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Charles can’t help it. He tries, he really does. But he has to stop four times while trying to record his latest video, and the fifth time, he gives up halfway through and just puts his head down on the table and laughs helplessly. It’s not the subject that has him giggling. He stopped snickering at the word “penis” when he was eleven years old. It’s the thought of Erik’s face when he sees this particular video. Erik is just going to die. He has already banned Charles from speaking about all the gory details of the animal kingdom at the dinner table, but he has yet to prohibit mating habits. Charles is fairly certain that after this video, Erik is going to regret that oversight very much, and just the thought of the sheer horror on Erik’s face when he learns about ducks, of all things, has Charles leaning against his table in front of his camera, chuckling into his sleeve.
After a minute, he hears the front door open, right on time. A moment later, footsteps echo down the hall and then stop in the doorway. He feels the spike of Erik’s sudden wariness against his mind, along with the clearly-projected, Am I going to regret stepping into this room?
Charles lifts his head long enough to glance at his notes. There’s a picture staring right at him in all its corkscrew glory. Um...no? Come in.
Erik’s mouth says, “No,” but his mind grudgingly acquiesces because he’s been out of town at a GSA convention for the past two days and he misses his husband. Charles smiles at the sentiment because he’s missed Erik, too, more than he thought possible, after six years of being married. He’s used to the conventions by now, but he’s still not used to the restless loneliness that settles when Erik’s not there to share his bed by the end of the day.
“Anything interesting happen while I was gone?” Erik asks as he steps into the room.
“No,” Charles answers, lifting his head from the table. “Well, yes. Raven called. She and Hank are apparently back together.”
Erik rolls his eyes. “That’s not interesting. It happens every week.”
“Every month.”
“Same thing.” He crosses over and leans down to wrap his arms around Charles’s neck from behind, kissing Charles’s hair, then his ear. “I missed you. I was thinking of all the things I’d do to you when I got home and--” He freezes. Charles bites down on his lip hard to keep from bursting out into laughter. “Charles, what the fuck is that?”
“What is what?” Charles asks innocently, blinking what he knows are wide, innocuous blue eyes up at Erik, determined to play this up for the full effect.
He feels Erik’s mind flicker through emotions like a rolodex--surprise at what he’s seeing, instinctive incredulousness at Charles not knowing what he means, realization that Charles knows exactly what he means, annoyance at Charles both for the Innocent Act (yes, capital letters, Charles is fairly proud of himself) and at the fact that Charles is probably listening in to all of this anyway, and then comes the grim determination from Erik to see this through, which Charles perhaps loves best.
“What the fuck,” Erik repeats himself slowly and calmly, though silently he’s blasting each word at Charles directly like a mental bullhorn, “is that.” He points at Charles’ computer screen so that this time there is no chance to misunderstand what he is talking about.
“Oh, that,” Charles says, adopting his brightest tone and his best fervid look, “is a duck penis.”
“A duck penis,” Erik deadpans.
Charles nods enthusiastically. “Male ducks have a corkscrewed penis, did you know? It’s also literally what you could call explosive--”
STOP, Erik projects loudly, while he mutters, “I’m going to be ill.”
That’s what you get for drinking all that beer at the convention, Charles replies matter-of-factly, while aloud he continues brightly, “No, no, it’s true. See here, it’s slowed down by a factor of ten. Watch this.” He clicks play on the video, with perhaps far too much delight.
This has nothing to do with the beer. “No, I’m not watching it,” Erik says flatly, and turns his head away completely.
That’s easy to fix. Charles helps him anyway by watching it himself, and then projecting the entire thing in HD straight into Erik’s brain. They both watch--Charles in fascination, and Erik in horror--as the duck penis shoots out, spiraling into full length across the screen. And that’s not enough; the video continues, rewinding and replaying again, then again, with different angles and different speeds, until Erik finally breaks and begs, “Oh god, Charles, please stop.”
“Are you sure? You haven’t even seen the best part. The female genitalia is where it gets really interesting--”
“STOP!”
Charles pouts. “All right, all right. Fine.” He glances at the screen again, and just as the first image of the duck vagina appears, he cuts off the projection and pauses the video. Behind him, Erik doesn’t move for a very long moment. His thoughts are blank. It’s a defense mechanism, Charles has found. He just very deliberately doesn’t think, and that’s usually enough to keep Charles’s latest biological monstrosity at bay, at least for a while. More than once, Charles has thought about having mercy and scrubbing some of the more horrifying facts from Erik’s memory, but it’s just so damn amusing to see stoic, fearless Erik Lehnsherr brought low by Nature’s most prosaic designs.
Well. Corkscrew penis. Not so prosaic after all.
