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The first thing about Erik’s mind is that it’s sharp. Before Charles knew anything else, he knew that; felt the heat of rage flowing between thoughts tempered to keen edges and honed by pain.
Later, even without all the unchained emotion filling it up, Erik’s mind is like a knife. Incisive. Dangerous enough to warrant a warning label more often than not.
“Fuck, Charles.”
Charles tips his head back to let Erik bite more easily at his throat, spreading his legs wider with a low groan. There’s still that edge to Erik’s thoughts when he’s like this, hot and heavy and rutting breathlessly between Charles’s thighs, but...
“You think too much,” Erik mutters, teeth grazing the lobe of Charles’s ear. “I can almost hear you.”
“I thought that was my trick.” It’s hard to get the words out while Erik’s fingers are trailing down his thigh and hooking under his knee, lifting it higher so he can thrust deeper. Charles arches up into it, slick friction that has him biting his lip hard enough to hurt.
“Tell me what you hear, then.”
Ragged breathing, the soft squeak of the bed beneath them, blood pounding in his ears. But that isn’t what Erik means, so Charles tightens his grip on his shoulder blades and kisses him.
Yes, the sharp edge is still there, just like the sharp edge of Erik’s teeth on Charle’s tongue as the kiss turns feral and they gasp wetly into each other’s mouths. But it’s splintered, needles instead of a blade, all focus gone in a storm of want you under me just like this, want you wet and open and hot around my cock, want you, want you,want you.
“You want to come inside me,” Charles chokes out, shuddering under a slow roll of Erik’s hips that smears pre-come from his own cock between their bellies. “God, Erik, you want.”
This time it’s Erik who growls and presses their lips together. Not that he needs to talk, not when he thinks filthier things than he ever says and every word is ringing just as loud as the creak of the bed or the dull slap of their skin.
You’re going to be such a wet mess from me, so wet, look at me when you come, love your face when you come
The words are tangled up with images, and when he squeezes his eyes closed Charles can see himself, legs spread as he... as Erik slides two fingers in easily, just for the sake of feeling his own come slicking Charles’s insides, for the thrill of watching Charles’s thighs shake and his chest heave and knowing he can make that lean body yield under his hands just as readily as any metal does.
Charles’s eyes snap open and he’s staring at the thick red bed hangings over Erik’s shoulder, nose pressed against his neck as Erik fucks him down into the mattress with deep, measured strokes.
“You’re close,” Charles says, scraping his nails down the ridges of Erik’s spine. “I can feel it.”
Maybe he can feel it. Maybe it’s just his own orgasm creeping closer, coiling hot and heavy and inevitable at the base of his spine. He can’t tell anymore. Usually... always, before Erik, if he’s honest... it’s easy to keep his mind separate and his powers closed safely away when he fucks. But right now it’s just a melting pot, he’s fucking and being fucked, he’s stretched wide and clenched tight, he’s about to come and he still needs a bit more.
He squeezes his knees around Erik’s hips, rocking down onto the next thrust just in time to feel Erik tense and groan. Charles feels the muscle under his hands quiver as Erik grinds down one last time before spilling filthy and wet into him.
They lie like that for a few seconds, chest to chest, Erik’s weight crushing him down. Then Erik lifts himself up on one arm with a grunt, free hand squeezing down between them.
Charles’s hips buck when that hand closes around him, teeth catching on his lip again.
Look at me.
Charles obeys. Erik’s looking down at him, watching, the keen mental edge still undercutting the sleepy contentment of orgasm.
I want to watch you come, Erik thinks, twisting his wrist and sliding his thumb across the slick head of Charles’s cock.
It’s enough to push him over the edge, arching up as he shudders and comes over Erik’s hand, a thousand broken fragments of raw emotion and sensation scattering like light through a prism.
*
For all the time they spend in bed, they rarely sleep together. It suits Charles just fine, leaving him free to set his own pace in the mornings.
This time he still feels pleasantly sore from the night before, muscles loose and well-fucked, every little jolt as he walks down the stairs a reminder of being pinned and spread open under Erik’s body.
By the time Charles reaches the dining room he’s focused on the day’s training roster, smiling at the rowdy sounds of everyone else at breakfast.
He swings the door open, and silence falls.
Charles glances around the suddenly quiet table. There are little glances being exchanged over the soft sound of spoons touching bowls and the rustle of clothes, and his first thought is that they’ve destroyed something invaluable and nobody wants to be the one to admit it. But Erik’s sitting there, newspaper in front of his face as he sips his coffee, and surely they’d have told him...
Erik folds the paper in half and smiles at him with far too much tooth for it to be completely innocent. “Good morning, Charles.”
The others echo the sentiment.
“Good morning, everyone.” Charles sits down as the conversation picks up again. There’s still a thread of unrest lurking just beneath the surface, enough to make him ill at ease, so he reaches out just a little.
The impressions he gets back are tinged with sex and lust at the edges, and he frowns, pressing harder.
He’s not expecting his own orgasm to ricochet back at him, faded but still intense enough to make his stomach clench with want.
Charles takes a deep breath and reaches for the teapot. So there was an error of judgement. He’s old enough to be mature about it, even if his ears do feel slightly too warm.
He keeps his eyes on the tea as he pours. You knew, didn’t you.
There’s no need to probe for a response. The subtle curve to Erik’s lips when Charles looks up is telling enough.