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His name is Edward, but he goes by Ed. He earned his leathers three years ago, apprenticed to a man he still sees on a regular basis. He likes to go hard and rough the first time, likes to dole out pain, never really says much--so he's not into dirty talk or humiliation. He'll hit, bite, slap, spank, and choke, but he doesn't like to be bothered to use whips or floggers... maybe his belt, if his boy's lucky. He doesn't like to be called "Daddy"; "Master" will work, but he likes "Sir" better, and he likes it with a little military flair. He especially likes it when he feels like he's corrupting someone.
He'll do, Charles decides. He's the best Charles is likely to find tonight. And Charles is good at playing the innocent when he needs to; the accent makes people think of proper English schoolboys.
He meets Ed's eyes for a moment and then glances away, looking down so his eyelashes are dark against his cheek.
Ed notices.
It would be easy to push Ed into noticing even more. He could make Ed come straight over, grab Charles by the arm, and drag him out the door, but that takes some of the enjoyment out of things. It's fun to be pursued.
He drinks his beer--bottle, not draft, because the phallic imagery really does work on men like the ones he picks up. He's a little slow while drinking it, a little showy, but it's the hint of eye contact and pretense at being shy that make Ed finally decide to come over. Ed can't tell if Charles is playing a game yet, but he's interested enough to find out.
He leans on the bar right next to Charles and looks him over, head to foot. There's nothing subtle about it. Charles looks at Ed's face and then quickly back at his beer. He knows what Ed sees when he looks in the mirror: tall, muscled, thick black body hair, crewcut, clean-shaven. A scar that starts at his right hip and curves down around the front of his thigh, ending at the knee. Yes, he'll certainly do.
"You're in the wrong bar, boy," Ed says, voice a low growl. "There's one down the street for college kids."
Oh, he thinks Charles is a college boy looking for a bit of rough. Outstanding. Charles suppresses the urge to smile.
Ed goes on. "Boy like you could get hurt if he's not careful. The wrong guy takes an interest, you might not even get a chance to scream."
Perfect opportunity. Charles bites his lower lip and glances over at Ed. "What if," he says softly. "What if I wanted to?"
Ed tilts his head back and looks Charles over again. "Kind of playing with fire, aren't you, boy? I'm being nice here; I'm trying to warn you about the kinds of things you could be in for."
Charles dials the innocent look up and smiles right at Ed. "Maybe you could show me."
The images float to the surface of Ed's mind like ice in a too-full glass of scotch. Charles against a wall, crying as Ed fucks him. Charles on his knees, shirt torn, face red from being slapped, choking on Ed's cock. Charles at Ed's feet, breathing heavily and begging Ed to let him go.
Well, that certainly does the trick; Charles is hard now, and there's no way he's letting Ed get away from him--unless, he supposes, Ed really, truly wanted to go. He doesn't, though, so no point worrying about it.
"Your funeral," Ed says, and he tilts his head, leading Charles out of the bar.
At Ed's place, Charles glances around as if he's seeing this apartment for the first time. He already knows the layout from peeking through Ed's mind, of course, but Ed thinks he brought home a normal human boy, a college kid; Charles might as well play the part. He pretends not to notice the photographs on top of the bookcase, all of friends Ed served with overseas. He does glance over the books--mostly military strategy and similar classics, no surprise there--primarily because Ed expects him to.
College kid. God, what a laugh. College, I suppose, and a very great deal of it, but kid... Oh, well. If Ed thinks Charles is maybe twenty, possibly younger, Charles isn't going to disabuse him of the notion. He won't be able to pass for a teenager forever, not without a little nudge in the right area of the brain.
Charles turns around and spreads his hands wide, looking up at Ed with raised eyebrows. "So, ah. What do you like to do?"
It takes an effort not to brace for the slap, not to duck it. Fortunately, he's had a lot of practice.
Ed's holding back on him. It's a hard slap, for sure, but it isn't anywhere near what he could deal out if he wanted to. Charles cries out anyway, raising a hand to his cheek.
But when he looks up at Ed, his eyes are shining with want, none of it feigned. He still makes himself go slack-jawed and tries to look surprised, but Ed doesn't believe him anymore.
"You know goddamn well what I want," Ed says, and he grabs Charles by the sweater and jerks him down to his knees. Charles goes, only grunting a little at the impact; Ed unbuckles his belt and unzips his jeans, pulling his cock out and letting Charles get a good look at it. Charles licks his lips and tries to move forward, but Ed puts a hand in Charles's hair and stops him.
"What do you say, boy?"
Charles sifts through Ed's mind for the right answer. He's expecting 'please', but Charles could up the ante and give Ed one of the phrases he jerks off thinking about--sir, please, sir, let me suck your cock or sir, anything you want, sir, or... oh, here's an interesting one.
"I'll do anything you want," Charles whispers, "just please don't hurt me."