“I’m not even sure why I ask every time,” Erik mutters finally. “It’s like I never learn my lesson.”
Charles swivels in his chair to face him. “I let you talk to me about your rocks all the time.”
“My rocks aren’t freaky and unnatural!”
Charles laughs. “Erik, are you even listening to yourself? Ducks are nothing if not natural. You should see the evolutionary basis to these sexual behaviors--really quite extraordinary stuff--”
“I’m making dinner,” Erik says loudly, plugging his ears as he strides for the door, “and I’m not coming back until you put those things away.”
You know putting your fingers in your ears does nothing to silence me, Charles says in amusement as he walks out.
You say anything else, and I won’t make macaroni and cheese, Erik threatens.
Damn. He always knows where to hit where it hurts the most. “Fine,” Charles calls out loud. “If that’s the way you want to play it.”
No other way to play it when you’re being an ass, Erik says sourly. He disappears down the hall, and Charles tracks his mind to the kitchen, where he pulls a pot out from the overhead cabinet and sets to work.
I’m not being an ass, I’m being enthusiastic about my work, Charles replies as he scoots his chair back up to his desk and shuffles his notes around. He glances up at the video, still frozen on the image of a duck vagina, and can’t help the huge grin that spreads across his face. Be grateful, I didn’t even show you the worst of it.
I don’t want to know, Erik snaps vehemently.
Charles considers sending him a detailed projection anyway, but he can sense that Erik’s truly close to the edge, and Charles would really rather not spend the first night of Erik’s return sleeping on the couch. So he just reorganizes his notes and tries again--twice--to record this week’s edition of Charles Xavier’s Groovy Facts. He can’t quite get past the corkscrew business without grinning like an idiot, so he eventually pushes his papers away and decides to pick this up later. He’s perfectly capable of being a mature adult. Just...not right now.
He puts his computer to sleep and wanders down the hallway to find Erik standing in the middle of the kitchen with a horde of kitchen utensils floating around him, whipping up what looks like a salad in one bowl and pasta in a pot. Erik dices tomatoes on a cutting board by hand, all the while maintaining enough concentration to keep the kitchen in a constant flurry of motion. Charles leans in the doorway for a long few minutes, enjoying, as always, Erik at his most comfortable. There’s nothing more relaxing to Erik than inventing his concoctions in the kitchen or sitting in his study glaring at his rocks. Charles will never understand Erik’s fascination with dirt and stones, but that’s all right, because he knows Erik doesn’t quite have Charles’s same appreciation for all things biology either. Case in point: duck penises. But Charles still loves him, even if he does happen to hate most living things.
“I can feel you thinking from here,” Erik says without turning around. His outward tone is still stiff, like an affronted cat, but inwardly his thoughts are pleased that Charles has chosen to wander into the kitchen early.
“My apologies,” Charles says dryly, but he goes over and steps up behind Erik, because it’s his turn for a come-from-behind hug. Erik’s a little too tall for Charles to aspire to things like resting his chin on Erik’s shoulder without standing up on his toes, but Charles is comfortable enough with resting his forehead against Erik’s firm, broad back and breathing in his comfortable, familiar scent. “I’ll try to keep the thinking to a minimum.”
“No,” Erik says, surprisingly adamant, his mind snapping shut on the thought like a steel trap, shredding the mere idea to pieces. “I like it when you think.”
He’s delivered the words in his usual blunt, brusque way but Charles still finds that he’d be hard-pressed to keep from smiling in response, a wash of warmth flooding through him from head to foot. Erik catches the tail end of it, in tune with Charles as he always is, and he brushes his mind up against Charles’ fondly, a more friendly cat, and for a few minutes they stay like that, pressed close mentally and physically, basking in each other’s presence quietly. With both of their temperaments--and, Charles will ruefully admit, egos--sometimes their relationship is, for lack of a better term, rocky, but in moments like these which come often enough, Charles is always blissfully happy in the knowledge that he and Erik are right together.
He presses a soft kiss in between Erik’s shoulder blades and then steps back, letting go of him so that Erik can finish preparing dinner while Charles sees to getting plates out and pouring them each a glass of wine. They stay in companionable silence, content with each other’s nearby closeness after being apart, and already Charles feels like the house is less hollow with Erik’s mind to help take up space alongside his own.
Charles is admiring the view of Erik’s ass in the air as the metallokinetic digs through their fridge in search of the salad dressing when Erik ruins his fun by absently sending him an impression of checking the pasta on the stove, so Charles dutifully tears his eyes away from checking out a hot piece of ass and moves over to stir the pot, peering down at the boiling noodles.
