new story: a harmless green burning (x-men, erik/charles)
A Harmless Green Burning
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class. Charles/Erik (references to Erik/others, non-specific), R, ~1100 words. Takes place sometime during mutant-hunting roadtrip. Title from Margaret Atwood's "More and More." Thank you to anoneknewmoose for looking this over for me ♥
Summary: Erik is not accustomed to Charles's pillow talk.
*****
Post-coital, Charles Xavier is an entirely new beast. He curls up all along Erik, a slender length of satiated warmth. Erik does not believe there has been a moment in his life where he has ever been that relaxed, but Charles does not seem to hesitate to let down all his guards in his contentment.
Mentally, as well as physically: his careful control of his powers loosens a bit, blurring the distinctions he is usually careful to maintain of what he allows himself to read, and to project. What concerns Erik is that he feels he ought to mind this more.
In this ugly motel bedroom, they lay together on a single, lumpy bed. These days since meeting Charles have been one surprise after another, and Erik does not have a ready explanation for how his choices, every step he has made towards his goals, have led him to this, Charles's head resting on his shoulder as they both rest in the afterglow. When the thought flits through Erik's head of how different this feels, Charles picks it up immediately.
"Have you really never shared a bed before?" Charles murmurs. He presses a kiss into Erik's skin after he speaks.
"Of course I have shared a bed. Many times."
"But not with a lover," Charles says, and Erik does not deny it. "Hmm," Charles says, propping himself up on one arm to look down upon Erik's face. "You don't come across as the virginal type, my friend."
"Hardly virginal," Erik protests, and Charles smiles, sly and knowing.
"Of course not," he says, in his most humoring tone. He places his hand on Erik's chest, strokes once, gently, before letting it rest over Erik's heart. "Oh, my dear, what a waste, though. A man like you was not created to be celibate."
The man he was created to be, Erik thinks, was created to be solitary. A weapon, a monster, a machine: one of a kind.
Charles's face goes stark and serious, all at once, as he registers those thoughts. "No, Erik, don't. You aren't-- I told you when we first met, you're not alone. You are never alone."
There are so many things Charles doesn't understand and Erik wonders, sometimes, how he can know so much about him and yet so little. But they've had that conversation before - of Charles's hopes for what he thinks Erik really is, of Charles's perverse insistence on willfully pretending he doesn't know why Erik is here - and Erik doesn't want to have it again now. So he says, instead, "Why, Charles Xavier. That almost sounded like a promise."
Charles looks at him for a long moment and says, "Perhaps it was." He kisses Erik, and neither of them thinks of anything else for a while.
It is a few minutes later that Charles speaks again. They've rearranged themselves, Charles on his back and Erik above him as they kiss. Charles clings fiercely, his nails digging into Erik's back, pulling him in, keeping him close. When Erik ends the kiss, moving to nip at Charles's bare white throat, Charles sighs.
He says then, almost a whisper into Erik's ear, "I can tell, you know. Everywhere we go. It's not only the way they look at you, but they want you so much, they're practically shouting. I couldn't escape it if I tried."
Erik pauses, uncertain, his mouth still at Charles's throat. "What?"
Charles's voice is dreamy, that deep and intimate tone he gets only rarely. "Restaurants, train stations, anywhere. All those beautiful women, they look at you and imagine it, until it gets their cunts dripping wet, soaking through their panties right there."
"Don't be an idiot, Charles," Erik says, and he raises himself up so he can see Charles's face. Charles is smiling again as he brings a hand up, stroking through Erik's hair, fingers brushing the nape of his neck.
"I would love to see it, you know. You fucking one of those gorgeous girls."
Erik disentangles his body from Charles's completely, moving to the other side of the mattress.
"Erik?" Charles sounds confused.
"Why on earth would you want to see me fuck somebody else?"
Charles stares at him, mouth slightly ajar. "I'm afraid I don't understand the question," he says slowly.
Erik says, "I think, perhaps, I should sleep in the other bed tonight." He stands up, but Charles in his head says Erik, wait, and it stops him, in a way a physical or oral gesture wouldn't.
It would be easier if I showed you, I think, Charles says, raising his fingers to his forehead. He waits; after a moment, Erik nods.
Charles's fantasy fills his mind in a single moment, sudden and almost overwhelming. He sees himself, and the imaginary woman Charles has conjured, entangled on the bed. Charles is nowhere to be seen, and for a moment Erik wonders where he fits in, until the realization dawns that Charles is there, too, mentally, playing piggyback in Erik's head as he and the woman have sex.
He still doesn't understand the impulse, the appeal, but he can feel what it means to Charles. How arousing Charles finds it, how intimate, and the sensation is so real that he can't breathe with how strong it is. It is strange to think that Charles feels this way - that is Erik who causes the feeling.
The fantasy fades, and Erik opens his eyes to see Charles's rueful face. "I think there may be an element of voyeurism intertwined with being a telepath," he says. "Or perhaps it's just me. It didn't occur to me that it would offend you; my apologies."
I would do that for you, Erik thinks, because it is not something he could say aloud. He would do that, perform for Charles, give him that pleasure, and he would enjoy it.
Charles's eyes widen, and he surges forward, catching Erik again in a kiss. After he thinks, and then out loud. "After all this, there will be time for everything. Anything," Charles says.
After. Erik is not certain what that even means, let alone if it exists; he has been working for one thing so long, it's hard to conceive of a time when it's over. But Charles's certainty is rather sweet, here in this dark room.
"Don't worry," Charles says, stroking Erik's cheek. "I'm certain. You'll see. When will you admit I'm always right, Erik?"
Erik laughs at that, just as he knows Charles intends, and he lets Charles pull him back down to the bed to sleep.
