fic: until it bleeds
I cannot believe I did this. OH WELL.
Until It Bleeds
X-Men: First Class
Charles Xavier/Erik Lensherr
Notes: Massive thanks to ag_sasami who reassured me that this was a good idea. Also on AO3.
Summary: Erik builds a wall in his head.
He starts construction before they ever get to the mansion, after he first meets Charles and knows, as if by instinct, that this one is dangerous. He'll need protection from this one.
Serenity and focus. These are the things Erik repeats to himself as he tries to build his wall. It's difficult, he can't test it out on Charles without giving himself away, and his head starts to hurt after a couple hours of working at it, a throbbing that makes his own powers hard to control. To avoid any worried looks he shifts his practicing to night times, after dinner and their nightly chess game.
He beats Charles nearly every night and from there it's easy to take a glass of brandy, the good stuff, up to his room and practice. The alcohol lets him ignore the stuff he's trying to keep hidden, and focus on building his wall.
It's thin, wavering, his wall, and Erik begins to test it in small bits at a time: usually when Charles is focused on one of the children, running with Hank or nearly getting himself split in half by Havoc. He can almost sense the moment when Charles can't see him, can't find him inside his own head. In the same room, Charles will give him a look, a question written plain across his face. From different sides of the mansion, Charles will seek him out, grumpier the longer it takes him to find Erik.
He never asks, not directly, and Erik won't tell him. Instead he teaches, the moment between serenity and rage, and Erik buries the looks, the feelings, deep down. His wall is stronger every day, growing little by little, and it's almost easy to keep these feelings walled into a space that Charles won't find.
--
"They will never accept us," Erik says, voice low. He knows what it is to be different, to be labeled not enough and separated from the rest, the master race.
Charles is an optimist and Erik can't hate him for it. Even when Charles says, "They'll have to. When we show them what we can do," Erik can't hate him for the smile that curls at the edge of his mouth. Erik knows that defeating Shaw, preventing World War III won't help them, won't make them, mutants, acceptable.
"It will only terrify them," Erik doesn't say, can't say enough in the face of Charles' optimism. In the space behind his wall he wants Charles to stay this way forever, naive and optimistic.
The numbers burned into his arm, though, want to shake reality into Charles, make him see.
--
They sit and chat, play chess, and it gets worse every day. Erik feels himself losing control; Charles is everything he hadn't known he wanted. That easy smile, and quiet optimism. It's everything all in one stupidly intelligent mutant and Erik builds his wall higher, stronger.
It doesn't help, doesn't really make him feel better, and it's not surprising that everything breaks apart the night before they leave for Cuba.
Charles is fidgety all through their game, not really focusing, and Erik beats him in so few moves that it's not even worth the victory. He pours two fingers of brandy into a sifter and passes it over to Charles, who certainly needs it more than Erik.
Charles drinks slowly, and Erik waits. He can feel it coming, can see the storm in Charles' eyes. He waits and eventually Charles says, quiet enough that Erik almost doesn't hear him, "They will see." He's trying to convince himself, Erik knows.
And Erik has two choices. He takes a moment to comb through both: give Charles his fight, or back off. He knows what Charles is expecting, knows how this is supposed to go, but what a time it would be to disappoint him. There's a heaviness in the room, curled around them, and in the end it isn't really a choice. Erik absently runs his fingers over his sleeve, feels the visible imprint of numbers that will always define who he has become. He says, "They'll never see what you want them to see. They'll never understand. They will never know us because they do not want to."
Charles' eyes are bright, his mouth set in a thin line, when he finally turns to look at Erik.
"How can you-- You can't know that. We can save them, we will save them."
"We will," Erik says, easily. "And given the chance they will lock us away, put stars on our chests and treat us like animals. We are better, better than they will ever be."
He's usually better at keeping himself reined in, but he can feel his accent slipping, feel the German thick on his tongue as the emotions threaten to overtake him. Suddenly, he's so mad at Charles for not seeing.
"We will never be their equals," he says, low and angry. "Because we will always be better."
Erik rises to leave, gets all the way to the door before Charles says his name. He turns and Charles doesn't say anything else, only looks at him.
Erik shuts the door softly behind him.
--
He's not surprised at the knock, only that it's taken so long. Erik opens the door because he can't not and Charles pushes past him into the room, waiting until the door is shut before pressing his mouth to Erik's.
