The One About The Turtleneck (5/5)
Charles’ team won handily.
“I need to go to the bathroom,” Sean said. “I drank too much coffee at dinner.”
“Why were you drinking coffee at dinner?” Charles asked.
“I don’t want the fish to come back,” Sean mumbled. “I’m going to wait them out.”
“Everyone take a ten minute break,” Erik said abruptly, his eyes fixed on the carpet. “Charles, a word." Then Erik was up, shielding his erection from view with a randomly selected book on chess strategies, catching Charles by the elbow.
Two doors swung open and they were out in the garden standing near a bench, just screened from view of the house by some bushes and Charles said, “I’m sorry I was so-you don’t have to wait much longer” and Erik said, “No I don’t, I’m going to take you right here, Charles” and Charles said, “Now?” and Erik’s eyes, dark with lust, met his and Erik whispered, “Now” and brought their mouths crashing together.
Kissing Erik was everything and nothing that he had expected. There was never a moment when anything about the kiss was chaste. Erik’s tongue slid hot and forceful against his, and even as he fought back, mouth latching onto Erik’s and tongue teasing against Erik’s tongue, he could feel himself succumbing. Erik tasted unlike anyone he had ever kissed before, with a faint metallic tang like licking the side of a nickel. Erik’s hand slid up under his sweater and he gasped.
“I don’t want our first time to be in the shrubbery,” Charles panted, fighting the urge to give in then and there.
“Too bad,” Erik said. “This is your own fault. What you did to me in there -” his breath was coming raggedly, in gasps, “I could see you, Charles-don’t try to fight me, you want it as much as I do” and Charles felt his belt buckle sing open and the metal zipper of his pants slide down and drag the pants with it, down to his ankles, and he had never been so turned on in his life. He made a completely undignified sound that he had never imagined he was capable of making and mumbled, “Erik - would you-the curtains” and a clattering from all the neighboring windows told him that Erik had understood what he meant, and Erik was shoving his own pants down and hissing, “Charles, your shorts - not metal,” and Charles tugged them down with impatient fingers and glanced quickly up to meet Erik’s gaze and Erik’s hand slid around the white curve of his ass and Erik’s eyes glanced down at the flushed length of his cock and mouthed, “Perfection,” and Charles tugged Erik’s shorts down with a desperate grunt and his eyes widened as Erik’s erection sprang free. Then he couldn’t help himself, he’d dropped to his knees and taken Erik’s length in his mouth, he wanted to do everything to him at once, and Erik whimpered, “Charles that’s - that’s enough, I’m ready,” and tugged his head up. He stood reluctantly. He could feel his whole being give over to wanting, desperate and sharp and all-encompassing, and not knowing what else to do he pulled Erik’s fingers into his mouth and thought, God. Want you. It’ll hurt but - got to, now and Erik’s mouth was hot and insistent on his neck and Erik whispered, “You’re adorably easy, Charles, but not this time,” and pulled a tube of something out of his jacket, and Charles gasped and kissed him thirstily, his entire body tingling with anticipation, and Erik murmured “Although I’m touched that you do want our first time to be in the shrubbery,” his breath singing hot in Charles’ ear, and teased a slicked finger towards Charles’ entrance, then two, carefully but fast, finding a spot that made Charles shudder and buck against him and hiss, “Erik, please, you’ve got to, you have to,” then a third, and then Charles nodded and braced himself against the bench and Erik slid into him, and Charles winced and couldn’t help crying out, but they were far past the point of talking or stopping, Erik panting against his neck and their hips slamming frantically together, and Erik found the spot in him again, and he whimpered, “That, Erik, God,” and writhed against him and they were close, so close, and Erik hissed, “Charles - wanted you like this - since - always” and hit that spot again and moaned with an utter abandoned satisfaction and the sound pushed Charles past the point of any coherent thought and he emitted a strangled set of syllables that started “so much - fucking -- better than - spoon” and culminated in “Erik” and Erik’s fingers clamped around his hips and Erik spent himself inside him, and the sound Erik made as he came sent Charles’ own release spurting out of him.
Boneless they collapsed together in the grass. Charles produced a handkerchief from the ruck of clothing and Erik muttered, “Here let me help,” and deftly removed the traces of sticky whiteness from Charles’ stomach and with a surprising tenderness attended to Charles’ backside and Charles shrugged and said, “Worth it” and Erik said, “And now this absurd lecture,” and Charles was laughing warmly in spite of himself and said, “I’m sure it’ll be magical,” and pulled Erik’s face to his and kissed him.