There's a hard snap in Ed's mind, and Charles realizes he's gone too far. It's a fantasy, not something Ed wants happening in reality, and the disconnect nearly makes him stop altogether. Charles grabs the words out of Ed's mind, takes them back, replaces them with the memory of something simpler. Yes, sir, please, sir, anything you want, sir.
"What the hell do you think I want?" Ed growls, all that discomfort and fear gone, thank God. "Suck it, boy."
Charles opens his mouth and takes Ed's cock in. The one thing he can never share with anyone else--the warm sensation of taking someone's cock for the first time, the way a man tastes. It's different for everyone, the taste and scent is unique to each individual, and although Charles could reach in and find out what Ed tastes when he's licking his come out of someone's mouth, it wouldn't really prepare him for reality. Just as well; there should be some sense of discovery when he's fucking or sucking someone for the first time.
Ed's as rough as Charles anticipated, and it's good--it's very good. Charles chokes a little while Ed has him on his knees. It's enough to make his throat sore, but not so much that Charles feels any need whatsoever to reel Ed back. He does it all with his hands at his sides, just working Ed's cock with his mouth and his tongue and his throat, and when Ed finally pulls back, he's panting. Charles grins a little self-satisfied grin. Ed might notice if he were able to put two brain cells together to form a coherent thought.
"On all fours," Ed says, and Charles takes a moment to get his trousers undone, to push them down over his hips. Ed doesn't complain about his speed, so Charles gets onto all fours and doesn't even bother glancing back over his shoulder; he can see what Ed sees either way. Ed doesn't believe that Charles is an innocent anymore, but that's a good thing. It means that Charles is going to get it as rough as Ed can give it, and Ed's a rough sort of guy; he can give a lot.
Ed spits into his hand, and even that's being generous; Charles knows he's taken boys dry before, expecting them to loosen up and learn to like it. For a moment, Charles wishes he could be one of those boys, but he's not; he's getting what he gets, and he's taking it the way Ed wants to give it to him, but that's where the similarities end. Charles isn't scared, isn't afraid of what Ed might do to him, isn't even worried that Ed will give him too much to handle. The second Charles wants it to stop, all he has to do is take Ed over and stop it.
When Ed gives him a reach-around, he comes, obediently, and it's almost what he wanted.
"Late night," Erik observes. Charles's head snaps up, and he squints into the darkness. Erik's sitting at the bottom of the stairs, a pair of steel marbles turning around and around in the palm of his hand.
At least it's dark. Erik probably won't be able to see the red mark on his cheek. Still, Erik's fairly observant, and he might be able to smell it on Charles. Charles hopes not.
He could take a look and find out, but he doesn't. It was a prerequisite for Erik agreeing to stay here: stay out as much as possible. If Erik's mind isn't shouting it, Charles doesn't get to peek.
"Not so late," Charles says. He stays where he is; pushing past Erik will only make him more suspicious.
"Normally when you're out looking for more mutants, you bring backup." Erik raises an eyebrow, and one of his marbles comes off his palm, leaping up into the air before taking its place in his hand again. "Was this one shy?"
Charles rubs at his forehead. "Just say what you're thinking," he says. "You know I wasn't out looking for mutants..."
"No." Both of Erik's marbles take off this time, twirling around one another before he catches them again. "I know you won't get into anything you can't get out of, Charles, but are you really getting what you want?"
Charles stiffens. "I don't think it's any of your business."
"No, I suppose it's not. Not unless you want it to be."
For a moment, Erik's mind does shout at him: a single note, the sound of arousal and interest. Now. After all these months. Really, Erik?
"I don't know what you're playing at," Charles says quietly, "but I can't say I appreciate it."
Erik's mind goes quiet again, but he catches both marbles and holds them. "I'm not playing games with you," he says. "And I'm well aware you can take care of yourself. But this chase is hurting you all the same."
"And you're looking out for me out of the kindness of your heart, is that it?" It's an ugly thing to say, and Charles knows it, but he's exhausted, and he wants his room and his bed and quiet, empty sleep.
It gets Erik to stop talking, at least. Charles walks past him, heading upstairs. Erik doesn't try to stop him.
"They'll never be what you want, Charles," Erik calls out. "Not the ones you can control."
Charles doesn't answer. When he's alone in his room, he strips down and falls into bed, curled in on himself, knowing full well that Erik's absolutely right.
Erik watches him more closely after that. Or maybe Erik's always watched him this closely, and he's only just now letting Charles know about it.
Four months they've been together, four months of day-in, day-out contact, four months of training and learning and looking for others of their kind. He's seen passion on Erik's face when he's talked to other mutants, offhand arousal when their journeys take them somewhere that involves people in compromising positions, but he's never seen that interest directed at another person.
Until now.
It could be a game. Or Erik could genuinely believe that Charles is getting into trouble, and trying to offer him... what? Erik's not the type to offer solace, and for a while, Charles jerks off thinking about Erik's carefully-fettered violence working its way out on him. A few nights of that and he's tempted to take Erik up on it; maybe it would do them both some good.