Charles doesn't say anything, doesn't say "I'm sorry" or "you're right," only presses his fingers into Erik's waist, holding tight. And Erik doesn't hesitate to kiss him back, pressing his teeth into Charles' bottom lip and tugging at his vest, his tie. He isn't sure what he's doing, what they're doing, but if he doesn't think about it then he won't have to worry, won't have to think beyond trying to hold onto his wall as Charles pushes past all the rest of his barriers.
"Please," Charles says, breathless, and it does something to Erik's knees, the sound of Charles' voice right then. He sounds halfway to wrecked, and Erik wants it all. He lets Charles move them closer to the bed, lets him push Erik down onto it and climb into his lap. His kiss is rough, his hands everywhere as Charles pushes him down into the mattress, and Erik never wants it to end. He can feel Charles just barely there at the edge of his mind, and it makes everything more.
Movements rough and uncoordinated, Erik can't find a rhythm, wants too much, everything. He says, "Charles," his voice rough too.
After that it doesn't take much for Charles to get his hand in Erik's pants, tongue still in Erik's mouth, and then he's gasping into Erik's neck, and his hand is twisting around Erik's dick with surprising dexterity.
Erik arches into him, tugging frantically at the buttons on Charles' vest, and can't help the way his mouth falls open when Charles grinds down into him. Charles is hard against him, one hot line, and Erik can't help the words that are falling out of his mouth, revealing too much.
His body's moving in time with Charles, finally finding that rhythm, moving to meet every thrust and stroke and of course it's his brain that's failing him now. Charles says "Erik, Erik," over and over, and then, "Tell me, tell me what you want," and he's breathless and Erik can't focus enough to keep his wall solid. It's falling with each and every stroke. Hips twisting up into Charles', Erik can't hold on.
Charles twists his hand, fingers tightening over the head of Erik's dick, and everything in Erik's head starts crumbling.
Charles is in his head, whether he means to be or not, and a shock goes through Erik when he bumps up against the wall, even as it's disappearing. He bucks up into Charles' hand, shouting and grabbing onto whatever skin he can find, bare sides and lower back.
"Please," Erik says, unsure what he's asking for. Salvation, or relief, he thinks, and says it again, "please," and "Charles, please," as his wall crumbles to dust.
And then he feels the shock, forces his eyes open to see each and every one of his feelings written across Charles' face. There's a beat of recognition, Charles' mouth falling open on an exhaled, "oh," and then he's coming, eyes scrunched shut as Erik watches, feels it inside his own head.
His own climax is three beats behind, rushing through him despite the tightness of Charles' grip and the fact he's stopped stroking completely. Everything goes black in those four beats and even through the darkness, Erik imagines he can hear Charles' thoughts in his own head, an echo of shock and the things he's been feeling for days.
Charles stays slumped against him for a moment, two, and Erik can feel him, all around him and filling his head. It's too much when he's still so sensitive, still shuddering and wrecked, and the thought isn't even fully formed when Charles twists away from him, flopping back onto the bed. Erik can feel him retreating, pulling away until there's only the barest touch between them, Charles hovering at the edge of his mind.
I'm sorry, it's like a whisper at the back of his mind and Charles is tugging at his clothes, pulling his shirt down and fussing with the buttons on his vest. Erik feels hungover, drained and off-kilter, and his thoughts are slow enough that it takes him two moments, nearly three, before he realizes that Charles is leaving.
His room, his mind, and after all of that, after the collapse of all of Erik's barriers, he's not just going to lay around and take it. His outrage, frustration, comes out as a slow, almost lazy, "Scared, Charles?"
As if provoking a fight will win him anything.
Charles goes stiff just outside reach of the door, shoulders straightening. Erik hesitates and then throws the lock with a twitch of his fingers.
"This will solve nothing," Charles says, rising to be the better man now, and Erik doesn't want to play that game with him, not anymore.
"You enjoy it," he says, instead of a million other things. "Jumping into people's minds at will. But when you find something you don't like? What then, Charles?"
No reply, just a hitch of his breathing, and Erik has molded his mutation into his own, into a weapon he can use against humans and mutants alike. It serves his purpose now, but just this once he'd love to be a telepath, to know what Charles is thinking.
"What now?" he says again, ignoring the way his voice sounds like a plea.
"Erik," Charles says, then, and there's a crack in his voice and the floodgates open. All of Erik's feelings, thoughts, that he'd hidden thrown back at him, only not. These are Charles' own thoughts, the same echo he'd felt earlier, but stronger and more than just his imagination.
In the wake of all that emotion, Charles says, quietly, "I can't," and Erik doesn't stop him from flipping the lock and leaving, even though he could.