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class. Charles/Erik (references to Erik/others, non-specific), R, ~1100 words. Takes place sometime during mutant-hunting roadtrip. Title from Margaret Atwood's "More and More." Thank you to anoneknewmoose for looking this over for me ♥
Summary: Erik is not accustomed to Charles's pillow talk.
*****
Post-coital, Charles Xavier is an entirely new beast. He curls up all along Erik, a slender length of satiated warmth. Erik does not believe there has been a moment in his life where he has ever been that relaxed, but Charles does not seem to hesitate to let down all his guards in his contentment.
Mentally, as well as physically: his careful control of his powers loosens a bit, blurring the distinctions he is usually careful to maintain of what he allows himself to read, and to project. What concerns Erik is that he feels he ought to mind this more.
In this ugly motel bedroom, they lay together on a single, lumpy bed. These days since meeting Charles have been one surprise after another, and Erik does not have a ready explanation for how his choices, every step he has made towards his goals, have led him to this, Charles's head resting on his shoulder as they both rest in the afterglow. When the thought flits through Erik's head of how different this feels, Charles picks it up immediately.
"Have you really never shared a bed before?" Charles murmurs. He presses a kiss into Erik's skin after he speaks.
"Of course I have shared a bed. Many times."
"But not with a lover," Charles says, and Erik does not deny it. "Hmm," Charles says, propping himself up on one arm to look down upon Erik's face. "You don't come across as the virginal type, my friend."
"Hardly virginal," Erik protests, and Charles smiles, sly and knowing.
"Of course not," he says, in his most humoring tone. He places his hand on Erik's chest, strokes once, gently, before letting it rest over Erik's heart. "Oh, my dear, what a waste, though. A man like you was not created to be celibate."
The man he was created to be, Erik thinks, was created to be solitary. A weapon, a monster, a machine: one of a kind.
Charles's face goes stark and serious, all at once, as he registers those thoughts. "No, Erik, don't. You aren't-- I told you when we first met, you're not alone. You are never alone."
There are so many things Charles doesn't understand and Erik wonders, sometimes, how he can know so much about him and yet so little. But they've had that conversation before - of Charles's hopes for what he thinks Erik really is, of Charles's perverse insistence on willfully pretending he doesn't know why Erik is here - and Erik doesn't want to have it again now. So he says, instead, "Why, Charles Xavier. That almost sounded like a promise."
Charles looks at him for a long moment and says, "Perhaps it was." He kisses Erik, and neither of them thinks of anything else for a while.
It is a few minutes later that Charles speaks again. They've rearranged themselves, Charles on his back and Erik above him as they kiss. Charles clings fiercely, his nails digging into Erik's back, pulling him in, keeping him close. When Erik ends the kiss, moving to nip at Charles's bare white throat, Charles sighs.
He says then, almost a whisper into Erik's ear, "I can tell, you know. Everywhere we go. It's not only the way they look at you, but they want you so much, they're practically shouting. I couldn't escape it if I tried."
Erik pauses, uncertain, his mouth still at Charles's throat. "What?"
Charles's voice is dreamy, that deep and intimate tone he gets only rarely. "Restaurants, train stations, anywhere. All those beautiful women, they look at you and imagine it, until it gets their cunts dripping wet, soaking through their panties right there."
"Don't be an idiot, Charles," Erik says, and he raises himself up so he can see Charles's face. Charles is smiling again as he brings a hand up, stroking through Erik's hair, fingers brushing the nape of his neck.
"I would love to see it, you know. You fucking one of those gorgeous girls."
Erik disentangles his body from Charles's completely, moving to the other side of the mattress.
"Erik?" Charles sounds confused.
"Why on earth would you want to see me fuck somebody else?"
Charles stares at him, mouth slightly ajar. "I'm afraid I don't understand the question," he says slowly.
Erik says, "I think, perhaps, I should sleep in the other bed tonight." He stands up, but Charles in his head says Erik, wait, and it stops him, in a way a physical or oral gesture wouldn't.
It would be easier if I showed you, I think, Charles says, raising his fingers to his forehead. He waits; after a moment, Erik nods.
Charles's fantasy fills his mind in a single moment, sudden and almost overwhelming. He sees himself, and the imaginary woman Charles has conjured, entangled on the bed. Charles is nowhere to be seen, and for a moment Erik wonders where he fits in, until the realization dawns that Charles is there, too, mentally, playing piggyback in Erik's head as he and the woman have sex.
He still doesn't understand the impulse, the appeal, but he can feel what it means to Charles. How arousing Charles finds it, how intimate, and the sensation is so real that he can't breathe with how strong it is. It is strange to think that Charles feels this way - that is Erik who causes the feeling.
The fantasy fades, and Erik opens his eyes to see Charles's rueful face. "I think there may be an element of voyeurism intertwined with being a telepath," he says. "Or perhaps it's just me. It didn't occur to me that it would offend you; my apologies."
I would do that for you, Erik thinks, because it is not something he could say aloud. He would do that, perform for Charles, give him that pleasure, and he would enjoy it.
Charles's eyes widen, and he surges forward, catching Erik again in a kiss. After he thinks, and then out loud. "After all this, there will be time for everything. Anything," Charles says.
After. Erik is not certain what that even means, let alone if it exists; he has been working for one thing so long, it's hard to conceive of a time when it's over. But Charles's certainty is rather sweet, here in this dark room.
"Don't worry," Charles says, stroking Erik's cheek. "I'm certain. You'll see. When will you admit I'm always right, Erik?"
Erik laughs at that, just as he knows Charles intends, and he lets Charles pull him back down to the bed to sleep.