And then again, maybe it'd all fall to hell in minutes. Erik's anger, real anger, is one of the few things about him that scares Charles, and playing with that in the bedroom seems like asking for trouble. Erik might lose control, and Charles would have no choice but to stop him. It's not a road he can really consider, not seriously.
He stops thinking about Erik when he touches himself, and he goes back out to the bars. When he does, sometimes Erik's waiting up for him and sometimes he's not, but either way, they don't speak.
More months. More mutants. Some of them don't last in the program; some of them join for a while and are gone a few weeks later, and no one knows why. Those are the mutants with minimal abilities, ones who can do small things like turning coins different colors, or who happen to have forked tongues.
"They're of little use to the war machine," Erik says, and Charles is very much afraid that he's right. He writes to them, using the addresses where they found them in the first place, but he's got so much to do that he can't follow up with everyone.
Things between Erik and himself are... unclear. Charles still goes out, and Erik's started to wait up for him every time. Sometimes he'll ask. Mostly, there's no need; he can see in Charles's face that Charles is still searching for something, and Charles doesn't have the energy to deny it.
It would be easier if he could look into Erik's mind, if he'd let himself look. He won't. He promised. Granted, he's been known to break his promises when it's necessary, but he knows if he breaks this one there's no coming back from it. Of all the people he's known, Erik is the only one who's never learned how to forgive. Charles doesn't want to be on the wrong end of that.
Tonight Erik's waiting in the hall just outside of Charles's bedroom when Charles comes in, and Charles meets his eyes for a moment before slipping the key into his bedroom door. It's one of the few rooms in the mansion that has a skeleton lock, and as they've not yet found any mutants who can walk through walls or take over locks without breaking half the mansion down--Erik excepted--Charles has always felt it's enough to ensure his privacy. Erik, he's got no choice but to trust.
Then again, if he couldn't trust Erik, most of this would be for nothing anyway.
The key doesn't turn at first, and Charles knows he could get Erik to let it go if he just asked, but that would just be putting this conversation off that much longer. Charles sighs and stops trying.
"I'm sure tonight was very good for whomever it was you picked up." Charles doesn't look at Erik; his eyes are on his hand, his hand on the key, the key in the lock. Erik finally lets him turn it. "Was it good for you, too?"
Charles stops with his hand on his bedroom doorknob. "Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answer?" he murmurs.
"Charles--"
"You don't have to wait up for me." Charles looks over his shoulder at Erik. "As you said a while ago, there's nothing I'm getting into that I can't get out of."
"And that's exactly the problem, isn't it?"
Charles opens his door, ready to step through and put a wall between Erik and himself again, but somehow he can't bring himself to do it. He stands there, lights out, head bowed, still aching all over from the evening's activities, and he waits. Either Erik will take this further or he won't.
When Erik slides his hands onto Charles's shoulders, Charles exhales softly.
"I would never tell you to trust me," Erik murmurs. "But anything you've been chasing with anyone else, I can give you that and more."
Erik's thumbs knead the base of Charles's neck in small circles, and Charles almost shudders with how good it feels. When Erik closes the distance between them and wraps his arms around Charles from behind, his chest pressed against Charles's back, Charles swallows hard and lets himself feel everything--Erik's strong arms, the slow pace of his heartbeat, his breath against Charles's ear.
"Not tonight," Charles murmurs. Erik starts to pull away, but Charles reaches up and puts his hand on Erik's arm. "I don't mean not ever. I only don't want--it's only because I'm already used, tonight. I'd rather come to you clean."
Erik squeezes him. A hug, almost. Charles hurts from wanting more so badly. "Then promise me, Charles. The next time you go out looking for this, you come to me first."
"Yes," Charles whispers, and it's like a weight's being lifted off his shoulders. "Yes."
It never occurs to him to wonder how Erik knows what he needs, what Erik's done that he's so certain he can deliver. There are so many things about Erik's past that Charles wishes he didn't know; there are so many shadowed places he didn't have a chance to look into, in those first few moments. Maybe Erik's spent some time in those bars, too. Maybe he's known men like the ones Charles has gone home with. Maybe he's been those men.
Whatever it is, Charles has no doubt that Erik can deliver on it, and it doesn't do much for his concentration over the next few days. Normally he can last a little longer, usually as much as a week. It's different, living with the man who's promised to drag him to his knees. He can't stop looking at Erik's hands, watching Erik as he jogs or trains or plays chess, looking at the way Erik's throat works while he's drinking something. It's only three days before the need's so bright Charles almost can't see past it.
Erik catches him alone that afternoon, grabs him by the arm as Charles is heading downstairs.
"Wait."
