moving swiftly over to Charles, sinking down on his knees before him. "I can do some other things very loudly, too, you know."
Charles reaches up, fingertips caressing Erik's temples. «I know,» he sends, and his voice in Erik's thoughts is a weight off Erik's shoulders. «Let's try for that, today.»
Charles lifts himself up, out of his chair, transferring himself to the bed with the help of a bar at his bedside. His shoulders flex, his back tight and muscular and perfect to Erik's sight. He still has all those freckles decorating them; his skin is still pale and perfect, all the way down to the scar at his lower back.
"Stop it," Charles murmurs, pushing himself back, and back, settling down in bed and moving his legs, one at a time, into straight lines ahead of him. "We've had it out about that."
"Should I tell you that you ought to get more sun, then?" Erik walks around to the other side of Charles's bed, disrobing and ensuring that everything is neatly stacked on the chair at the side of the bed. Nothing to trip over, for him; nothing to roll over, for Charles. Erik is given to neatness anyway, for the most part. This is the least of the things he's willing to do for Charles today.
Charles has a sly look on his face, and he waits until Erik climbs into bed to answer him. "I know what you're thinking..."
"Don't you always?"
"Mmm." Charles reaches out and strokes his fingers through Erik's hair. "There'd be more if I got more sun, yes. Why you'd want that, I don't know..."
Erik bends his head down and starts the kisses at the back of Charles's wrist, and perhaps he can't kiss each individual freckle, but there's no reason he can't try.
"Now why I'd want that," Charles murmurs, "well, I can't say I'd complain about having you at this a bit longer..."
Erik keeps kissing.
Erik swore, years and years ago, that he'd never beg anyone for anything ever again.
Charles shattered that oath nearly as soon as they met, and he seems to delight in breaking it over and over again, every time they're together.
This time all it takes is one hand, his right hand, which is distracting enough even at rest. The sharp angle where his thumb meets the base of his hand is captivating, especially when Charles has been teasing him all morning with little mental flashes of what he wants to do with that hand.
He ends up doing it in the shower, Charles on the shower seat, Erik standing in front of him. Charles's smile as he watches his hand on Erik's cock would be distracting enough, but oh, it's his hand, moving back and forth, palm slick with waterproof lube, fingernails still short and bitten to the quick, that oh-so-familiar, oh-so-beautiful hand, that has Erik pleading for more, and more, and more.
The first night Erik met Charles, after he recovered from the rage at letting Shaw slip away, after the shock from finding someone else like him passed, he noticed Charles.
Charles was gracious enough to chalk it up to the very physical elements of what Erik had been doing that night-- the swim, both intended and not; the confrontation; the urgent, thrilling use of his powers-- but Erik remembers differently. Erik remembers Charles's mouth, red and vivid in the dark of night, contrasting with his pale, chilled skin. He remembers the perfect bow shape of Charles's upper lip, the lush curve of his lower lip, the way Erik wanted to grip Charles by the back of the neck and take that mouth for his own.
There was probably something to Charles's argument that Erik had been all too affected by the emotional upheaval of the night's encounter, but when they were dry and clean, when they'd gone back to the spot on the beach where Erik had stashed his dry clothing, when they were in the car on their way to the CIA's installment back in Richmond, Charles's mouth was still the first thing Erik looked at when his eyes moved to Charles's face. Watching him purse those lips at different mutant recruits over that summer was almost fatal, and might have been if Charles hadn't finally decided to put that mouth where Erik wanted it most.
His mouth is every bit as affecting now as it was on the night they met, but these days Erik knows just what that mouth can do, and what Charles likes. He straddles Charles's shoulders and lets Charles draw him down, hands on Erik's arse, and Erik catches a glimpse of Charles's radiant, sly smile and a flash of tongue across lower lip before Charles opens his mouth wide and tips his head up, tongue stretching out to help guide Erik's cock in.
«May I,» Charles asks, and Erik throws open the floodgates, drops every barrier and shield he's learned to erect over the years. He gives Charles what he's feeling, not just the warm, thrilling lust that comes of having his cock in Charles's mouth, but the way his heart skips a beat-- still, now, today-- when he watches Charles's gorgeous red lips stretching around him.
It's Charles's pace, as usual, but that pace is fast and rough, just what Erik likes, just what he needs in order to slam right up against the edge and stay there. Or maybe it's more than Charles slams him against the edge and keeps him there, because Erik has no doubt that Charles is using that glorious mutation of his to hold Erik back from orgasm, that he could do it all day if he wanted.
Erik has withstood pain, torture, any number of things these last few years in the name of interrogation, he's been on the losing side of battles, he's found himself in enemy hands, but this... reaching down to thread his fingers through the strands of Charles's hair, he knows that Charles wouldn't need telepathy to make Erik spill all his secrets.
«You don't have any secrets from me,» Charles sends, and Erik's mind fills with all the imagery of their lives together, their lives apart, urgent heated moments in hotel rooms, frantic late-night arguments, Erik's frustration and grief when they leave each other again. It hurts to be reminded of that grief now, when he's said nothing about going, and it's excruciating to have that emotion held up alongside all this arousal and desperation, but to feel anything else right now would be a lie.