“Bubbling away like magma,” he reports cheerfully. Maybe Erik will even appreciate the reference.
Erik straightens so fast that he nearly hits his head on the freezer. “It’s not called magma if it’s reached the earth’s surface.”
Charles rolls his eyes. “Lava, then. Whatever.”
“No, not whatever,” Erik says, turning around to face him. Even without looking Charles can feel Erik’s narrowed gaze boring into the back of his head. “You wouldn’t like it if I started mixing up the genus and the species, would you?”
“For god’s sake, it was a joke, Erik, not an amatuer blunder in someone’s research paper,” Charles answers, “I didn’t mean to mortally offend you.”
“No, you managed that well enough with the ducks,” Erik mutters, shutting the fridge perhaps far harder than necessary.
“Well, maybe it offends me that you go around uneducated about the finer aspects of duck genitalia,” Charles says in his best posh voice, mostly to stir Erik up further because he honestly can’t help it. “Why do I have to listen to your long lectures on your rocks but you won’t give me five seconds about duck penises?”
“You know I hate all living things,” Erik growls. “Anytime I see something like a kitten, all I want to do is step on it.”
“That’s horrible!”
“No, that’s survival of the fittest,” Erik says with entirely too much satisfaction. “Rocks, on the other hand, you can step on. Break into pieces. Heat up and remelt back down and when they cool again? Still rocks. Still superior.”
“Did you seriously just say that rocks are superior?” Charles casts a dubious glance back over his shoulder.
“Yes,” Erik says, and thinks the word very loudly in bold colors. Charles needs more wine for this shit. “Rocks are the only reason we’re even here, Charles. Geologists have undertaken the most important area of study one can ever hope to be in.”
“Wait,” Charles says, turning away from the pot completely, “are you moving on to suggest now that geologists are better than biologists?”
Erik snorts. “That’s a well-known fact.”
It’s Charles’ turn to narrow his eyes. “You may want to rethink that.”
“I don’t think I do,” Erik answers, practically oozing smugness, “you’re studying duck penises while I am studying geomagnetism and geomagnetic polar reversals, with paleosecular variation, intensity, and magnetic susceptibility.”
“Ah yes,” Charles says icily, “that sounds about as earth-shattering as a meteorite, Erik.”
“Yes, technically, a meteor could be earth-shattering,” Erik says snippily, “so it’s a lot more relevant than duck penises.”
“You forgot the duck vaginas, too,” Charles says sweetly, watching in delight as Erik blanches, “they’re the reason male ducks have corkscrew penises in the first place.”
A cooling igneous rock obtains a thermoremanent magnetization from the Earth’s field, Erik thinks loudly. TRM is how paleomagnetists are able to measure the direction and magnitude of the ancient Earth’s magnetic field.
Charles bats the thought away like a gnat, grinning. “Female ducks have corkscrew vaginas, which makes mutual corkscrewing rather difficult.”
Erik stares at him, mouthing the words ‘mutual corkscrewing’ while Charles hears him think the words silently, his grin growing even wider at Erik’s expression. Not even geology can save you now, Charles says to him, it’s too late for you. You’re imagining it.
Maybe this is pushing it a bit far, but it’s too late to stop now so to further emphasize his point Charles reaches over to the corkscrew he’d just employed to open their bottle of wine, holding it up triumphantly. Then he gets to watch as the spiral begins to melt, losing its shape and dripping down the plastic grip--though at least Erik is courteous enough to keep it from getting on his hand.
“Now that’s just childish,” Charles says, tossing the now-useless thing onto the counter.
“It got you to stop,” Erik replies pointedly.
“Oh, I can continue,” Charles assures him, “I haven’t even finished recording my video yet. I still have plenty of facts to divulge.”
“You should do one of those things on rocks,” Erik mutters. “That would be real education.”
“Rocks are boring,” Charles says loftily, “so no.”
“Boring?” Erik demands. He puts the salad dressing down entirely. It’s about to get real. “How are they boring? Do you even understand what we’re standing on right now, what’s going on constantly beneath our feet--”
“No, but I can’t see that, can I?” Charles asks flippantly. “And the stuff I can see...well. Rocks just sort of sit there, don’t they? Woo.”
“You’re missing the point,” Erik snaps.
“No,” Charles says, unable to keep a straight face any longer and starting to laugh, “I rather think you’re missing the point, Erik.”
Erik glares at him. There’s an anger roiling deep in his mind, though it’s more irritation than true ire. They’ve had these arguments a million times over. Neither of them ever really comes out on top--well, not in a literal way, that is, and that’s a bad line of thought because now Charles is staring at Erik’s lips, then at the way his throat flexes as he swallows a couple of times, trying to choose the right words for a rebuttal. Almost involuntarily, he takes a step forward, and as he does, Erik steps back. “No,” he says firmly.
