Mark of Caine - Charles/Erik Oneshot
Title: Mark of Caine
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Pairing: Erik/Charles
Rating: PG-15
Summary: “Do you think you can run from me, liebling?”
Warnings: Slash, sexual content, possessive behavior, vampires, tattoos
Notes: For the five-acts Round Six prompt set up by toestastegood on livejournal. This is written for you, thanks for setting this up!
They are lying together on the bed, the man’s cold arms wrapped possessively around Charles as if to hide him from the rest of the world. If he could, Charles would push away (but the other man is stronger, his kind is genetically altered that way, always will be). But where would he go? His legs are useless. He could hardly drag himself out the door before the man (“Magneto, that’s what they call him, Charles, you should be careful,” he remembers Raven saying, and how he regrets it now) would find him again.
He tries not to look at the ink scarred into his shoulder, the signature that is there (marks him as Magneto’s for everyone to see) and always reapplied again with blood.
Magneto enjoys this part of their morning routine the most, slowly drawing blood in every etch of the letterings and then reverently kissing the marks afterwards, whispering Charles, Charles, Charles, like he loves him. And the worst part is that Magneto does. His mind screams the want, desire and obsessive affection into Charles’ head until all Charles can hear is Magneto alone.
It scares him, because soon, how will Charles know which thoughts are his and which are the vampire’s?
In his dreams, Charles can run again. His legs move of their own accord, like a turbine that can never stop. Up and down, his muscles are his again. He only needs to think and they are his, they do what they are supposed to instead of being perpetually still. And he only needs to get to the exit.
The thumping in his ears won’t stop. Charles is all too aware of the strain in his joints (not real, it’s a dream after all, but it feels so real, if only it was real he could try, he could really try-but you never will, Charles, because really you-no, don’t think of that, just run, just run-) and the sweat trailing down his brow. He feels like the sun is staring down at him, burning its gaze into his back with vicious rays.
Behind him, he can feel the change in the air. No, he cannot hear the predator coming (he never can, they move so silently that you would never hear them coming before it’s too late) but he can sense his pursuer’s mind. It is wild, full of raging anger that cuts like the sharpest blade of steel. It calls to him (it always does) and only when Charles is near does that mind ever feel calm (but that is never enough, is it?)
He can hear his voice echoing down the corridor, possessive and amused, “Do you think you can run from me, liebling?”
The deep tenor sends shivers down Charles’ spine and he can feel his body responding (in want, want, want) with fear. His clothes feel too tight, too heavy and it is suddenly very difficult to breathe. He remembers the first time those lips touched his skin, drew blood and then just drank its fill until he was begging from (pleasure) pain.
He almost answers in reply, but he doesn’t. He needs to save his energy. Needs to run, escape. Get to Hank and the others. Logan will keep them safe (his children, all of them, despite lack of blood relations they are his family and he can’t let them live like this.)
The creature’s voice is haunting, echoing in the once vibrant mansion (they’d been so happy there until he came for Charles) as if he embodies every space within it. Charles cannot move without fearing that his jailor will appear from behind or in front of him. You never know with them. They are unpredictable. And once they show an interest in a human (he’d never thought that Magneto would take a human consort, Magneto hated them, hated humans so much, so why Charles? Why, why, why-) they will never let them escape.
His power unconsciously stretches out, trying to reach a familiar mind Logan, Hank, can you hear me? He wants to say. But he can’t risk it. What if Magneto hears? He wants to desperately to see the smiling faces of Alex, Sean and Angel again. Wants to tease Raven. But all he can feel is Magneto. Magneto’s mind is so wild, it fills up the spaces in Charles’ head, stays fixed there, as immovable as the mountains in the distance.
He stumbles, scrapping his knees against one of the hand railings (shouldn’t have taken the stairs, he’s always been clumsy around them but he needs to get away). The stinging is hardly registered in his mind. It’s the crimson oozing from his hand like paint that frightens him.
“Oh…” That voice is now hitched in a husky purr. “I see that you have had a little accident, my little lab rat? How thoughtful of you. How did you know that I was hungry for you? For your blood? Your delicious skin…? For your cries?”
Charles lets out an unwanted groan of (want) frustration. He ignores the red painting his trouser legs and the steps. Rushes towards the door, (there it is, he’ll be free now, his family is waiting) and just as his hands grace the tips of the brass handles, there are arms surrounding him. They grab at his wrists and turn him over until he is encased within the creature’s hold, pressed closely against his captor’s strong chest and then pinned against the wall.
He gasps, feels Magneto’s hard erection against his own. They are pressed so close, that Charles thinks that the vampire might steal his body heat from him until he is a cold corpse, worn and dry (but Magneto will never do that. He is too careful with his pets, with the ones, the only one, he has ever marked.)
“Oh my darling…” he hears Magneto whisper against his ear, lips ghosting down his neck now. Charles feels (dazed) trapped and can’t begin to imagine the look of hunger on the man’s face. He can never hold his gaze against Magneto’s. The vampire’s desires are always written clearly in his face. It is not enough that Charles can read every fantasy within the creature’s mind, feel every (fascinating) dirty thought he’s ever had.
“Did you really think you could escape?” A gasp. Charles can’t think anymore when Magneto’s hands have crept down his chest, his (fangs) lips touching every surface on his shoulder where the (brand) mark lies in plain sight. He thinks, in a daze, that his shirt must have been ripped apart at some point. He can no longer tell.
Magneto is chuckling.
(Must you still address me as so, dearest? Charles can hear in the vampire’s mind. Say my name. Say it.)
(No. He can’t. Not-oh, oh, that’s… oh! And now he is begging for it and he (loves) hates it.)
“Oh my pretty, pretty Charles,” he shivers when he feels those fingers trailing on his groin, teasing, always teasing when he so clearly wants release… “as entertaining as its been, I do tire of these games… I can’t have you flying away, pretty bird. Oh no, your children will have to be disposed of if they continue to be a distraction…”
Fear. Alarm in between the distracting haze of ecstasy. No. No. Anything but his family, anything, anything-
He feels Magneto smirking against his skin, can feel the vicious turn of thoughts in that (fascinating) twisted mind and apprehension creeps in.
“What will you give up to save them, liebling?” His vampire says darkly, and now Charles realizes that he has been speaking aloud, “I do wonder… would you stay with me?” Magneto presses harder and makes Charles hiss. “But no, you already promised me that and yet you tried to escape anyways… Perhaps I should kill them?”-no, no, please, no-“Oh perhaps,” Magneto’s hands trail downwards, where his legs are, “I should stop you from being able to run from me.”
Charles can see Magneto’s plan in his mind before it happens.
It does not stop him from screaming, for the first time, his captor’s real name to try and prevent the pain.
(“ERIK!”)
But Magneto breaks him anyways.
(“You can never leave me, darling. I want you by my side.”)