He's done many things to Charles since their meeting in the water, but he's never lied to him.
«I still love you,» he projects, and Charles makes a soft noise, the vibration traveling all the way up the length of Erik's cock. Charles moves his head faster, his tongue pressed hard against Erik's cock, and when Erik comes, he can feel Charles in his head, riding the sensation alongside him, coming with him, because of him, in a way he's certain Charles never lets himself come with anyone else.
He's in the motorized chair today, controls at his right hand. They walk through the grounds together, a simple thing, the soft whirr of Charles's chair and the continous crunch of gravel beneath Erik's feet and Charles's wheels all too comforting, here and now.
"Where to this time?" Charles asks, brightly, as if whatever Erik's going to do might not require intervention from the young members of his team.
"I suppose it depends on what Mystique finds in Colorado," Erik answers. "You don't actually believe that those mutants have been disappearing by coincidence?"
"I very much fear not, no." Charles reaches up, catches Erik's hand as they keep moving. It's a little thing, holding hands, but Erik's glad for it. He squeezes Charles's fingers between his own and rubs the pad of his thumb across the back of Charles's hand.
It's not as though he didn't know where they were going; he knows every inch of this mansion of its grounds, every weakness, every place they waste resources protecting when others are more ill-guarded. But when Charles stops and pulls up to the railing in front of the satellite dish, Erik takes a deep breath and holds it.
"Could you turn it? Today."
"You know I could."
"By yourself?"
Erik can feel all that metal from here, the open-air construction of so much of the satellite dish and its base. He can feel the gears, everything designed to let the dish turn, and he knows just how much it would take to bring the dish around to face them.
"I'd sweat through my shirt," Erik concedes, "but yes. By myself."
Charles is smiling at him. "I'm almost sorry. Every time I'm out here, I remember--" He lifts his hand to the side of his head, a gesture Erik hasn't seen him make in a long time. His fingers move, the same way they did then, and Erik feels the same thing he felt at the time: desire, love, a need to try, the urge to please this man-- not for the sake of training or proving his mutation to either one of them, but because this was Charles, and Charles had asked him to do something.
"Come inside," Erik murmurs, and if his throat is tight and his voice is a little thick, well, the world has changed around them in many, many ways since they last stood here together, facing that dish. "Please."
Charles smiles, beautiful, brilliant, and though he doesn't need the affectation of bringing his fingers to his temple anymore, today he does it all the same. His eyes close, his tongue wetting his lips before he closes them, too, and then Erik can feel him, feel him as well as watching him, this beautiful man and all his power.
Four years ago it was his mother, a memory of boyhood and unconditional love. Today, if Charles is looking for the brightest corner of Erik's memories, Erik knows what he'll find.
«...is that...?»
Charles, in Geneva, in Paris, in Washington; Charles, in the mansion, in a hotel room, rolling along beside him in a city park. Charles's laugh, rare and precious that first year after-- after; Charles's thoughtful expression, the first morning they woke together in a hotel room.
None of these moments are without their bittersweet shadows, but Erik savors them, holds onto each one as Charles floats over it, draws it out, caresses it. The memory of Erik's mother, so long ago, left Charles tearful. As the memories grow more and more powerful-- Erik, on his knees before Charles, licking up the inside of his thigh while Charles rides the sensations from Erik's side; Charles, on his stomach, Erik being careful, so careful; Charles's mouth on Erik's cock; Erik's hands and mouth on Charles's face, his ears, his neck-- Charles takes a soft, shuddering breath, but he doesn't back away.
«We'll embarrass ourselves if we go back inside this way,» Erik teases.
«You will. That particular autonomic reaction isn't happening for me just now...»
Finally, Charles drops his hand from his temple, and for all that that reaction isn't occuring, he's still flushed and out of breath, his lower lip redder than usual where he's been biting it.
Erik bends down, hand behind Charles's neck, and kisses him, sharing that: the look on Charles's face, the clear bright evidence of his arousal, the way it affects Erik every time, every time, to see it. How grateful he is that he and Charles didn't lose each other completely, that he knows Charles well enough to have learned the signs all over again.
«I know you. I know what you look like when you want me.»
Charles's hands move up, take handfuls of Erik's shirt as he holds Erik down to him.
«You only ever had to look at me to know that,» Charles grins, and he kisses Erik again and again, adding another memory to that bright corner.
-end-
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chasethestars
chasethestars
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«You don't have any secrets from me,» Charles sends, and Erik's mind fills with all the imagery of their lives together, their lives apart, urgent heated moments in hotel rooms, frantic late-night arguments, Erik's frustration and grief when they leave each other again. It hurts to be reminded of that grief now, when he's said nothing about going, and it's excruciating to have that emotion held up alongside all this arousal and desperation, but to feel anything else right now would be a lie.
FEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEELINGS.
My heart! ;______;
You know how much I appreciate that first image (please XMFC2 please) and the rest is every bit as satisfying. So fantastic.
loved weightlifting!charles in all of his freckled glory!
lovely lovely fic!