Charles arches an eyebrow. “No?”
“No, you are not winning this argument like that.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t act innocent, Charles,” Erik growls. “I know what you’re doing.”
What am I doing, Erik? Charles purrs as he closes the distance between them. Erik tries to retreat, but he’s right up against the counter and there’s nowhere to go. Charles presses up close, chest to chest, fitting his hips against Erik’s legs, and leans up to brush his lips against Erik’s jaw. Tell me, what am I doing?
He can’t see Erik’s face, but his husband does a very good impression of a mental glare. Charles ignores it in favor of cupping both hands at Erik’s nape and drawing him down for a slow, deep kiss. It’s been two long days without this, so Charles makes sure to enjoy it, remembering all over again the taste of Erik’s lips, the way Erik kisses so confidently, so swiftly. He never hesitates to press back, to give as good as he gets, and Charles loves that about him. He has never felt anything less than equal when he’s with Erik, even if they sometimes squabble like wild dogs over scraps, even if Erik entertains the charming idea that a pile of rocks is more important than living creatures.
Erik breaks the kiss with a frown. “I heard that.”
“Whoops,” Charles says unrepentantly. He lets his grin turn wicked. “What are you going to do about it?”
Erik slides a glance over his shoulder at the pasta. “That’s going to burn.”
“Then turn off the stove.”
“Then it’ll get cold.”
“We’ll reheat it,” Charles says in exasperation. “We do own a microwave, you know.” He steps back and tugs on Erik’s wrist. “I haven’t seen you in two days. I’m not allowed to want a little loving?”
“The food...”
“Lava,” Charles says.
Erik’s eyes narrow. “Don’t.”
“Or is it magma?” Charles asks, canting his head thoughtfully. “I can never remember. Is magma the red hot stuff or is lava the thing that goes under the rocks? I seem to remember that they’re both hot.”
Erik’s thoughts are laced with obscenities. Charles smirks and leans over to switch the stove off, brushing his hip against Erik’s groin as he does. “You can stand here and finish dinner,” Charles says, “or you can come teach me the truth about your precious lava. I will take a refusal as tacit agreement that biology’s importance supersedes that of geology.”
Fuck you, Erik thinks peevishly.
That is the plan, dearest, Charles answers as he turns to flounce off out of the kitchen. Before he makes it two steps though, his arm is yanked back behind him, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He turns to frown at the hold Erik has on his watch, tightening enough around his wrist to halt him but not tightly enough to hurt.
“Yes?” he asks, raising his eyebrow.
“I mean,” Erik says, reeling him back in until Charles’ back hits his chest, “how about I fuck you against this counter so I can keep an eye on the pasta at the same time?”
Charles shivers at the low, rough edge to Erik’s voice. Already he’s half-breathless. “That sounds...excellent.”
“Good.” Erik nuzzles Charles’ hair, then nips at the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. Charles purrs at the feeling of teeth scraping lightly against his skin and arches up into the contact, his hands reaching back and finding Erik’s hair, pushing his head down closer. Erik pulls aside the collar of his shirt, exposing pale skin and dark freckles. Missed you, he thinks as he kisses his neck, his back. Wish you’d called more often.
You were in your conference, Charles says. And I was busy. With my--
Don’t. Don’t ruin it.
Charles smirks. I would never. He reaches back to their left to switch the stove back on. Erik eyes him until he says, I thought you liked a challenge. That earns him a bruising kiss under his jaw, which will definitely leave a mark later and complicate Charles’ video recording of the week. His viewers always get so excited when they see evidence of Charles’ sex life, though Charles can’t fathom for the life of him why. Erik likes providing them with something to gawk at, in any case, and Charles sighs and resigns himself to the flood of comments he’ll likely receive about his hickey, rather than about the marvelous adaptations of ducks over the generations.
Forever stealing my thunder, he thinks to Erik mournfully.
Erik pauses. What?
Nothing, darling. Keep going.
Erik tugs at the hem of his shirt, and Charles lifts his arms helpfully. Together, they manage to divest themselves of their shirts and Charles’ jeans, leaving Erik in his slacks and Charles in his boxers. Turning to face Erik, Charles glances over at the stove and asks, “Are you supposed to be stirring this?”
“Charles...” Erik growls.
“No, honestly.”
“Honestly, no.”
Charles grins. “Liar. If the pasta burns, I’m blaming you.”
“And who is distracting me again?” Erik huffs.
Charles fixes him with his most innocent, wide-eyed stare. “Who, me?”
