Good Boys (11/13)
That morning he awoke to the noise of Erik in the shower and got up and slipped into Erik’s bed, kicking off the sticky sheets and settling back in the indentation where Erik had been lying and thinking, “Again? What are you doing, Charles, for God's sake at least try not to look like you’re trying to be so tantalizing.” Then Erik stepped out of the bathroom, naked and rubbing his hair with a towel, and Charles swallowed a little uncomfortably, because the sight of Erik like that was - God, had he always looked like that? Erik naked - gloriously naked, splendidly, spectacularly, marvelously naked - was the sort of thing you simultaneously wanted to throw as many adverbs at as possible and that made you realize how utterly pointless adverbs were. All neat effortless lines of muscle, his cock swinging idly between his legs, moving with a mesmerizing precision. Most people out of their clothes looked vulnerable, somehow, and a bit soft - Charles was sure he did - but Erik looked as dangerous and assured and - cocky wasn’t the right word, but it was a word that sprang insistently to mind - as he did when he was fully dressed. If anything he looked better. So it isn’t the leather jackets, Charles thought, it’s him, he always looks like that, like a Greek statue, for God’s sake, but ten times better, fuck but I want him, I want to kiss every inch of that, I want that sinewy body locked around mine, I want to be clamped between those muscled thighs shouting his name like it’s the only word that has an ounce of meaning.
Erik saw him and halted mid-step and Charles watched him swallow and thought, “Do I do that to him, too?” and when their eyes met he thought he knew what the answer was. He could feel Erik’s gaze smouldering along his body like a rough caress.
“Erik,” he said, hating the way his voice curled around the syllables, like he was used to gasping them out, like they were a secret shibboleth as warm and familiar to him as his own name, like the name of a lover, he couldn’t help thinking, and then found he was blushing.
“You’re a sight in the morning, Charles,” Erik said, his voice a little rough.
“So’re you,” Charles muttered.
Erik frowned, and Charles writhed a little under his gaze, because he could tell exactly what Erik was staring at. “Be careful, Charles,” Erik breathed. “I’m going to think you’ve gone sweet on me if you start saying things like that when I find you in my bed in the morning.”
Charles swallowed again. “Come here and kiss me,” he muttered, and then Erik had tossed away the towel and climbed on top of him and kissed him, damp hair falling into Charles’ face, and then Charles muttered, “Sorry, don’t know what came over me, Erik,” and instantly regretted the turn of phrase when he heard Erik’s answering thought “I’m pretty sure you do, Charles” and at the sight of that smug grin Charles felt himself flushing and tried to get up. “You’re impossible,” he said, managing almost to climb past Erik, but Erik caught him by the waist and held him.
“You like it.” Erik whispered, and he didn’t bother resisting.
They tumbled back together on the bed and then Erik settled against the backboard with Charles between his legs, chest pressed against Charles’ back, arms wrapped around his waist.
“Possibly,” Charles said, and he found that he was leaning into the touch, settling in the space between Erik’s legs and arching his neck a little like he was asking to be kissed, and then Erik was kissing him there, and he couldn’t help thinking, What am I doing, why am I in his bed, why am I so - pliant and how did we wind up tangled together like this, why is he being so nice, when did we start touching each other like this, this is worse than I thought - and Erik said, “You’re thinking too much, Charles, don’t think, I want to kiss you,” and then Charles twisted and caught him by the chin and pulled their mouths together with a little half-sigh and the thought, “This can’t be happening,” and the kiss was warm and strange and - natural somehow, and Erik pulled back and said, “Stop thinking, Charles,” and Charles said, “I don’t mean to,” and Erik said, “I can make you stop,” low and suggestive, mouth grazing his ear, and reached around and carded his fingers through the dark curls at the juncture of Charles’ legs and Charles choked, “I know that-Erik - you’re insatiable,” and Erik said, “Not compared to you I’m not,” and then for some reason they were both laughing.
Charles leaned up and kissed him on the chin, mouth grazing stubble, and thought, “What are you doing, Charles?” and Erik planted a kiss on his neck, running a finger down Charles’ chest, tracing the edge of a bruise, and muttered, “You’re turning into a map of places I’ve touched you,” and then Charles shuddered a little into the touch and Erik said, “Do you like seeing me whenever you look at yourself?” and Charles arched back against him, almost involuntarily, and breathed, “I wish you wouldn’t say things like that.”
“Still asking for the opposite of what you want?” Erik asked, sliding his hands down Charles’ chest and grasping his thighs, and Charles couldn’t help shifting back against him, acutely aware of what Erik wasn’t touching because all the blood in his body seemed to be rushing to it, and muttered, “Erik, please.” Erik’s hands didn’t move.
“Beg me,” Erik said.
Charles looked helplessly at him. “I thought I was,” he managed. “Erik you were being so nice.”
“You don’t like nice boys,” Erik said.
“You’re nice boys,” Charles said.
“No, Charles,” Erik said, tracing a finger very slowly along the inside of Charles’ thigh. “I’m not. Fortunately for us that’s why you like me.”
“That’s not why,” Charles hissed, already uncomfortably hard.
“It is, Charles. You’ve known all along.” Erik’s fingers casually brushed along Charles’ swollen cock and Charles bit his lip and muttered, “Erik, please, please touch me,” shifting back against Erik again, and Erik continued, his fingers tracing teasingly along Charles’ stomach and the slight muscles in his lower abdomen, to where the sparse trail of dark hairs began, “You don’t want ‘nice’ or there would have been a dozen pasty-faced Oxford boys with small pricks who would have gladly taken you punting and recited Plato to you afterwards as they delicately removed your sweater vest.”