Charles looks from Erik's hand to his face, and as he's recovering from the feel of Erik's hand on him, Erik backs him into the wall. Charles almost goes lightheaded, but he manages to hold onto what's left of his dignity. He doesn't just start begging.
Erik reaches out and cups Charles's cheek in his hand. It's not a gentle grip, though; nothing about it is gentle. Erik's thumb presses roughly against Charles's chin, and his fingers are hard against Charles's cheek.
"I know," Erik murmurs. "I know you need to go under, and I know it needs to be soon."
// Please. // Charles can't help himself. He takes a deep breath and tries to take his thoughts out of Erik's mind, tries to say words out loud. "Please. You said. You told me to come to you, and I'm asking--"
"When you're done with everything else today," Erik whispers, "go back to your room. Lock the door. Get undressed, kneel on the center of your bed--face the door--and wait."
Charles nods. "How long?"
"As long as it takes for me to get there."
He lets Charles go, and he walks away--and Charles is so tempted to look into Erik's mind, find out what's in store for him later, that he barely manages to hold himself back.
He runs both hands over his face and breathes for a few seconds, and then he starts heading down the stairs again.
Lock the door. Charles's lips turn up at one corner as he does it. The one person who can get in, the one person he's had to trust all this time--it's a hell of a way to start things off, highlighting the fact that Charles is having to sacrifice some of that trust to get what he wants. Erik is more clever than Charles gave him credit for.
He undresses, thinking more about that. The amount of willpower it must have taken to stay away when Erik knew how badly Charles needed this, knew Charles needed something Erik could give him--it would seem like a superhuman effort, except that Charles makes that same effort every day. There must be secrets Erik's keeping, codewords and phrases, the keys to keeping him here forever. Maybe even healing his need for revenge. He could do it. He could even make Erik grateful.
He shudders a little, trying not to think about it. All of a sudden, resisting a metal lock seems much, much simpler.
Once he's undressed and on the bed, he's got nothing to do but sit and wait. He could look in on Erik, see if he's ready--even give him a little nudge to get him up here sooner--but he knows what he'll lose if he tries. He's good, well-behaved; he doesn't even wander through the other minds in the mansion, trying to track Erik and see where he's gone.
For a while, he stares at the door, trying to make Erik appear through sheer human force of will. When that doesn't work, he sighs and closes his eyes, leaving his hands palms-up on his knees. Waiting.
They'll never be what you want, Charles. Not the ones you can control.
Not fair. Not fair. In spite of staying out of Erik's mind without express permission, he's always felt it was him with the advantage. He's said he knows everything about Erik because of that first night, because the only way to get him out of the water was to know why he went in, but Erik knowing this much about him leaves him feeling--vulnerable. Exposed. As naked as he is, right now the worst part of this is realizing that Erik knows about it. Erik was one of the people in the room when Charles said he was turning in for the night; Erik is downstairs right now, maybe finishing his newspaper, knowing full well that Charles is naked, and kneeling, and hard.
A half-hour passes that way, with Charles on his knees, but when he hears footsteps in the hallway he opens his eyes and licks his lips. The footsteps stop just outside his door, and the lock clicks open. Charles has to strain not to call out mentally. Surely that much would be allowed--not digging in, not capturing Erik's thoughts, not even pushing him, just letting Erik know he's ready.
Oh--on second thought, bad idea. Erik probably already knows how desperate Charles is feeling, but why confirm it?
After what seems like forever, the door finally swings open, and Erik steps in. The door quietly closes behind him, and the lock clicks shut. Erik meets his eyes for a moment, then sweeps his gaze over Charles's body. Charles holds his breath, waiting for Erik to say something.
"I know you let them hurt you," Erik says quietly, "but we're not doing that tonight."
It's almost a surprise, given how easily violence seems to come to Erik, but Charles nods. He would have taken pain from Erik, gladly taken it, let Erik slap him and pinch him and spank him and fuck him sore--but where with other men it's no concern, not even able to give Charles the thrill of risk, with Erik it would be something rather more. It's probably just as well. And besides which, Erik's in charge right now, and it doesn't need to be for any reason other than Erik's whim.
"All right."
Erik raises an eyebrow and smirks at him. "'All right'? I thought you knew the protocol a little better than that."
Charles sucks in a breath. He can't tell if that's a real correction or if it's only Erik, teasing him. "I didn't realize you'd be a stickler for protocol."
"In this case, let's call me a stickler for respect. Do I have your respect, Charles?"
Charles frowns at him. "Erik--of course you do, you know you do--"
"Ah, but right now I'm not Erik. Or not just Erik. And you're not Charles, or not just Charles. Right now there's a bit more to both of us than the faces we show the outside world." Erik takes a few steps forward, stopping when he's halfway across the room, not quite at the foot of the bed. "You can call me 'sir', if you want a title from me. You don't have to use it. I certainly won't be able to remember to call you 'boy' every time. Although if that turns you on, I'll give it a shot. Does it?"