“You’re impossible,” Erik mutters, yanking Charles in close again. He dips his head to bite Charles’ collarbone. And even when you’re infuriating, you’re perfect.
Charles flushes. You just want to fuck the smugness out of me.
There is that, Erik agrees. His hands trace the waistband of Charles’ boxers, tugging at the elastic.
Then he stops. Charles bucks a little against his hand. Keep going.
“Maybe,” Erik says aloud, “I won’t touch you until you admit that geology is more important than biology.”
“Maybe,” Charles counters, “I’ll tell you that a duck’s penis detaches after the mating season is over. And when it grows back--”
Erik claps a hand over his mouth, his eyes wide. “No.”
--when it grows back, its length is decided by how many rivals it encountered the previous season, Charles continues. So if it encountered many--
“For the love of god, stop.”
Only one way to shut me up, darling, Charles says smugly, and talking isn’t it.
Erik pivots so that Charles’ back is to the counter and pushes him up hard against the marble surface. “If I take you right up here against the counter,” he growls in Charles’ ear, “will you still have the energy to talk?”
I will always have the energy to--
His words cut off in a harsh gasp as Erik sticks his hand down his boxers and grabs at his cock. It’s rough and a little clumsy, but Charles is really half-hard already and he forgets what he was saying when Erik gives him a lazy stroke. He tries to maintain some of his dignity, to keep from thrusting into the circle of Erik’s fingers, but Erik’s terribly good at handjobs and Charles has always been terribly bad at self-control. He can’t help the way his hips snap forward, chasing Erik’s tight grip, but every time he tries, Erik loosens his hand again, withholding the friction that Charles wants.
“You,” Charles pants as he leans over onto the counter, “suck.”
“No, you suck, darling,” Erik says pleasantly, pressing his chest to Charles’ back. “Say one more word about a duck penis and see if I let you come tonight.”
Charles wants desperately to take another jab at him, but he also wants desperately--more desperately--to get off. So he clamps his lips shut and promises himself that he’ll bide his time. Turning the tables on Erik is easy because six years of marriage has taught Charles all his weaknesses. He only has to wait for Erik to let his guard down. Until then, he’s perfectly willing to play the defeated party.
“That’s what I thought,” Erik says, slowly beginning to pump Charles again. He keeps going until Charles is panting against the marble, his cheek pressed flat against the cool surface, his hands gripping the edges of the countertop. So easy to take you apart, Erik thinks, deep satisfaction thrumming through him. He lets his fingers slide all the way to the tip of Charles’ cock and thumbs the slit. Charles shudders and gasps wetly, thrusting shallowly and--
“I think I should stir now,” Erik says, pulling his hand unceremoniously from Charles’ boxers.
Charles growls in frustration. “Fuck you, Erik.”
“We wouldn’t want the pasta to burn, would we?” he says sweetly as he summons over a ladle and dips it into the pot.
“We wouldn’t want me to take myself off to the shower and jerk off and then get into bed without you, would we?” Charles returns spitefully, straightening.
Erik glances at him. “You wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure. I’ve been taking care of myself for the last two days, I can do it for another.”
So saying, he turns on his heel to leave, hoping he strikes a miffed, offended figure, even if he’s fairly certain Erik doesn’t take him seriously when he’s in nothing but his boxers. But Erik tugs him back again by his watch, and Charles exclaims, “I swear to god, I’m going to start wearing that leather watch Raven got me for Christmas, and you’re going to stop pulling me around like I’m a dog on a leash.”
“That leather watch was a gag gift,” Erik points out. “It’s got the Teletubbies on it.”
“The Teletubbies aren’t half as annoying as you,” Charles grumbles.
Erik clicks his tongue. “Now you don’t mean that.”
“I do mean--”
Erik yanks him back so hard that Charles loses his footing. He stumbles straight into Erik, who catches him neatly under his arms and presses his hips forward, the outline of his cock clear against the fabric of his slacks, digging into the small of Charles’ back. “Now surely you don’t mean that,” he repeats slyly.
“You’re using your cock as leverage,” Charles says. “Not fair.”
Erik pushes his boxers down, leaving them to pool at Charles’ feet. Charles shivers as the cool air of the kitchen hits his newly-exposed skin, contrasting sharply against the heat of his erection. “Cold?” Erik asks in his ear as he drops his slacks and his underwear in one motion. “Want me to warm you up? We could cuddle. We could--”
He’s teasing, and Charles loses his patience. He turns and kisses Erik hard, teeth nipping at Erik’s lips, almost hard enough to draw blood. Or you could fuck me, he suggests. Just a thought.
