Title: let the games begin
Fandom: X-Men (First Class)
Rating: NC-17
Length: 1378 words
Challenge: #452 Bounce
Content notes: Explicit sexual content, Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr
Summary: “So, you won’t look at all?” Erik asks. “For the entire game?” / “Not even the briefest glimpse,” Charles promises.

At first, the mansion rarely found a dull moment. The younger mutants were bursting with excitement to explore the large space between training sessions — Raven was having a great deal of fun popping out of her favorite hiding spots to give Hank or Alex a fright. But as everyone settled into their rooms and powers’ true potential, it was starting to grow quiet.

It was never quiet for Charles — at least, it never had to be, with the hum of thoughts belonging to a half dozen mutants buzzing around him constantly. He could drown it out when he needed to, of course, but found the sensation comforting. He was assured by their content thoughts, knowing he had made the right decision to bring a group of his kind together. There was a certain kind of peace that could only be achieved by surrounding yourself with others who truly understood you.
So, it was a relaxed night when Charles sat down in his study, in a chair opposite Erik, setting a chessboard between them.

As Erik sets down his martini glass, Charles barely needs to poke his head to feel annoyance rolling through him in waves. “Not in the mood?” Charles asks lightly, but moves his first pawn anyway.

Erik is staring at the board as he replies, “It’s not very amusing to play a game I know I’ll lose, is all.”

Charles watches Erik move a pawn, then raises an eyebrow and asks, “How do you know you’ll lose?”

“Well, I’m not the one that can see my opponent’s next move before they play it.”

“You think I’m cheating?” Charles’ inflection skyrockets at the accusation, scooting a second pawn forward.

“I know you like to make it seem like I’ve got a chance at winning,” Erik says, considering the barely-changed board in front of him. “But you always come out on top.”

“My friend, I have not been cheating. That would be about as entertaining as playing against myself,” Charles says earnestly, as Erik has yet to make his second move.

“So, you won’t look at all?” Erik asks. “For the entire game?”

“Not even the briefest glimpse,” Charles promises, and makes an effort to put up his mental barriers as Erik’s eyes narrow, clearly trying to project a thought or image into Charles’ mind. Probably something ridiculous, something he knows will make Charles laugh — one time, early on, they were stuck in a CIA meeting and Erik, bored and curious to see if Charles was rifling in his mind, decided to focus an imagination of the pudgy agent stripped to nothing but heart-printed boxers, leading Charles to burst into laughter at a poor moment in the discussion.

But, now, Charles doesn’t see or hear anything, and his lack of reaction seems to be enough for Erik, who finally makes his second move.



The game goes on as typical for them. They chat — about the other mutants, Moira, each other, their drinks, nothing, and everything else. They tend to get quieter as the number of pieces on the board dwindles, which is true in this case. It’s quiet, as Charles considers his move. He has the upper hand currently, he knows he can achieve a checkmate in a turn or two if he doesn’t do anything silly. It’s so quiet, in the room and in his head, all he can hear are his own thoughts, after days of the pleasant hum of so many happy mutants in the background of his mind.

It’s too quiet. It’s getting distracting. The game is almost done, it wouldn’t hurt to let down his mental walls just a bit. He might hear a few whispers from Erik’s mind, but he’d have to really focus to make sense of it.

He lets his mind relax, immediately hearing Raven and Alex’s thoughts in the next room, they’re arguing about something and Hank seems to find it hilarious. It’s the perfect background noise to focus on, so Charles does, biting his lip as he tries to finalize his next move.

Immediately, he can see himself. He’s out of his body, staring right at his own face, at his own teeth digging into his bottom lip. It would be startling if it hadn’t happened a thousand times before, and he knows he’s accidentally wandered into Erik’s mind, that Erik is watching him intently, loudly.

But before he can pull back, it shifts from his vision to an illusion, he sees himself look up from the board to meet Erik’s gaze, sees himself stand, step around the table between them and crawl right into Erik’s lap to pull him into a deep kiss—

Charles startles out of Erik’s head with a jolt, then immediately tries to center himself and cover his sudden movement with a cough, reaching for his glass of wine. He gulps it down, hoping to blame it on the heat he feels in his face.
He had no idea— Erik never—

Charles grabs his remaining knight, sliding it into a random available spot as his mind treads uneven waters, trying to talk himself into some stability.

He knew Erik had been with other men, Erik never tried to hide that, perhaps because he knew he couldn’t. Charles had returned the favor by sharing about his own relationships with other men, but he never dared to voice his attraction to Erik, because Erik never thought of him like that. A friend, yes, a close one even, a level of trust that Erik hasn’t felt with another human in a long, long time, but he never—

Charles looks back at the board, realizing he made a fatal mistake. In one obvious move Erik could checkmate him. There’s no way he wouldn’t spot it, but Erik’s staring at the board with unmoving eyes, chin in hand.

He’s thinking.

It isn’t an accident, this time, when Charles takes a peek.

He sees himself again. It’s a continuation of what he last saw, because he’s still in Erik’s lap, but they aren’t kissing anymore. Far from it, they’re both naked now, and Charles’ reddened lips are shaped into an O as he looks down at Erik, as he bounces up and down on Erik’s hard cock.

Charles can’t help lingering on this imagination, letting himself take a long look at Erik’s fantasy. Charles’ body doesn’t look quite right, some of the proportions are off, and the way they’re positioned doesn’t make much sense, it would be far too uncomfortable in actuality, but it’s a fantasy, it doesn’t need to look real to be enticing.

Because he can feel the intensity of Erik’s want. It’s so warm, like Erik’s palms are resting right on Charles’ neurons. He sees the way Erik sees him, and it’s all want want want. Want to touch, want to kiss, want to fuck.

In the vision, Charles’ eyes are impossibly blue, and he moans embarrassingly loud. Erik’s hands are all over him, gripping his waist and neck and hair and ass, and Erik is saying — thinking — many things in German that Charles can’t make sense of, but he can take several guesses based on his inflection and the way Charles’ vision-self shudders, somehow comprehending — another impractical layer to the fantasy.

“Ah,” Erik says, the real Erik, and the vision has suddenly stopped. He picks up the black queen, stating checkmate as he places it in the lethal spot Charles spotted minutes ago. He smiles over the board at Charles.

Charles blinks, he crosses his legs and relaxes his grip on his glass. “Yes, good game,” he says through a dry throat.

“That was fun,” Erik concedes, still smiling with too many teeth. “Again?”

Charles wants to say no. He wants to run to the nearest shower and indulge his own fantasies. But Erik’s beaming with excitement, far too much excitement for winning a simple chess game.

“Alright,” Charles agrees, watching curiously.

“No looking, right?” Erik says, pointing to his temple.

Oh. Charles gets it now.

“I promise, Erik,” Charles says, a bit too gently. Soon enough, Erik would know he didn’t have to wait until chess games to allow himself to want Charles. He could have Charles any time he wanted, truly.

But that discussion would have to wait. Charles had a game to win.