Oh, God. "Sometimes, sir," Charles admits. It's all he can do not to squirm. He can feel himself drawn toward Erik, as though every interaction they've had has been leading to this moment. Maybe it has.
"So. Do I have your respect, boy?"
"Yes, sir," Charles whispers.
"And you understand you're not getting pain from me tonight."
"Yes, sir," Charles answers, and he realizes for the first time--tonight. Erik's behaving as if doing this again is a foregone conclusion. The tug of want in Charles's gut is almost overwhelming.
"Do you even know what it is you're chasing?"
Charles hesitates; does he? He's been doing what he does ever since he found out about men like Ed, all those strict, bruising tops he's gone home with. For years now, he's been getting on his knees and saying yes, sir and letting everyone take what they want from him. When he first saw those images in someone's mind, when he first realized those thoughts weren't just fantasies the way they'd always been for him, he'd gone after it and never looked back, only flirting with nice girls in pubs because to do otherwise would have been suspicious.
But he's never asked himself why.
His silence is enough for Erik. Erik nods at him. "Let's see if we can give you an answer," Erik says, and he takes off his shoes, his socks, his belt, and his watch, and climbs up onto the bed with Charles.
With other men, Charles has to pretend he doesn't see things coming. With Erik, he's not looking in, so when Erik grabs him by the throat, it really is a shock. Charles's hands twitch, but he manages not to move them--barely, just barely. The normal response to having one's air cut off is to struggle against that sensation. Charles fights the normal response and instead presses his throat against Erik's palm. Erik's expression is shuttered, cold, and yet Charles knows him well enough to believe--to hope--that perhaps he's feeling something all the same. You touch me and I show you I need it. You want me; I believe you want this from me. Isn't that what we're doing here? Isn't this what you want?
Erik keeps his grip on Charles's throat and lowers him to his back, pinning him there for just a moment before letting Charles breathe again. "I could bind you if I wanted," Erik murmurs, "but I don't think so. Not tonight."
"I don't have anything for that anyway," Charles says. Erik lifts an eyebrow, smiling, looking amused, and Charles doesn't have to read his mind to realize he's wrong--both about what he said and the way he said it. For one thing, there's the bed itself; its frame is metal. On top of that, how many ties does Charles own?
"Tell me what you're thinking," Erik urges, and Charles realizes his expression must have changed.
"I was thinking I might not own handcuffs, but we've got enough things around we could improvise if you really wanted to."
"But I'm not going to." Erik lifts an eyebrow. "Does that bother you? Do you like it when they tie you down? It's not as though you have to worry about getting them to let you up."
Charles shakes his head. "No--I mean, no, I don't worry about that, but... that's not what I'm after." He peers at Erik, but he stays out of Erik's head, despite an overwhelming urge to peek. "But you knew that, didn't you?"
Erik grins. "Good boy. Asking instead of looking for yourself."
Charles sucks in a breath. Good boy. He's heard that before, sometimes earnest, sometimes mocking, but this time he hears it and wonders if it's true. He wonders if he wants it to be.
He doesn't have much time to think about it, though, because Erik swings a leg over his and straddles his thighs, and Charles groans out loud, arching underneath him. "Erik--"
Erik reaches down and puts two fingers over Charles's lips, and Charles takes a shuddering breath.
"We both know you can predict my every move if you want to. We both know you can stop this at any point. But that's exactly the problem. You don't want to know everything that's going to happen to you ahead of time. And you don't want to be the one who decides when it stops." Erik sweeps his fingers down to Charles's chin. "You want someone else to be in control. Truly in control. And you know what will happen if you use your power against me--even for this."
Charles swallows and nods, not trusting himself to speak.
"You can talk to me. This way." Erik strokes Charles's temple. "I want to know what you're feeling. But nothing more. Understood?"
// Yes, // Charles projects, grateful for that much.
"Then let's get started."
Erik lowers himself down on top of Charles, and Charles takes a deep breath. Everything about Erik, from his firm, solid weight to the scent of the cologne he favors, is taking up Charles's thoughts. No distractions. No games. He isn't trying to outwit Erik. He's just here, in the present moment, waiting to see what Erik does next.
His cock leaps against his belly and brushes against Erik's jeans. Erik grins down at him and presses his hips against Charles's, not too rough--just enough to let Charles know that Erik's hard, too. Charles gasps. "You want this," he breathes. "You want this, me, like this, you want this..."
"Very astute, Charles."
"You kept it hidden well enough," Charles mutters. "Even after you offered, I was never really sure..."
"It did take me a while to decide you were worth developing an interest in," Erik says, grinning again. "And by then you'd already agreed to stay out of my thoughts."
"What else have you been thinking?"
"All these questions. Is this your idea of showing respect?"
Charles opens his mouth again, sure that's a trick question--but what if it isn't? He closes his mouth and settles in underneath Erik, looking up at him and thinking about Erik's body, all the times he's seen Erik with his shirt off. The times he's seen Erik coming down the hall in nothing but a towel.