Erik stood and tugged his pants back up and reattached his belt and grinned down at him, the same appraising look he’d shot at him in the morning, now unabashedly possessive. “Exceptional.” Then he turned and began walking towards the house. “Try to look a little less thoroughly shagged when you join us,” he called back.
Charles inhaled deeply and pulled his pants back up, watching Erik’s jaunty walk back towards the house. I could keep playing this game forever, he thought. It’s infinitely better than chess.
The undershorts were totally unsalvageable. Charles shoved them in his pocket and strolled back to the house trying to look composed and dispassionate.
By the time he got back in Erik was ensconced behind a podium that seemed to have materialized out of nowhere and the children were sitting to attention.
It was a surprisingly good lecture.
Charles was impressed. He knew he was a bad lecturer. Once he had idly wondered if Erik had been around to talk to the FBI about mutations that afternoon, whether they might have paid attention instead of spending the whole time thinking about the pie in the commissary. Whenever Charles gave a lecture on anything he became uncomfortably aware as soon as anyone’s attention drifted, and it made the lecture get worse rather than better. “Why are you thinking about pie?” his mind would shout, futilely. “You’re missing out on the bit about the telomeres and if you don’t listen to the bit about the telomeres none of this will make sense later.” He could hear the wandering thoughts like an interruption, making him stammer and wonder whether there were any point in continuing or whether it mightn’t be best to just trail off.
Erik talked less than he did but to greater effect. He always took the audience’s attention for granted. And -- what was more marvelous -- they gave it to him, unquestioningly. Or perhaps that’s just you, Charles thought. He could talk about the weather and you’d still be riveted. And then But I’m sure whatever he had to say about the weather would be fascinating. (Charles, do you hear yourself? It’s almost embarrassing.) He wondered if oratorical skill were a German characteristic, batted uncomfortably away an image of another young man with dark floppy hair who’d been peculiarly good at talking.
“You are beautiful,” he was telling the children. “Each and every one of you. You want society to accept you? Acceptance is meaningless. Society should be throwing you a parade. You all deserve parades. Even Hank may deserve a parade.”
“Thank you, I think,” Hank said.
“Compared to you, humans are Neanderthals. Sluggish. Uninspiring. Crude. The practice canvas the artist casts aside before he starts to paint the masterwork.”
“Erik,” Charles murmured warningly, and then was almost sorry he’d said anything, because there was no way they could miss the absolutely molten glance that Erik leveled at him, the way those eyes raked over him and noted the cuffs slightly out of place and the strange creases in his pants and the hair that was just unkempt enough to be suspicious and grinned knowingly back at him.
“What, Charles?” Erik said. “Surely you realize that you are more completely perfect than anything else on this planet?”
“Kronsky Maneuver,” Alex coughed loudly, into his hand.
“I think you may be overdoing this a little,” Charles murmured, feeling a strange warmth rise along his neck and thinking, He has been doing this on purpose. Oh God I can’t be blushing.
“Overdoing it?” Erik said.
“Tiny bit,” Charles managed.
“I was saying this by way of example,” Erik said, glowering at Alex. “Take Hank. Hank, why so keen to assimilate? Look at yourself. Even with those absurd glasses, you are an attractive specimen. I am pointing this out disinterestedly in an effort to be of help. Honestly, by the time you get them in the bedroom, I am sure people will not care about your feet. If they are fixated on your feet, get rid of them. Find a better class of person.”
“Some people find weird feet sexy,” Raven said, giving Hank a come-hither look that combined all the subtlety of a flashing neon sign with the hungry desperation of an undernourished lion.
“Good God, Raven,” Charles sighed. He would never quite get used to how blatant Raven was about these things. Not that you’re much better, he reminded himself.
“Seriously,” Alex said.
Erik launched into a metaphor about how you didn’t try to suppress emus because they looked different than pigeons. His look of assurance was strangely endearing. When Erik finished the metaphor and said, “Does anyone have any questions?” Charles yawned exaggeratedly and got up, thinking, Did they see that flinch? Thank God for their perpetual incuriosity.
“I’m afraid I may be obliged to retire,” he said.
“Doesn’t Charles Xavier need any more self-esteem?” Erik asked.
“I’ve been told that I have the opposite problem,” Charles said. “After all I am the most perfect thing on the planet.” He grinned at Erik, feeling suddenly cocky, and strolled over and placed a hand firmly but caressingly on Erik’s elbow. “Good night, everyone. Well played,” and thought, My bedroom. Now. He felt Erik’s sudden intake of breath and a curious smug satisfaction flooded the pit of his stomach. It was entrancing to see the effect he had on Erik. You’ll never be able to get enough of me, you realize, he thought, and then he was through the door. He could feel Erik’s eyes run possessively over him as he departed, lingering over the curve of his backside. He was not even bothering to be subtle any more.
