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schmericaWith the Red Roses
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class, Erik/Charles, ~1800 words, NC-17. Content notes: werewolves, always-a-girl!Charles.
Written for A. (mumblemutter) as part of ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
introductory's low-key fic fest. Thank you to cm for encouragement and looking this over ♥
Summary: Not only did Charlotte survive her first transformation to the wolf, but now that she's back in her normal form she still feels completely splendid.
*****
It should be uncomfortable, waking up like this. Even in summer, it gets cool during the nights, especially down here in the dirt, and it's early enough still that the dew is still on the grass. The ground's hard; there's a stone under her right thigh and a twig caught in her hair. It's ridiculous for it to feel this ... comfortable.
Charlotte rolls from her side onto her back, staring up at the canopy of branches above. She's been in every inch of this estate a million times in her childhood, but it all looks new this morning. The sunlight is mostly, but not completely, blocked out, just a few stray beams of sunlight that work their way into the tiny clearing. It gives the entire thing a rather romantic quality - it reminds her of the illustrations in the books she read as a child, fairy stories full of magic. It makes her laugh, thinking about it. A fairy could fit into this scene, she thinks, but only for a moment. Erik thinks the unfamiliar is a threat; she wouldn't put a fairy's chances very high against him, magic or no.
She bites her lip, still smiling, as she runs a hand down her body. There are scrapes and cuts everywhere, from her collarbone, down her breasts and stomach and thighs. They don't hurt, though. The brush of her fingers against them feels good, in a strange way.
God, Charlotte thinks, she feels so alive.
She can't remember anything about the night, not really, nothing of what it was like to be the wolf. It's all just flashes of feeling, the sense of something wild and glorious just outside her grasp. She has so many questions - even more of them now than she had before. It was hard to keep them all in when they just wanted to bubble up through her lips, what and how and why and what else, but - well. Erik has his own reasons to be wary of scientific curiosity, and it hasn't been so long since he stopped looking at her with that guarded expression. She doesn't want to ever be the cause of it again.
She does know this: this is something of Erik's Shaw never did get to study. From what she's gathered from Erik's brief explanation, in its inherited form, the transformation usually begins some time in early puberty, but for Erik it was later - his first time wasn't until a few years after the war. Charlotte has a private hypothesis about that. The transformation has to be very expensive for the body. A luxury like that would be the first thing to go, in a place like the camps, when survival was the only goal.
She turns onto her side again to face Erik. It's an indulgence, getting to look him over in this way. He's like a piece of art. She can imagine him in a museum, just like this, the muscles in his back turned to marble, the long line of his flank, perfectly formed, begging for a touch. The predator at rest.
She knows immediately when he's awake. She's not reading his mind, not in the sense of knowing or viewing his thoughts, but she can always feel his consciousness besides her, the heavy bright weight of it always there. He is good at pretending - his eyes are still closed, of course, and his breathing doesn't change, nor the tension of his body - but she knows better.
"You can't fool me," Charlotte says, running one finger down the line of his jaw. "I know you too well."
He turns his head and catches her finger in his mouth, eyes fluttering open as he does so. She makes a noise that's not quite a sigh.
Erik lets her finger fall from his mouth. "You're all right?" he says, pushing himself up on one elbow to look down at her.
"Perfectly," Charlotte says.
His eyes track down her body - he frowns at her scratches, but honestly, they're nothing serious, and it's not as though Erik doesn't have much the same covering his own skin.
"You're all right," Erik says again. This time it's not a question, more as if he's convincing himself, letting himself believe it.
"I told you," Charlotte says. She can't help grinning at him. "I'm strong, Erik. You know that." She's stronger than Erik is, in so many ways, and both of them know it. It's part of why he loves her.
"I know," Erik says. "I just- I wasn't sure." He swallows, hard, and his eyes go someplace else. He had let her read his mind before he bit her, so she knows what he's thinking of: the girl, back in Israel, the only other time he ever tried to turn someone. Neither of them had quite known what they were doing, they were practically still children, orphans of the war. The girl had been one of those who couldn't take to the wolf; she hadn't lasted the first night.
"It's all right," Charlotte says. She sends it to him, then, a fraction of what she's feeling: the excitement, the joy, the newness and freshness of everything, like all her senses are working at full capacity for the first time in her life.
Erik's eyes widen at he takes it in, along with a deep breath. "Charlotte."
"Yes," she says, stretching under his gaze.