"Better," Erik murmurs. "All right. Kiss me."
Charles has to take a quick breath first. He's thought about it, he's been thinking about it for far longer than they've been playing this game--but he expected Erik to take that first kiss, not order Charles to give it. It shouldn't be more difficult because of that, but somehow it is.
"Go on," Erik tells him. "Do it."
Charles leans up and presses his mouth to Erik's, and he's in for another surprise there. Instead of taking over immediately and showing Charles what a true lack of control feels like, Erik just lets Charles kiss him, opening his mouth so Charles has better access.
Charles isn't one to waste an opportunity, so he kisses Erik deeper, harder. He runs his tongue over Erik's lower lip, then moves inside, tongue stroking Erik's, coaxing it. Still, while Erik's responsive, he isn't explicitly dominating the kiss, and Charles draws back, wondering what he's doing wrong.
"Nice," Erik murmurs. "More. Don't hold back on me."
"You're one to talk," Charles points out gruffly, but he leans up again and redoubles his efforts this time. For this second kiss, he's seducing Erik with his mouth, kissing him the way he'd kiss someone he has to talk into it the old-fashioned way. It's an argument in his favor; it's a way to show Erik how good he is with lips and tongue. It's an advertisement, and by the end of it, when Erik still isn't holding him down and taking the kiss over, it's a plea. // Please, Erik. Please. Kiss me back, would you kiss me back, kiss me... //
// That's it, // Erik thinks back at him, and suddenly it's his mouth directing the kiss, his tongue stroking into Charles's mouth. Charles moans against Erik and reaches up, wrapping his arms around Erik's back. He'd get his legs around Erik, too, if Erik didn't have them pinned, but the moment he clutches at Erik, Erik stops.
"Not yet," Erik murmurs down at him. "When I tell you."
"You could have said I wasn't supposed to move until you told me," Charles mutters. "It'd be easier if you'd just tell me what you want."
Erik grins and leaves a brief kiss on the corner of his mouth. "I want you to serve me. And I don't think you're going to give me any objections." Charles closes his eyes. No. No, he's not. "So lie back and relax. I will tell you what to do, make no mistake."
Charles nods and tries to calm down. His skin feels hot where Erik's touching him; he wants what Erik's offering, wants to offer himself up so Erik can take him. But waiting has never been his strong suit, and his hands move restlessly on the bedcovers while he's listening for Erik's orders.
Erik sits up, still resting on Charles's legs. "Take my shirt off," he says. Charles's eyes fly open, and he sits up, reaching for the bottom of Erik's turtleneck and tugging it out from under his waistband. He slides his hands up Erik's back as he helps lift the turtleneck up to Erik's shoulders, then helps pull it off over Erik's arms. Once it's off him, Erik tosses it aside, and Charles leans back on his arms, just looking at Erik's body.
"You would not believe the hours I'd have to put in to look like that," Charles says, eyes traveling from Erik's throat down to his pecs and his abs. He takes the opportunity to look at Erik's arms, while he's at it, the curves of his biceps, and Erik flips his forearm down before Charles's eyes can track over the numbers tattooed there. Charles nods; off-limits, not to be spoken of now. Respect, Erik asked for in the beginning, and yes, Charles respects Erik's need to keep some doors locked.
He looks back up at Erik's shoulders, and Erik relaxes, smiling again. "I've no complaints about you, you realize," Erik tells him.
"Yes, well--"
"Stop comparing us and put your hands on me."
"Oh, gladly." Charles reaches out, and Erik reaches around him, wrapping his arms around Charles's back to support him while Charles runs his hands from Erik's chest up to his shoulders. He traces a path up the sides of Erik's neck, trails his fingertips down Erik's neck and across his shoulders.
Erik's grip tightens, and Charles lets out a startled yelp as Erik rolls them over, landing on his back with Charles between his legs. Not that Charles can really complain about the positioning, but he tilts his head, raising an eyebrow. "What...?"
"Sit up and keep touching me. Stroke me. I want your hands on me."
The intensity in Erik's eyes makes Charles's eyes widen, and he realizes: service. I want you to serve me. God, that's exactly what this is, and that's why Erik's on his back; he wants Charles to touch him, to please him, and he wants to watch Charles doing it now that he knows what it is he's doing.
Erik laces his fingers behind his head--forearm exposed, but they've got an understanding now, one that didn't even take telepathy. Doors that stay locked; conversations they can't have in the middle of a moment like this one. In the meantime, Erik's arms present a lovely image, all those muscles tight and ready to be touched and perhaps even tasted. Erik nods at him. "Go on."
Charles straddles Erik's legs this time; he resists the urge to settle down with his ass on Erik's cock. "Are you ticklish?" he asks. He reaches out, warm palms flat on Erik's chest. "Can I listen in enough to avoid any unwise places?"