Until It Bleeds
X-Men: First Class
Charles Xavier/Erik Lensherr
Notes: Massive thanks to ag_sasami who reassured me that this was a good idea. Also on AO3.
Summary: Erik builds a wall in his head.
He starts construction before they ever get to the mansion, after he first meets Charles and knows, as if by instinct, that this one is dangerous. He'll need protection from this one.
Serenity and focus. These are the things Erik repeats to himself as he tries to build his wall. It's difficult, he can't test it out on Charles without giving himself away, and his head starts to hurt after a couple hours of working at it, a throbbing that makes his own powers hard to control. To avoid any worried looks he shifts his practicing to night times, after dinner and their nightly chess game.
He beats Charles nearly every night and from there it's easy to take a glass of brandy, the good stuff, up to his room and practice. The alcohol lets him ignore the stuff he's trying to keep hidden, and focus on building his wall.
It's thin, wavering, his wall, and Erik begins to test it in small bits at a time: usually when Charles is focused on one of the children, running with Hank or nearly getting himself split in half by Havoc. He can almost sense the moment when Charles can't see him, can't find him inside his own head. In the same room, Charles will give him a look, a question written plain across his face. From different sides of the mansion, Charles will seek him out, grumpier the longer it takes him to find Erik.
He never asks, not directly, and Erik won't tell him. Instead he teaches, the moment between serenity and rage, and Erik buries the looks, the feelings, deep down. His wall is stronger every day, growing little by little, and it's almost easy to keep these feelings walled into a space that Charles won't find.
--
"They will never accept us," Erik says, voice low. He knows what it is to be different, to be labeled not enough and separated from the rest, the master race.
Charles is an optimist and Erik can't hate him for it. Even when Charles says, "They'll have to. When we show them what we can do," Erik can't hate him for the smile that curls at the edge of his mouth. Erik knows that defeating Shaw, preventing World War III won't help them, won't make them, mutants, acceptable.
"It will only terrify them," Erik doesn't say, can't say enough in the face of Charles' optimism. In the space behind his wall he wants Charles to stay this way forever, naive and optimistic.
The numbers burned into his arm, though, want to shake reality into Charles, make him see.
--
They sit and chat, play chess, and it gets worse every day. Erik feels himself losing control; Charles is everything he hadn't known he wanted. That easy smile, and quiet optimism. It's everything all in one stupidly intelligent mutant and Erik builds his wall higher, stronger.
It doesn't help, doesn't really make him feel better, and it's not surprising that everything breaks apart the night before they leave for Cuba.
Charles is fidgety all through their game, not really focusing, and Erik beats him in so few moves that it's not even worth the victory. He pours two fingers of brandy into a sifter and passes it over to Charles, who certainly needs it more than Erik.
Charles drinks slowly, and Erik waits. He can feel it coming, can see the storm in Charles' eyes. He waits and eventually Charles says, quiet enough that Erik almost doesn't hear him, "They will see." He's trying to convince himself, Erik knows.
And Erik has two choices. He takes a moment to comb through both: give Charles his fight, or back off. He knows what Charles is expecting, knows how this is supposed to go, but what a time it would be to disappoint him. There's a heaviness in the room, curled around them, and in the end it isn't really a choice. Erik absently runs his fingers over his sleeve, feels the visible imprint of numbers that will always define who he has become. He says, "They'll never see what you want them to see. They'll never understand. They will never know us because they do not want to."
Charles' eyes are bright, his mouth set in a thin line, when he finally turns to look at Erik.
"How can you-- You can't know that. We can save them, we will save them."
"We will," Erik says, easily. "And given the chance they will lock us away, put stars on our chests and treat us like animals. We are better, better than they will ever be."
He's usually better at keeping himself reined in, but he can feel his accent slipping, feel the German thick on his tongue as the emotions threaten to overtake him. Suddenly, he's so mad at Charles for not seeing.
"We will never be their equals," he says, low and angry. "Because we will always be better."
Erik rises to leave, gets all the way to the door before Charles says his name. He turns and Charles doesn't say anything else, only looks at him.
Erik shuts the door softly behind him.
--
He's not surprised at the knock, only that it's taken so long. Erik opens the door because he can't not and Charles pushes past him into the room, waiting until the door is shut before pressing his mouth to Erik's.