Charles choked out a laugh. Then Erik’s mouth slid along his neck, Erik’s tongue teasing the hollow of his throat, and he shuddered, “Erik for the love of God, if you don’t touch me I’m going to myself,” and was reaching to, but Erik caught his wrist and hissed, “That would be delightful, Charles, but no, you’re not,” and caught his other hand too and slammed Charles’ wrists against the headboard, and Charles felt Erik’s concentration as the metal curled around his wrists and couldn’t help moaning a little, his eyes fixed on Erik. Erik’s expression was mesmerizing, that dark flicker of control that only lit up his eyes when he moved metal, and if Charles had been hard before he was even harder now, and he hadn’t thought that was possible. He heard the thought, “God you’re beautiful like that, you have no idea” and thought in spite of himself, “You, too,” and then Erik caught his face and kissed him, hard, and Charles nipped at his lower lip and slid his tongue desperately into Erik’s mouth and mumbled, “Erik,” half into Erik’s mouth and Erik pulled back and kissed him bruisingly on his neck and he shivered and felt his breaths coming hard and fast and his eyes flickering shut and heard the thought “I may actually be addicted to seeing you like this,” and then Erik had slipped out from behind him. Charles whimpered a little at the loss of contact, and Erik was looking at him, eyes full of unabashed lust and a possessive hum of satisfaction and - something else, and then Erik leaned over and pushed the hair out of his eyes and planted a kiss on the side of his face, almost gently.
Erik said, “But somehow or other it seems you want me.”
“Erik,” Charles gasped.
Erik ran a finger very slowly down the curve of Charles’ cheek and along the line of his throat and slowly down his chest and traced excruciatingly down the line of dark hairs and skimmed the length of Charles’ cock and Charles shifted desperately and muttered, “Erik that’s enough - for God’s sake, fuck, what do you want me to say,” because it was impossible to think of anything else, he had to make Erik touch him, and he was straining towards him, and Erik shook his head warningly.
“Don’t try anything, Charles,” and he had climbed easily down the bed and settled at his feet and was kissing him with an infuriating gentleness, his mouth pressed first to Charles’ ankle, then to Charles’ calf and then his tongue toying with the spot on the inside of Charles’ knee, and Charles choked out, “Erik, what are you doing to me.”
“I thought you wanted me to be nice,” Erik said, glancing up, that predatory grin illuminating his face, and Charles bit his lip to keep from crying out as Erik reached over and slid his hand slowly along his length and then withdrew it. It was like the shock of emerging from the warm riot of someone else’s mind into the stillness of his own thoughts. He couldn't help moaning.
“Charles if you really don’t like it stop making that sound and don’t look at me like that,” Erik muttered, kneeling between Charles’ legs.
“Erik please, please,” Charles gasped, struggling a little. “You’re nice. Be nice.”
“Charles I’m not,” Erik said, kissing his way slowly up the inside of Charles’ thigh. “And you don’t want me to be. You’ve known all along how to stop me, you’ve always been able to, but you haven’t” - Erik leaned down and kissed him just below his navel, and Charles gasped - “you never have, and maybe that’s because you like what a bad idea it is, Charles, letting a boy like me touch you like that-“ His hand slid along Charles’ cock with an agonizing slowness and Charles bucked into the touch - “you beg me every single time I touch you, you’re forgetting how it feels to say any name but mine when you come,” and Charles’s neck arched back and he gasped, “Erik,” and Erik climbed on top of him, legs astride his hips, and he realized for the first time that Erik was as hard as he was and muttered, “You’re forgetting too, Erik,” and when their eyes caught and held Erik looked momentarily as if he’d lost a bluff. Charles strained closer so his lips brushed against Erik’s ear and managed, “You love seeing me like this, don't you?” and before either of them could say anything they were kissing fiercely, starvingly, and Erik let out something between a grunt and a moan into his mouth and muttered, “Charles,” and he heard, “I’d be insane not to, you’re gorgeous, Charles, always, but flushed and pliant like this, with my name on those swollen lips - God” and at the thought Charles gasped, “I’m not going to hold out much - longer” and Erik managed to look a little wry and said, “You’re not alone” and gripped them together, and they both groaned simultaneously. Charles strained towards him and Erik bit his shoulder, his hand working quickly between them, and Charles came explosively a few seconds before him, gasping, “Fuck, how is this so - good - Erik,” and then Erik’s hips twitched against him and their eyes met and Erik came, shuddering against him.
They collapsed together and Charles felt the metal uncurl from around his wrists and Erik said, “Did I hurt you Charles,” and Charles shook his head and said, “No, Erik, you’re a good boy.”
Erik frowned. "Maybe you think I am. In which case God help you.”
“You’re nicer than you let on.” Charles ran a finger caressingly down Erik’s chest.
He heard the thought, “Only to you,” and then Erik said, “I’m not, Charles.” Charles leaned against him, head nestled in the curve of Erik’s shoulder.
“I know everything about you, Erik,” Charles said. “There’s so much more to you. So much good.”
“And so much not so good,” Erik said. “You’ve seen that too. But it’s all rather theoretical to you, isn’t it, Charles? Bad, good? It’s all a sort of logic puzzle. It’s a game of chess with all the pieces neatly labeled. And God help you on the day it ceases to be theoretical.”
Charles ran a hand along Erik’s arm and suddenly was acutely aware of how they looked, spent and sticky and leaning together, bodies intertwined, Erik’s arm possessively about his shoulders, as though they were - and yet he didn't want to shake it off, felt something hum in his body at the touch, and -- God help us, he thought, God help Charles Xavier, and leaned over and muttered, “Erik we ought to go find the mutant,” and Erik said, “Of course we ought to,” and grinned at him and didn’t move his arm.
Chapter 12