Sean had asked something.
“Sean, don’t be an idiot,” Erik said, and then Charles was up the stairs and out of earshot.
When Erik found him after the lecture Charles was lying naked in his double bed, the sheets pulled up to his waist.
“A feast fit for a king,” Erik breathed, pushing the door shut behind him, and Charles felt himself flushing under the unabashed scrutiny of those eyes. Erik was looking at him - really looking at him, and it was different than the half-furtive looks Erik had shot him before, different even than the bolder stares Erik had turned on him since he’d slipped into his room and stolen the turtleneck. The look was appreciation and amazement and hunger and lust, and Charles murmured, “Do you mind if I?” and slipped in to see how he looked through the portal of those eyes
First it was just warmth and fragments of thoughts - beautiful - and somehow lucky then mine and then sexy, sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life then Charles felt a rush of naughty tantalizing thoughts melting together in a sudden rush of lust want to claim every inch God he doesn’t even know how does he always manage to look like he’s just been fucked or wants to be I want those lips on my cock Charles I want to see all of you and then Charles shrugged off the sheet a little shyly and Erik’s eyes widened appreciatively perfection and he took a step towards the bed and Charles felt a wave of scorching lust, and now that he could feel why Erik was looking at him like that, Erik’s thought Mine. Want you. So much echoing in his mind, he felt his cheeks flush, but it was impossible to look away. No one had ever looked at him that way, as though he wanted to worship him and defile him at the same time.
Then Erik had sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled him into his arms, and they were kissing, softly at first, until his tongue nudged Erik’s lips apart and began plundering Erik’s mouth, and he could feel Erik’s hands all over him, Erik’s jacket zipper rasping against his bare skin, and he slipped the jacket off Erik’s shoulders and said, “Wait,” because it was the turtleneck. Somehow, between the lecture and - “Why?” Charles half-laughed.
“It smells like you,” Erik said, and in spite of being naked already in Erik’s arms with his stiff cock brushing against the fabric of Erik’s trousers, he felt his stomach leap several floors. “I’m afraid you might be right,” Erik whispered, bending his head to plant a kiss on Charles’ neck.
“Right?” Charles asked, shivering at the delicate touch.
“I may never get enough of you,” Erik said. It sounds much sexier when he says it, Charles thought, their mouths meeting again, hungrily, and then Erik pulled his lips from Charles’ and began kissing his way carefully along his jaw and down the white line of his neck and down his chest and then Erik had slid to his knees by the side of the bed and was kissing his way down the fine trail of dark hairs that led to Charles’ cock, and Charles gasped and found himself babbling senselessly, “Erik, can’t you, I’m completely naked and you’re still - I feel entirely obscene like this” and Erik planted a tantalizing kiss on the inside of his thigh and Charles writhed into the touch in spite of himself and Erik looked up at him and whispered, “You look entirely obscene,” and took him in his mouth. And if Erik had been good with a spoon what he could do with his mouth was completely inconceivable, like a symphony taking the place of a piano. Charles was no longer sure if he was thinking or talking, because he was completely incoherent, his hands fisting in the sheets, exclamations dragged out of him each time Erik’s tongue did something inexplicable and perfect-- “Erik - God -- what I pictured but better, million times better - splendid - oh God -that -please -how -- yes -- God -- Erik - yours - I’m going to -- God - you’re going to make me - if you - that -- one more time -- oh God -- Erik!” and he was clutching Erik’s head roughly with one hand and thrusting desperately into the perfect hot wetness of his mouth and thought, “You’re sure?” and felt Erik’s “I’m sure,” and came in a violent burst against the back of Erik’s throat. He felt Erik’s swallow and then Erik looked up at him with a satisfied toothy grin and muttered, “Come here” and Charles pulled him up onto the bed on top of him and kissed him slowly and thoroughly, tasting himself on Erik’s lips, and Erik grinned down at him and muttered, “I think you like the taste of yourself, Charles” and Charles grinned back, “Not nearly as much as you do.”
And then he began tugging at Erik’s clothes and undoing his belt and pushing his pants down and murmuring, “Let me see you,” and “I want you again,” and everything metal that Erik was wearing obligingly sprang open and suddenly an entirely hard Erik Lehnsherr was standing next to him wearing nothing but the offending turtleneck.
