XMFC - Scars
Summary: In the heat of the moment Erik discovers that he was mistaken about a few of his assumptions regarding Charles’ life.
Fandom: XM:FC
Characters/Pairing: Charles/Erik
Genre: Romance/Angst
Warning: Past child abuse
Rating: Somewhere between T and M
Notes: For this prompt from 1stclass_kink, de-anoned and no longer riddled with 4 am mistakes.
Charles is in his lap.
The mere thought of it leaves Erik breathless, but the reality of it, after weeks and weeks of dancing around each other and then that one secret kiss Charles stole in Russia, is so much more.
Charles is straddling Erik’s legs, their chess game long forgotten (both kings lying side by side on the ground among the other scattered pawns) and his lips. Oh, his lips. Charles’ hands are buried in Erik’s hair, pulling their faces ever closer together. Lips, teeth, tongue, clashing, melding, and hot, so wonderfully hot.
He’d thought of this in motel bathrooms. He’d dreamt of this night after night, waking up sweaty and desperate. (A pleasant change from his usual nighttime visions.)
Charles is projecting heady pleasure and need and it’s all so good, so much better than he’d dreamed.
Erik groans into Charles’ mouth and presses closer. He just needs to be closer to this wonderful and terrifying creature. Erik coaxes Charles’ tongue into his mouth and sucks lovingly on the slippery muscle. Charles moans and grinds down, rubbing their clothed erections together.
Erik gasps, breaking the kiss. But he doesn’t mind because Charles takes the moment to leave a trail of kisses across Erik’s cheek and down the side of Erik’s neck until he’s blocked by Erik’s turtleneck.
Erik has never hated a piece of clothing before, but Charles soothes him with a bemused and aroused thought. And then the two of them are tugging at Erik’s shirt, pulling it up and off with desperate and uncoordinated hands. Charles loses interest in helping the moment Erik’s neck appears and quickly latches on to the curve of Erik’s neck, kissing and nipping and making it very difficult for Erik to finish pulling off his increasingly obstructive shirt.
But then the blasted thing joins the chess pieces on the floor and Erik sinks the fingers of one hand into the mane that Charles calls hair while the other runs down the expanse of Charles’ cardigan covered back. Charles playfully bites down a bit harder while thinking Ah, ah, wouldn’t want me to go bald now, would you? Erik knows that such behavior clearly deserved a suitably juvenile retort, but is too aroused to care. Instead he tightens his grip on Charles’ hair and pulls him up for another hard kiss and slides his hand up under the tacky cardigan. He runs his hands over smooth, white skin untouched by the world and all her horrors.
Except he doesn’t.
Where Charles’ skin should be soft and unmarred, his fingers encounter raised lines, permanent and deep.
He hadn’t dreamt about this.
Erik freezes.
Charles doesn’t notice. When Erik stops kissing back, Charles simply begins to kiss down the other side of Erik’s neck and it feels good. Charles’ mouth feels so very good, but Erik barely notices because he’s still running his hands up and down Charles’ back, trying to understand why his fingers are lying to him.
And then his fingers find a bit of knotted flesh and Erik’s mind tries to figure out what sort of accident could leave a scar in that shape.
A scar.
Charles has scars on his back.
The realization is like being dumped into a freezing ocean.
Charles finally notices that something is wrong. He lifts his face from Erik’s neck and frowns ever so slightly. What’s wrong? Charles thinks, his face flushed and eyes blown wide with clear arousal. Is it too much? I thought you were enjoying-
Erik wants to reassure Charles that there’s nothing wrong. How could there be anything wrong when he has brilliant, naïve Charles in his lap, ready and willing and everything he’d never dared to dream -
And yet.
Erik begins pulling off Charles’ cardigan and only manages a few buttons on his button-down before he simply starts pulling the shirt apart.
What’s gotten in to you? Charles laughs breathlessly, projecting bemused confusion and endless warmth as he always does, seemingly without realizing.
How can he laugh at a time like this? Erik wonders, but then Charles is bare from the waist up and still in Erik’s lap, though Erik no longer feels excited at the prospect.
Without a word, Erik silently urges Charles to turn around so that his Charles is facing outward and then Charles’ back is there for him to see.
And suddenly it’s real. The suspicion that has been lurking on the edge of consciousness since his fingers brushed the very edge of the first scar begins to take form. The lines crisscrossing Charles’ back are old. They are crisp and clean and so very clearly intentional. Erik runs his fingers along the lines and can almost hear the sound of a leather belt snapping against perfect, untouched skin. The knotted scars are rarer, but they stand out against the thin crisscrossing scars. They are no accident. Erik brushes a thumb lightly over one of them and thinks about how a man’s belt buckle might make such a mark.
Charles shudders a little under Erik’s ministrations and glances at Erik over his shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Charles asks aloud, his forehead wrinkled with concern, finally coming down from his excitement enough to remember how to form words.
And Erik thinks, isn’t it obvious?
“I’m afraid not,” Charles says. “Have I done something wrong? I - ”
And he’s so fucking earnest that Erik wants to, to -
“You haven’t done anything,” Erik says. He kisses one of the knotted scars on Charles’ back and wonders why his eyes are burning.