Erik’s body is a long, hard line behind him and he remains frustratingly still, almost like a predator considering what to do with its prey now that it’s cornered. Charles remains suspended in breathless anticipation, because he can feel Erik’s mind rifling through his options and despite evidence to the contrary Charles still does love a good surprise.
Which is why he gasps when Erik shoves him forward, his arms flailing forward to catch himself on the edge of the counter and keep himself from knocking his own face in.
“That’ll do,” Erik notes, and then thinks, On second thought...
Charles gives a full-body shudder when two knives pull themselves out of the knife block nearby, twisting and melting in midair before the liquid metal wraps itself around each of his wrists and then fuses down to the marble, holding him fast in place. He gives an experimental tug but he’s completely stuck, bent over slightly and gripping the counter with no chance of escape unless Erik feels like letting him go.
Alright? Erik asks him silently, running his hands up and down Charles’ sides.
More than, Charles confirms, twisting a little back and forth, “Although it would be better if you would do something.”
Erik sends him a wave of amusement, trailing one hand up and around to Charles’ spine, running his fingers down along each vertebrae until his hand rests lightly in the small of Charles’ back, just above his ass. With the other Charles feels him reach up into the cabinet overhead, digging around with purposeful intent.
“What are you--”
“Relax,” Erik says, and Charles feels the spark of triumph in his mind when he finds whatever he’s looking for, “I’m doing something.”
Charles gives him the sensation of his ass being pinched but otherwise remains still, keeping his head turned forward even when Erik’s hand leaves his skin. He hears Erik unscrewing a cap, and automatically spreads his legs a little wider. His cock hangs hard and heavy between his legs, aching to be touched and leaking precome, but Charles waits for whatever Erik has planned.
He jumps a little when he feels something cool being poured down onto him, and lets out a soft whine when it begins to slowly drip down his ass, both across his cheeks and down through his crack. Whatever it is seems thicker than just plain sauce--and it has to be sauce of some kind, if it came from the cabinet overhead--because it takes impossibly long for it to drip down him.
“Sweet and sour sauce always reminds me of you,” Erik says, tracing one finger through the sauce. Charles has a strong suspicion that he’s writing his own name out across his ass. “It fits you perfectly since you’re both sweet and sour.”
“Wow, Erik, I didn’t know you were a poet,” Charles says, bone dry.
Erik sends him another mental eyeroll, his two large hands coming up to bracket Charles’ hips, thumbs tracing wide circles around his bones. Then Charles feels him kneel down, hands sliding back to grip each side of Charles’ ass to hold him open, bare and exposed, and Charles has a split second to realize exactly what Erik intends to do before he feels a warm puff of air against his hole followed by the wet, warm press of a tongue.
“God,” he chokes out as Erik licks him, running the tip of his tongue around the edge of Charles’ entrance twice before licking across his hole, mixing sauce with spit until Charles is dripping wet. Charles struggles in Erik’s hold, caught deliriously between escaping the sensation and pressing back for more, but Erik holds him steady in place with both his hands on Charles’ ass as well as the metal holding Charles’ hands down on the counter.
Erik pushes his tongue inside Charles and Charles’ insides go liquid, his legs quivering as he tilts his head back and moans, loud and obscene, and Erik twists his tongue inside him at his most intimate spot, covering Charles’ hole with his entire mouth and lips as he drives Charles wild. Charles arches his back where he stands on shaky legs, rocking back and forth in Erik’s grip and fucking himself on Erik’s tongue. He feels vaguely disconnected from his body, at this stage of heightened pleasure, caught between his own curdling arousal and rushing adrenaline coursing through his body and then Erik’s thoughts running parallel to his own, how much he’s enjoying this, taking Charles apart with just his tongue, feeling Charles writhing against him and come for me, Charles, come on darling--
Charles comes with a scream, his vision whiting out for a moment while he shoots off white and sticky, splattering the cupboards in front of him. Erik pulls back off of him a little ways, gently supporting him when his legs threaten to give out, watery and weak as limp noodles as Charles comes down from the high of euphoria.
“So good, Charles,” he hears Erik murmuring, along with other soft words of affection as he strokes Charles’ thigh. Charles can barely hear past the pleasant buzz in his head as he shivers through the aftershocks of orgasm, sweaty and sated. “You were so good for me.”
“Hng,” is all Charles can muster up aloud. If he were a cat, he’d be purring by this point. That was...that was...
“Speechless both aloud and up here,” Erik says wryly as he stands, tapping Charles’ temple gently before wrapping both of his arms around Charles’ chest, “so it can be done.” He reeks of smug satisfaction, and Charles feels him drag a hand through some of the sauce still smeared across his backside.
I still don’t think geologists are superior, Charles thinks, picking up on the tail end of where Erik’s thoughts are stemming from. They take a rather long time to get to the point, don’t they?