Charles doesn't say anything, doesn't say "I'm sorry" or "you're right," only presses his fingers into Erik's waist, holding tight. And Erik doesn't hesitate to kiss him back, pressing his teeth into Charles' bottom lip and tugging at his vest, his tie. He isn't sure what he's doing, what they're doing, but if he doesn't think about it then he won't have to worry, won't have to think beyond trying to hold onto his wall as Charles pushes past all the rest of his barriers.
"Please," Charles says, breathless, and it does something to Erik's knees, the sound of Charles' voice right then. He sounds halfway to wrecked, and Erik wants it all. He lets Charles move them closer to the bed, lets him push Erik down onto it and climb into his lap. His kiss is rough, his hands everywhere as Charles pushes him down into the mattress, and Erik never wants it to end. He can feel Charles just barely there at the edge of his mind, and it makes everything more.
Movements rough and uncoordinated, Erik can't find a rhythm, wants too much, everything. He says, "Charles," his voice rough too.
After that it doesn't take much for Charles to get his hand in Erik's pants, tongue still in Erik's mouth, and then he's gasping into Erik's neck, and his hand is twisting around Erik's dick with surprising dexterity.
Erik arches into him, tugging frantically at the buttons on Charles' vest, and can't help the way his mouth falls open when Charles grinds down into him. Charles is hard against him, one hot line, and Erik can't help the words that are falling out of his mouth, revealing too much.
His body's moving in time with Charles, finally finding that rhythm, moving to meet every thrust and stroke and of course it's his brain that's failing him now. Charles says "Erik, Erik," over and over, and then, "Tell me, tell me what you want," and he's breathless and Erik can't focus enough to keep his wall solid. It's falling with each and every stroke. Hips twisting up into Charles', Erik can't hold on.
Charles twists his hand, fingers tightening over the head of Erik's dick, and everything in Erik's head starts crumbling.
Charles is in his head, whether he means to be or not, and a shock goes through Erik when he bumps up against the wall, even as it's disappearing. He bucks up into Charles' hand, shouting and grabbing onto whatever skin he can find, bare sides and lower back.
"Please," Erik says, unsure what he's asking for. Salvation, or relief, he thinks, and says it again, "please," and "Charles, please," as his wall crumbles to dust.
And then he feels the shock, forces his eyes open to see each and every one of his feelings written across Charles' face. There's a beat of recognition, Charles' mouth falling open on an exhaled, "oh," and then he's coming, eyes scrunched shut as Erik watches, feels it inside his own head.
His own climax is three beats behind, rushing through him despite the tightness of Charles' grip and the fact he's stopped stroking completely. Everything goes black in those four beats and even through the darkness, Erik imagines he can hear Charles' thoughts in his own head, an echo of shock and the things he's been feeling for days.
Charles stays slumped against him for a moment, two, and Erik can feel him, all around him and filling his head. It's too much when he's still so sensitive, still shuddering and wrecked, and the thought isn't even fully formed when Charles twists away from him, flopping back onto the bed. Erik can feel him retreating, pulling away until there's only the barest touch between them, Charles hovering at the edge of his mind.
I'm sorry, it's like a whisper at the back of his mind and Charles is tugging at his clothes, pulling his shirt down and fussing with the buttons on his vest. Erik feels hungover, drained and off-kilter, and his thoughts are slow enough that it takes him two moments, nearly three, before he realizes that Charles is leaving.
His room, his mind, and after all of that, after the collapse of all of Erik's barriers, he's not just going to lay around and take it. His outrage, frustration, comes out as a slow, almost lazy, "Scared, Charles?"
As if provoking a fight will win him anything.
Charles goes stiff just outside reach of the door, shoulders straightening. Erik hesitates and then throws the lock with a twitch of his fingers.
"This will solve nothing," Charles says, rising to be the better man now, and Erik doesn't want to play that game with him, not anymore.
"You enjoy it," he says, instead of a million other things. "Jumping into people's minds at will. But when you find something you don't like? What then, Charles?"
No reply, just a hitch of his breathing, and Erik has molded his mutation into his own, into a weapon he can use against humans and mutants alike. It serves his purpose now, but just this once he'd love to be a telepath, to know what Charles is thinking.
"What now?" he says again, ignoring the way his voice sounds like a plea.
"Erik," Charles says, then, and there's a crack in his voice and the floodgates open. All of Erik's feelings, thoughts, that he'd hidden thrown back at him, only not. These are Charles' own thoughts, the same echo he'd felt earlier, but stronger and more than just his imagination.
In the wake of all that emotion, Charles says, quietly, "I can't," and Erik doesn't stop him from flipping the lock and leaving, even though he could.