Fandom: XM:FC
Characters/Pairing: Charles/Erik
Genre: Romance/Angst
Warning: Past child abuse
Rating: Somewhere between T and M
Notes: For this prompt from 1stclass_kink, de-anoned and no longer riddled with 4 am mistakes.
Charles is in his lap.
The mere thought of it leaves Erik breathless, but the reality of it, after weeks and weeks of dancing around each other and then that one secret kiss Charles stole in Russia, is so much more.
Charles is straddling Erik’s legs, their chess game long forgotten (both kings lying side by side on the ground among the other scattered pawns) and his lips. Oh, his lips. Charles’ hands are buried in Erik’s hair, pulling their faces ever closer together. Lips, teeth, tongue, clashing, melding, and hot, so wonderfully hot.
He’d thought of this in motel bathrooms. He’d dreamt of this night after night, waking up sweaty and desperate. (A pleasant change from his usual nighttime visions.)
Charles is projecting heady pleasure and need and it’s all so good, so much better than he’d dreamed.
Erik groans into Charles’ mouth and presses closer. He just needs to be closer to this wonderful and terrifying creature. Erik coaxes Charles’ tongue into his mouth and sucks lovingly on the slippery muscle. Charles moans and grinds down, rubbing their clothed erections together.
Erik gasps, breaking the kiss. But he doesn’t mind because Charles takes the moment to leave a trail of kisses across Erik’s cheek and down the side of Erik’s neck until he’s blocked by Erik’s turtleneck.
Erik has never hated a piece of clothing before, but Charles soothes him with a bemused and aroused thought. And then the two of them are tugging at Erik’s shirt, pulling it up and off with desperate and uncoordinated hands. Charles loses interest in helping the moment Erik’s neck appears and quickly latches on to the curve of Erik’s neck, kissing and nipping and making it very difficult for Erik to finish pulling off his increasingly obstructive shirt.
But then the blasted thing joins the chess pieces on the floor and Erik sinks the fingers of one hand into the mane that Charles calls hair while the other runs down the expanse of Charles’ cardigan covered back. Charles playfully bites down a bit harder while thinking Ah, ah, wouldn’t want me to go bald now, would you? Erik knows that such behavior clearly deserved a suitably juvenile retort, but is too aroused to care. Instead he tightens his grip on Charles’ hair and pulls him up for another hard kiss and slides his hand up under the tacky cardigan. He runs his hands over smooth, white skin untouched by the world and all her horrors.
Except he doesn’t.
Where Charles’ skin should be soft and unmarred, his fingers encounter raised lines, permanent and deep.
He hadn’t dreamt about this.
Erik freezes.
Charles doesn’t notice. When Erik stops kissing back, Charles simply begins to kiss down the other side of Erik’s neck and it feels good. Charles’ mouth feels so very good, but Erik barely notices because he’s still running his hands up and down Charles’ back, trying to understand why his fingers are lying to him.
And then his fingers find a bit of knotted flesh and Erik’s mind tries to figure out what sort of accident could leave a scar in that shape.
A scar.
Charles has scars on his back.
The realization is like being dumped into a freezing ocean.
Charles finally notices that something is wrong. He lifts his face from Erik’s neck and frowns ever so slightly. What’s wrong? Charles thinks, his face flushed and eyes blown wide with clear arousal. Is it too much? I thought you were enjoying-
Erik wants to reassure Charles that there’s nothing wrong. How could there be anything wrong when he has brilliant, naïve Charles in his lap, ready and willing and everything he’d never dared to dream -
And yet.
Erik begins pulling off Charles’ cardigan and only manages a few buttons on his button-down before he simply starts pulling the shirt apart.
What’s gotten in to you? Charles laughs breathlessly, projecting bemused confusion and endless warmth as he always does, seemingly without realizing.
How can he laugh at a time like this? Erik wonders, but then Charles is bare from the waist up and still in Erik’s lap, though Erik no longer feels excited at the prospect.
Without a word, Erik silently urges Charles to turn around so that his Charles is facing outward and then Charles’ back is there for him to see.
And suddenly it’s real. The suspicion that has been lurking on the edge of consciousness since his fingers brushed the very edge of the first scar begins to take form. The lines crisscrossing Charles’ back are old. They are crisp and clean and so very clearly intentional. Erik runs his fingers along the lines and can almost hear the sound of a leather belt snapping against perfect, untouched skin. The knotted scars are rarer, but they stand out against the thin crisscrossing scars. They are no accident. Erik brushes a thumb lightly over one of them and thinks about how a man’s belt buckle might make such a mark.
Charles shudders a little under Erik’s ministrations and glances at Erik over his shoulder.
“What’s wrong?” Charles asks aloud, his forehead wrinkled with concern, finally coming down from his excitement enough to remember how to form words.
And Erik thinks, isn’t it obvious?
“I’m afraid not,” Charles says. “Have I done something wrong? I - ”
And he’s so fucking earnest that Erik wants to, to -
“You haven’t done anything,” Erik says. He kisses one of the knotted scars on Charles’ back and wonders why his eyes are burning.