“I wouldn’t say that if I were you,” Erik murmurs into his ear, dipping his head down to mouth at the soft patch of skin just underneath, “you’re still trapped between a rock and a hard place.”
Charles laughs, even as he leans back further into Erik’s embrace. “Oh really?”
“Rock.” Erik raps his knuckles against the marble countertop. “And hard place.”
Charles shouts as Erik enters him, sliding his hot and heavy cock into Charles’ hole in one long slide made easy by spit and sauce. Erik crowds him forward, pushing him up against the already dirty cabinets, difficult at first because of the placement of Charles’ hands but Erik merely yanks them further apart with a low growl, leaving Charles with just enough leverage to brace himself.
“I missed you,” Erik admits, whispering the truth directly into Charles’ ear even though Charles can barely think past the huge, hard cock in his ass stretching him open, “you’re the only tolerable living thing I’ve ever met.”
The words are meant as a joke, and Charles stutters out a laugh breathlessly, but beneath that he can feel the undercurrent of Erik’s seriousness, his need to impress upon Charles that no matter what he may say or how he may act, he truly does love Charles. A little bit more than even his rocks, if he were truly being hard-pressed.
Especially now that I have you right here, Erik thinks, rolling his hips forward, pinned on my cock with nowhere to go--
“Erik,” Charles gasps, pushing back against Erik’s cock buried in his ass as best as he can. His own cock, flaccid from orgasm, is slowly starting to take interest again, thickening between his stomach and the counter where Erik has him trapped.
Erik takes him by the hips again, long fingers splayed out across Charles’ skin like brands, and then begins to thrust hard and fast, slamming into Charles shallowly at first before pushing in deeper and deeper each time. Charles can only take it, caught between Erik and the kitchen counter, leaning his head back against Erik’s shoulder as Erik drives into him.
Erik reaches one hand down between Charles and the counter, wrapping his fingers around Charles’ cock to stroke him in time with every thrust, continuing to fuck into Charles faster and faster, the wet slap of skin echoing slightly through the kitchen along with Charles’ wrecked gasps. Thanks to Erik’s touch Charles’ cock is fully erect again, hard and leaking even so soon after his initial orgasm, and Charles snaps his hips forward into Erik’s perfectly tight grip and then grinds back against the slick burn of Erik’s cock, moving with him.
“You’re perfect,” Erik pants, dragging his hand down the length of Charles’ cock and twisting his wrist at the end to swipe his thumb across the slit, “god, you’re so perfect--”
Charles moans again, jerking in Erik’s grip, and manages to grit out, “And I’m a biologist, too, imagine that--”
Erik doesn’t even grace him with a response, instead changing the angle of his thrusts, fucking up into Charles at just the right slant to nail Charles’ prostate, hammering it until Charles is reduced to incoherence, and it’s all becoming too much; too many sensations all at once and Charles is starting to lose his already tenuous grip on his control. There’s a slow, fiery burn in Charles’ gut that is growing in intensity, ramping up higher and higher until Charles is coming for the second time in a very short while, painting stripes of come across the counter. His legs give out entirely this time so that Erik has to grab him and hold him steady, fucking him through all the way to completion until Charles feels him come as well, deep inside his ass with a burst of wet heat that has him shivering even as he sags limply in Erik’s grasp.
With a flick of his fingers, Erik has the metal wound around Charles’ wrists falling away, clattering onto the counter in misshapen lumps to be fixed later. That taken care of, Erik carefully pulls out of Charles with a wet noise, scooping Charles up easily and taking a few shaky steps backwards to sink down onto the floor, leaned against the opposite row of cabinets with Charles safely curled sideways in his lap. They breathe together for a moment, letting their heart rates level back out again before attempting anything else.
It’s a while before Charles feels as if he’s recovered enough to speak. “I’m glad you’re home.”
Erik groans. “I’m glad I am, too. Sleeping alone was not fun.”
Charles snuggles back against him, relishing his warmth. “Believe me, I know your pain.”
Too spent to get up, they sit there in silence for another long few minutes, Erik pressing lazy kisses everywhere he can reach. Charles arches his neck back to give him more space and smiles as Erik nips at his bare shoulder, then at the spot just below his ear. He wishes they were in bed so they could just curl up together, skip dinner entirely, and just fall asleep. But his stomach is growling, and the tiled floor of the kitchen is chilly against his skin. Eventually, he sits up a little in Erik’s embrace and says, “We should clean up. We’re a mess.”
“We’re always a mess,” Erik says, but he lets Charles pull him up to his feet and then goes to fetch tissues from the box set by the refrigerator. As he goes, Charles leans over to peer into the stove and groans.
