schmerica: ([actor] keira mustache)
[personal profile] schmerica
Crossposting from tumblr, as usual, to satisfy my completist tendencies. As I said there: So sometimes I write stories that are, like, *about* things. And other times, I text [personal profile] pocky_slash to say “I think I should write something about Erik coming in Charles’s hair.”

XMFC, Charles/Erik, ~500 words, nsfw. Modern, no-powered AU.


"Oh come, Charles, don't sulk," Erik called from the bed to where Charles had disappeared into the bathroom. "I'm sorry. It was an accident!"

"One time is an accident," Charles said, voice muffled over the running faucet. "Twice is a *habit.*"

"Look, you're the one who came up with the idea in the first place. You wanted me to mark you, right?"

Which was not to say Erik had objected. He'd been happy to oblige Charles's whims in this, just as he was with every one of Charles's new suggestions - at least in this aspect of their life. When it came to their bedroom activities, Charles seemed to be unceasingly inventive and adventurous, coming up with ideas that would never have occurred to Erik. They weren't always successful, but more often than not they were. And this had been even hotter than Erik had anticipated: Charles on his knees, eyes closed, head tilted back, his mouth hanging open in anticipation as Erik masturbated before him.

It had been amazing, really, right up until Charles's squawk of outrage at the finish.

"Not like this! It's completely different."

"How so?"

"Coming on my face is hot," Charles explained. "Coming on my throat, or my collarbone, striping my skin, *that's* hot. Coming in my hair is, is - disgusting. And frankly, not a little disrespectful."

"Well," Erik said, "you have to admit that seems rather arbitrary."

Erik didn't laugh, but he was sure Charles sense his desire to, a feeling that was confirmed when Charles stuck his head out of the door again to glare. His hair was damp where he'd splashed the water on it, and his face was pink and clean-looking in a way that gave an overall impression of being quite young and innocent, in a way Erik knew quite well to be untrue. Charles was as filthy as he was brilliant, or arrogant, or impossible; innocence had never come into it.

"I thought you said you *like* being degraded a little," Erik said.

"Oh, shut up," Charles said crossly.

"I already apologized. What else do you want?"

Charles leaned against the bathroom doorway, still naked, and gazed at Erik for a few moments, gnawing thoughtfully on his lower lip. "I suppose I could let you make it up to me," he allowed.

"Making it up to him" turned out to involve the toybox under the bed, Charles's favorite dildo (the one that was "*almost*" as big as you," as Charles liked to say admiringly), and then, later, the fetching of a cup of tea and a late snack to be brought back to the bedroom and delivered to Charles, boneless and sated in their bed.

"All right, fine, you're excused," Charles said, half-mumbling the words against Erik's chest. "Just don't let it happen again."

"Yes sir, no sir," Erik said. "Just as you say, sir."

Charles kicked at him, but between Charles's sleepy laziness and their position, prone and wrapped around each other, it was an entirely ineffectual move. Erik tightened his grip around Charles's waist and nuzzled against the top of his head, keeping strictly to himself the observation that the hair there still smelled faintly of jizz.
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