Title: Rematch
Author: schmerica / pearl_o
Fandom: X-men: First Class
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: R
Length: ~1000 words
Content notes: Chess, sex, mourning.
Summary: To Erik, everything is a competition.



Charles comes up with the idea almost by accident, the first night out together on their mutant search. The day itself had been pleasant enough, if not particularly eventful. But there had been a sense, throughout the day, that he's quite certain Erik had felt as strongly as he had - of the two of them working together; a team; a partnership.

But that feeling had left as quickly as it had come upon them, and the hotel room between them was silent and almost tense. Erik blows hot and cold in a way Charles can't fathom. He isn't used to being surprised by people, not after all these years, but Erik seems to manage it over and over. His mind is the most extraordinary Charles has come across in a long time; the more Charles knows of it, the more he wants to know, the more questions he has. There is a connection between the two of them, Charles is sure of it. He might be embarrassed at the neediness inherent in his fervent desire for Erik's friendship, if he wasn't certain that Erik has experienced that same urgency.

Some days, like today, Erik could be charming, talkative, even excitable, but he always pulled away, hiding again behind cold eyes and a stern mouth. Believe me, Charles wants to say, trust me - but Erik is something wild, and wild things can't be pushed; they have to come of their own accord.

Still, Charles has never been patient, and the prospect of night after night like this is unbearable. It's a total shot in the dark when he suggests a game of chess.

Erik's expression doesn't change, but Charles can feel the sudden burst of interest that goes through him.

He defeats Erik easily in the first game. He thinks he should perhaps be a little insulted by how dumbfounded Erik looks - he obviously didn't expect Charles to be very skilled - but instead Charles is amused.

Erik studies the board for a minute, his brow furrowed, and then he looks up at Charles again. "Rematch?"

Charles agrees. Erik wins the second game, though it's quite close. He grins at Charles afterwards, triumphant, and Charles smiles back.

He says mildly: "A tiebreaker?"

"Tomorrow, perhaps," Erik says. "I suspect we'll be keeping a running tally."

*****

Charles can't help but laugh as he falls back onto the bed, bouncing slightly against the soft mattress. He starts to push himself up on his elbows, so he can better enjoy the view of Erik standing between his legs, shirtless and magnificent in the mansion's dim lamplight. But he doesn't get much of a chance before Erik is climbing on top of him, pushing Charles down with the weight of his body.

Charles is covered entirely, enveloped by Erik's warm skin. He arches up into it, but Erik won't let him get leverage, instead holding Charles still, centering his attack on Charles's throat. Charles twists his head, giving him more access, and the noise Erik makes is pleased and savage.

Charles is generally fairly in tune with his own body, but his orgasm takes him by surprise. Erik's mouth is merciless on his throat, nipping and sucking and licking, and when Erik slips his hand between them to grip Charles's cock, he strokes Charles quickly and roughly. It's as if he's practically wrenching the pleasure of Charles, forcing it through him, and Charles is stunned when he comes, well before he thought he'd be ready.

Erik lets go of Charles's dick before the sensitivity becomes too much, but he doesn't pause his minstrations to Charles's neck, and Charles can feel Erik's own cock, the hard line of his erection pressing firmly against Charles's thigh.

"Jesus, Erik," Charles says, barely finding the breath to get the words out, "this isn't a competition, you know."

Erik makes a rumbling noise against Charles's skin that might be a chuckle. "Everything is a competition, Charles." If Charles was only listening to the tone of Erik's voice, it would sound lighthearted, but there's an intense sincerity in Erik's mind. He means it, and he means it completely.

Erik shifts, moving up the bed so he can capture Charles's lips in a fierce kiss. It has the side effect of freeing Charles's arms, and he takes advantage of it to wrap them around Erik's shoulders, lifting up to rub his body against Erik's. There are more important things in life than winning, he thinks, sending the thought directly into Erik's mind.

Erik responds immediately, as his hand curls tightly on Charles's hip. Spoken like someone who's never known what it means to lose.

*****

Moira is there at his bedside, almost constantly, during his recovery. He suspects vaguely that she must have more important things to do - surely her bosses have some concerns with her, after that debacle on the beach - but he's too selfish to say anything about it or even do a cursory check through her mind. She's here, and he's grateful she's here. That he has someone here, someone who can comfort him, someone he can consider a friend.

The boys visit him, too, of course, but that's entirely different. To them, he's not Charles; he's the professor. An authority figure, someone to look up to. He sees the way their faces search his, the way they rely on him for guidance and hope, to tell them everything is going to be okay. He puts on that persona for them without even thinking about it, and he can see the difference it makes to them.

But Moira. Moira is the one who sees him weep.

"It doesn't seem real yet," he tells her. "I know, intellectually, that I'll never walk again, but I don't think I really believe it. And beside everything else, it feels like it almost doesn't matter." He'd have given them up in exchange, he thinks; a limb for Raven, another for Erik. But losing it all - it's so cosmically unfair.

"I know," Moira says, and she squeezes his hand tight in sympathy. "There's nothing harder than saying goodbye to the people you love."

Charles wipes his eyes with the back of his free hand, and shakes his head. "No," he says slowly, "it's not goodbye. Maybe it would be easier if it were. This is..." The metaphor comes to him quickly, painfully, and his voice shakes a little as he finishes. "This is just the end of round one."