“Seems appropriate,” Erik murmured, and Charles shook his head, “That too,” and then Erik pulled it off and by the time it hit the ground they were a tangle of naked limbs on the bed, and Charles was asking, “Did you bring-” and Erik shot back “Of course I did, I’m not an idiot” and was slathering his fingers in the stuff, and hissed, “Lie back” and Charles reclined on his back, watching him as Erik’s gaze became intent and he teased his fingers into him cautiously one by one, knelt between Charles’ knees and slipped into him with eyes locked reverently on his, and they moaned together.
“God - so - tight, Charles,” Erik muttered through clenched teeth, and Charles felt a little stab of delight at the raw lust in Erik’s tone. “You’re - so beautiful - don’t know the things you do to me - how I want you -” and they were quickly moving past the point where words made any sense, his thighs clamping around Erik and Erik’s thrusts becoming more ragged and less controlled and the metal frame of the bed beginning to ripple as Erik’s hips slammed into him, and Charles couldn’t help laughing at this --“Delightful, Erik” -- but his voice was rough, and Erik hissed, “Charles, going to, can I” and Charles reached up and pulled Erik’s head down to his so his lips brushed Erik’s forehead and thought, “Yours, Erik. I’m yours, you should have known that without my borrowing any of your clothes,” and then Erik let out the most splendid moan Charles had ever heard and came, panting his name.
--
Charles was dimly aware of waking up. He had no idea of the time. His bed felt warmer than usual. His whole body ached. One of his arms was asleep. Something was lying on it. It rolled over and grinned at him. Erik. Naked. Splendid.
“So that is how you look in the morning,” Erik murmured. He leaned over and kissed the back of Charles’ neck, his teeth scraping the flesh.
“Mm.” Charles shivered involuntarily.
They were going to be late for breakfast.
--
“Well, I feel like an idiot,” was the first thing Hank said, glancing at Charles and Erik as he sat down to breakfast. “You should just be open about these things. It’s - hurtful.”
“What?” Charles said, swallowing another mouthful of toast. They were, he thought, being exceptionally demure. It was possible that Erik’s knee was grazing his below the table and that the contact was making him feel a little giddy, but that couldn’t conceivably be obvious to anyone else. And he wasn’t wearing any unusual articles of clothing.
“I had no idea that you two were actually - doing it,” Hank muttered, into his toast.
Sean’s mouth fell open and a slice of bacon fell out.
“What?” Raven said, spitting out her orange juice. It hit Alex.
“Jesus, Raven,” Alex said.
“Sorry.” Raven turned back to Charles and Erik. “What? You two? I thought it was a chess thing.”
“Charles is displaying a somewhat telling haetoma today,” Hank said, looking strangely pleased with himself.
“A what?”
Are you kidding me, Charles thought, rubbing the back of his neck. Hank, of all people.
“Occam’s razor,” Hank said. “The simplest explanation for the mark on Charles’ neck and the extremely smug expression that Erik has been unable to wipe off his face all morning in spite of the fact that the breakfast we are eating is clearly sub-par, is that -”
“Okay okay,” Raven said, covering her ears.
“They have just consummated their acquaintanceship,” Hank finished, delicately, eyes suddenly fixed on his plate.
“I told you!” Alex said.
A slow grin spread across Sean’s face. Erik tensed. Sean’s grin grew even wider and he raised one hand and looked expectantly at Erik.
“I’m still not going to high-five you, Sean,” Erik said.
“Hank?” Alex said. “How?”
“I’ve read a lot of literature on the subject,” Hank said, suddenly focused on his eggs.
“Then if you’re such an expert, Hank,” Erik said, “how is it you’ve remained entirely oblivious to the fact that Raven is as good as showing up nude in your bed and transforming into a flashing neon OPEN sign?”
“Erik,” Charles said, shooting him a warning glance.
“I’m curious,” Erik said, looking innocently at him.
“Yeah?” Raven asked, putting her elbows on the table.
“I, uh, I,” Hank said. “I - oh, is that what you were doing?”
“Maybe you’d better try borrowing his clothes,” Charles volunteered. Everyone turned to look at him, and with a sudden flush of confidence he let his fingers stray caressingly along Erik’s arm on the tabletop. “It’s not subtle, but it certainly gets the job done.”
Raven rolled her eyes.
"Jesus," Alex said, staring at the back of Charles' neck. "Professor, this is the sort of thing turtlenecks exist for."
Erik glowered at him, then grinned at Charles. "I'm sure Charles will keep that in mind."