"No." Erik meets Charles's eyes. "To both questions. This isn't about my mind, Charles, it's about yours."
"My mind? I was hoping it was about your body."
"Well, that's a start." Erik reaches up and catches Charles's wrist in his hand. "You're stalling. Don't stall. Touch me."
When he lies down again, tucking his hand behind his head, Charles realizes it's true. He's been stalling, because body language is so damnably difficult when he can't take the surface layer of someone's thoughts right along with it. He sweeps his hands down Erik's chest again, watching closely. // How am I supposed to know what you-- //
His fingertips glide over Erik's nipples, and they harden under his touch. Erik's eyes go a little dark. // Like, // Charles finishes, and even his thoughts feel thick, slow-moving like syrup. He shifts on Erik's legs, cock rubbing against Erik's jeans. // Want. God. Want-- //
"Not yet," Erik murmurs. "Keep going."
Charles nods and strokes all the way down to Erik's waist, down where a light trail of hair leads down under his waistband. He's half tempted to lean down and lick that line, between Erik's navel and the button on the front of his jeans, but he doesn't. He goes back to Erik's chest, back to his nipples, tracing one with a fingertip.
"Good," Erik murmurs, and Charles feels warm all over. "More."
Charles traces circles around Erik's nipple again, and when Erik's breath is so hard he's nearly panting, Charles bends down and runs the flat of his tongue over Erik's nipple--slow and easy, warm and soft, and Erik groans out loud underneath him.
It's different, pleasing someone this way. Less straightforward than going straight for the cock, more of an adventure than reading someone's mind and heading full-tilt toward their hotspots. Charles looks up at Erik, who licks his lips and nods.
"Keep going."
Charles nods back at him, and he starts making love to Erik's nipple in earnest. Still slow at first, still using the flat of his tongue rather than the tip, and it's three or four licks before he realizes just how well he's getting to learn Erik's taste. He can smell a hint of sweat, can taste it on him, mild and salty, and when he licks across Erik's chest to his other nipple, he takes up even more.
Erik's taste. Erik. Charles rests his forehead against Erik's chest as the discovery really hits him; how could he ever have thought he knew everything about Erik when he didn't know this?
Erik slides a hand into Charles's hair, not directing him or guiding him, just sharing the moment with him. Charles groans out loud, ready to start moving again. He fastens his mouth to Erik's nipple and sucks, and his mind reaches out for Erik's, a soft whisper of // Yes // while his mouth is full. Erik meets and answers it with a // Yes, Charles // of his own. Charles closes his eyes and keeps going, tip of his tongue gently flicking against the hard nub.
// Tell me what you want, // Charles thinks--not an order, a request. // Please. Let me please you... //
// You are. You do please me. // But there's a ghost of an image that Erik doesn't quite suppress enough, and Charles doesn't think it's cheating to act on it, not really. He moves up from Erik's nipple and nuzzles the side of his neck, coaxing Erik to turn his head to the side. When Erik does, Charles puts his teeth down--lightly, so very very lightly--and bites, gently, always gentle, just a little scrape of teeth on Erik's skin.
"Yes," Erik growls. He strokes his hand down Charles's back, and Charles keeps going, biting gently, licking over the last bite before going on to the next, moving down Erik's neck and over his shoulder. Erik's still breathing fast, under him, and now Charles wants nothing so much as he wants more of that: more of those sounds, more of Erik's body rocking up underneath his, Erik taking pleasure from Charles's mouth and his hands and his body.
He slides a hand up Erik's other side, moving his fingers up and down, caressing him. Every inch is there to be savored and lingered over; every curve, every plane, every muscle. Dimly, the thought occurs to him that he's never spent an evening like this one with one of his tops or leathermen, but the thought sinks under the surface quickly, replaced by the urge to do more, touch more, taste more, please more.
He's breathing pretty hard himself when he finally comes up for air, and when he lifts himself up on his hands and looks down at Erik, Erik brushes his hair back off his forehead and smiles at him. Another one of those moments where Charles feels warm all over; that smile says everything, and he doesn't need his telepathy to know he's done a good job.
"Care to do more?" Erik asks him.
"Oh, God, please, yes," Charles answers. "What else can I do for you?"
"Get my jeans off. Just my jeans."
// Oh, thank God. // Too late, he realizes he was projecting that, but Erik doesn't answer. If his smirk is a little broader, Charles isn't inclined to mind. He unbuttons Erik's fly and slips Erik's jeans off his hips, and he licks his lips as he looks at the outline of Erik's cock, fully hard beneath his underwear.