“What?” Erik asks.
“What do you mean, what.” Charles points. “I told you the pasta would be burnt.”
“Do I need to remind you who turned the stove back on after we started?” Erik asks, handing him the tissues as he inspects the damage. He presses his lips together in consternation and uses the ladle to scrape up some of the burnt bottom of the pasta. “We aren’t eating this.”
“Unsalvageable?” Charles asks as he wipes his legs free of his own come and Erik’s. He uses another tissue to clean off the counter and the cabinets, glad that messes are easy to scrub off marble and that the cabinets are stain-resistant.
“Not unless you want to be tasting ashes on every bite,” Erik mutters. He sets the ladle down and glances over at the island counter. “At least the salad’s intact.”
Charles pouts. “I wanted macaroni and cheese.”
“Your own fault,” Erik retorts. “Don’t tell me you regret it.”
Charles lets his gaze linger on Erik’s still-naked body as he works at the counter. “No,” he says with a sly grin, “not in the slightest.”
They end up ordering pizza, which Erik grumbles about the entire time since he’s a firm believer in cooking everything for himself and doesn’t trust food from outside sources. Then they pile onto the couch and watch National Geographic, which Erik hates because Charles always tries to explain things to him about the animals that appear on the show. When Charles starts to lecture him on how turkey vultures vomit up their meals in order to distract predators long enough for them to escape, Erik switches off the TV with a flick of his fingers and stews in silence.
“There’s no respect for geology,” he grumps. “You biologists get all the glory. You have TV shows all over the place. You have entire channels devoted to the subject. Where are the geology channels? Where are the children’s shows?”
Charles shifts to bury his cold feet under Erik’s leg. “Kids want to watch animals, Erik. No child wants to sit around and talk about rocks.”
“I wanted to talk about rocks!”
“You were probably not the most representative child out there,” Charles replies, patting his husband’s knee. “But,” he adds hastily at Erik’s glare, “maybe that’s different now. You should pitch an idea.”
“Maybe I should,” Erik sniffs. He glowers at his now-empty plate for another long moment before making a visible effort to shoulder his irritation away. “Later. Tonight, I just want to go to bed with you. I’m too jetlagged to stay awake for long.”
Charles gives him an apologetic smile. “I’d love to go now, darling, but I have to finish my video. You know, the one on--”
Erik nearly leaps off the couch in his haste to get away. “I’ll be in bed,” he says, walking over to deposit his plate in the kitchen sink. “You could join me now...”
Charles sighs. “I’m due for a new episode. It’s Tuesday already.”
“I bet I could convince you to put it off,” Erik calls. He heads out the kitchen and down the hall to their bedroom, and Charles rides along on the edge of his mind, watching as Erik goes to the bathroom, relieves himself, and brushes his teeth. Then he strips off his clothes again and climbs under the covers. As soon as he’s settled, Erik projects a very vivid, very explicit image of Charles pinned on his belly underneath him, his face buried into a pillow, Erik’s cock buried deep into Charles’s upturned ass. Out on the couch, Charles jerks violently and curses.
Erik’s amusement rings like a bell even across the distance. You coming?
Charles thinks of his study, of his notes and of the camera he’s already got set up. His viewers expect him to upload new videos like clockwork, and he’s really already done most of the work. All he’s got is maybe five minutes of footage to be recorded...
...five minutes that can always be done tomorrow morning. His husband’s just come back from a business trip, he reasons as he levers himself up off the couch. He’s entitled to some time to catch up.
He feels the low thrum of Erik’s satisfaction as he enters their bedroom and strips off his pants and shirt. He slips into the bathroom and brushes his teeth, gazing critically at his reflection in the mirror. He looks...pretty well shagged. Erik’s made a mess of his hair, and his lips are tender and even redder than usual. Just how Erik likes them, he thinks ruefully before spitting out the toothpaste and water and rinsing out his mouth.
When he slides into bed, Erik turns around to pull him into his arms, brushing his lips against Charles’ nose. Charles pulls the covers up around them and closes his eyes.
Oh, he says as he feels them both dozing off, I almost forgot. Did you know that there has been a documented case of homosexual necrophilia between two ducks?
Erik is too tired to even be outraged. He cycles through several dim stages, from horror to disgust to weariness to resignation. I’ll make you pay for that in the morning, he says, too sleepy to sound properly spiteful.
Charles grins. Love you, too, darling. He quiets Erik’s mind, smooths down the worries and cares so that Erik will get a full, undisturbed night of rest. Then he lets his own mind stop churning, tucks his face into Erik’s shoulder, and follows him down into a dreamless sleep.