// Go on, // Erik says. He props himself up on an elbow and reaches out; Charles meets him halfway, and Erik puts a hand on the back of Charles's neck. // Easy. Slow. You're serving, Charles; remember that. //
// Serving... // Charles lowers himself between Erik's legs and takes a deep breath. Erik's scent is stronger here, richer, and Charles spends a few moments just taking it in. Then he opens his mouth wide and licks a broad, heavy stripe from Erik's balls all the way up to the tip of his shaft, his tongue dragging a little over the cotton. Erik tightens his hand on the back of Charles's neck and holds him at the tip, letting Charles press his open mouth there and breathe hot air against Erik's cock.
// Good, // Erik tells him. // Again. //
Charles starts all over, licking from balls to tip, holding steady at the top and breathing there.
// Again, // Erik thinks, and now it's a rhythm, something Charles can settle into. Lick. Breathe. Breathe. Erik's hand, squeezing the back of his neck. Again. He closes his eyes, sinks into the rhythm, and he doesn't even care that he can't taste Erik, not fully, not now. What he needs is here: his tongue, the taste of damp cotton over Erik's arousal, Erik's strong fingers on his neck, the orders. He's not projecting words at Erik anymore; now there's just a low hum, a mental purr of satisfaction as he does his job and does it well.
"Take them off," Erik murmurs. "Don't break rhythm for longer than you have to."
Charles skims Erik's underwear off his hips and tosses them aside, and then he's back between Erik's legs, ready to go again.
The minute his tongue makes contact with Erik's skin, he moans. He moans all the way up, finally getting to taste Erik, finally getting to leave a long wet stripe up the underside of his cock. Here, just under the head, Erik holds him more tightly than ever, and Charles sucks gently on that spot, earning a soft hiss from Erik when he does.
// Please, // Charles thinks. // Please, Erik. Please. //
Erik's hand goes gentle on the back of his neck, fingertips teasing at the hair just above the nape of his neck. // Why? //
// To please you, // Charles answers, without thinking, and though part of him wonders if it's the right answer, the rest of him quickly quashes that thought. It was the only answer. It's the true answer. It's all he has to offer; he just hopes Erik wants to take it.
// Yes... //
Erik's permission nearly makes Charles sob with the need to act, but he takes it slow all the same, curving his mouth up and over, taking a deep breath before he starts to swallow Erik's cock down. He's careful of his teeth, gentle with his tongue, but when he has a mouthful, he holds still, waiting for more direction.
// Lower, Charles. You can do that. // Erik clutches Charles's hair and drags him down another inch. Charles moans softly and goes, sucking, moving with Erik's grip. And then Erik's moving him, slow, anything but gentle, the tug in Charles's hair giving him nowhere to go but down.
And he doesn't mind. Not at all. He's there for Erik, there so Erik can use him; he doesn't need anything more than Erik's insistent guidance and the knowledge that he's managing to please Erik.
// You're good, // Erik tells him. // You're good, Charles, you please me so very much... //
Charles shapes his thoughts into words, barely. // Thank you. Thank you. Thank you... //
Erik takes a long, deep breath. "I'm going to come," he murmurs. "I'm going to come in your mouth, Charles, and I want you to swallow and lick me clean when I'm done."
// Yes yes yes yes yes, please, yes... //
"You can listen in while I come," Erik says, voice getting progressively harsher, tighter; Charles can tell how close he's gotten just from the sound of his voice.
But listen in--Charles can touch more than just Erik's voice, he can float along with the sensations as Erik comes, and he reaches into Erik's mind to do just that, sucking all the harder, licking, going with the motion as Erik moves his head.
Erik rocks his hips up, cock pressing deeply into Charles's mouth, and Charles can feel all the swirling, decadent satisfaction Erik has from using him; it's incredible. Charles shoves his own hips down against the covers, sucking hard as Erik's pleasure reaches a fever pitch, and then Erik's coming, whole being focused on that one long pulse of sensation, the taste of it filling Charles's mouth just as the feel of it blots out everything from his mind. He feels an answering pulse from his own body, but it's different, less important somehow. The forefront of his mind is taken up entirely with the need to serve, to please, and as he licks Erik's cock clean, he's sure he's done exactly that.
Erik pulls him away after a while, and he drags Charles up the bed. Charles can feel a damp stickiness against his cock, but it doesn't matter. When Erik draws Charles into his arms, Charles goes, willingly, resting his head on Erik's chest and letting Erik hold him.
"There, now," Erik murmurs. "Is that what you've been looking for?"
// Yes, // Charles thinks. He's sure his thoughts are fuzzy around the edges, like he's had a lot to drink or has been up for thirty-six hours straight. But there's no sense of discomfort in this, no fear of the next morning's hangover or how much sleep he'll need to catch up on. There's Erik, and that's all. // How did you know? //
"Does it really matter how?" Erik kisses the top of Charles's head. "Will this keep you from going out and risking your neck?"
// This is so much more than that. So much more... //
"Yes," Erik murmurs, and the tone of his voice makes Charles very tempted to peek in and see what's behind that word.
He doesn't. Not tonight. Not in Erik's arms, where he's slowly drifting off to sleep.
-end-