His hand feels hot when he touches her, in contrast with the cool morning air, and it makes her shiver all over. He traces down her arm, and then her side. When he reaches down to her hips he says, "Open your legs," and when she does she can feel how wet she is, the moisture soaking all down her inner thighs. Part of her expects him to tease, but he doesn't, giving her his fingers right away. One, two, three, long and thick, moving inside her, while his thumb plays at her clit. She brings her hand up to her mouth, biting down on the fleshy part of her thumb to avoid yelling out loud.
He could take her apart like this, with just his hand, she thinks. He's done it before, long rainy mornings in her bedroom, all the blankets stripped from the bed, nothing but her and him and that amazing fullness and his dirty whisper full of awe, "Look at you, look at you taking all of that, you pretty thing-"
But not this morning. He lets go of her and she watches while he licks his hand - soaking, it's soaking with her juices, and the noise of his mouth against it is obscene. And then both of his hands are on her hips and he's helping her turn over, raising her up to her hands and knees.
Erik drapes his body over her, skin against skin everywhere he can. "Like this, all right?" he murmurs in her ear. Charlotte can't quite find the words to form an answer, so instead she lets her head hang down, presenting him with her neck.
It makes Erik growl - and the memories from last night, from their other forms, are locked away somewhere where Charlotte can't quite reach them, but that sound is so familiar that for a second she thinks she can almost glimpse what they were like, before she loses it again. Did they do this last night, coming together as nothing but animals? Surely they must have. The idea is thrilling and disturbing, all at once.
Erik's inside her, and it feels - he feels even bigger this way. He's not being gentle with her, either, not taking it slow. He's fucking her like he can't do anything else, rutting against her with a animal desperation like he can't even think about anything else, like there's nothing else in the world, and she can feel him everywhere, and it should be too much, it should be too far, but somehow it's not. She scrabbles her fingernails into the dirt, holding on for dear life.
He bites down on her shoulder, hard, and doesn't let go, and she wonders if it's going to break the skin, if his teeth prints will stay there, if he's marking her-
She's so close to orgasm now she can't stand it, and so she cheats, just the slightest bit, letting herself go just a little further into Erik's mind-
Possession mine mine beautiful possession. Erik's thoughts repeat, steady and unstoppable like a locomotive engine, a solid block of fierce single-minded desire, and it's exactly what Charlotte wants, exactly what she needs, and she comes, shaking around him and gasping.
Her arms seem to stop working, then, but Erik catches her before she can fall forward, one arm circling around her chest and holding her up, close against him. There's no break, no pause in his rhythm as he fucks her, and Charlotte feels a little lost, like there's nothing but the two of them intertwined like this, nothing but Erik's rough pants in her ear, his teeth on her skin, his cock in her cunt. As if there was nothing before this and there will be nothing after.
But everything ends, even this, and Erik holds her close, gripping her hips painfully tight as he spills himself inside her. They both collapse together in a pile, though Erik manages to arrange it somehow so that he is the one who is mostly touching the ground, while Charlotte rests almost entirely on top of him. She rearranges herself to be more comfortable, until she can see Erik's face, and then she kisses him for a long time.
"Do you want me to-" Erik starts, his hand coming down to cup her mons. She thinks about it for a moment - she's still wet from his come; there's few things either of them like better than him going down on her like this, tasting himself everywhere on her - but ... no. It's too soon. She's too sensitive, after sex like that. Another one would be too much.
She shakes her head. "Later," she says, though, and she pecks his lips to seal the promise. "Right now I'm starving."
Erik looks around, as if to study the food options in the trees around them. She gives him a light shove.
"Breakfast," she says. "Back at the house. Sausage and eggs and bacon and toast and tea. Find our clothes."
Erik closes his eyes. She can see his concentration in the way the lines in his face deepen, that slight strain - much lighter now, after their training, but still there. Erik's not old; he's not got more than two or three years on Charlotte, truly, but he looks older than he is, all of his experiences, all of his efforts shown on the worn grooves of his face. Charlotte finds it rather beautiful, but she's well aware of how far gone she is, anyway.
After a minute or two, a pair of trousers and a shirt float slowly into the clearly and lie themselves down beside Charlotte without ceremony. "I can't get your dress," Erik says, his eyes still closed. "Couldn't you have worn something with a zipper?"
"Next time I will," Charlotte says. "Go get it for me, won't you."
"I'm comfortable like this," Erik says, so she shoves him again, a little harder.
"Go."
He sighs, but he gets to his feet, and as he walks away Charlotte admires his naked body once again. She feels nothing but satisfaction, bursting out of her everywhere, from the top of her head to the very tips of her toes.
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class, Erik/Charles, ~1800 words, NC-17. Content notes: werewolves, always-a-girl!Charles.
Written for A. (
mumblemutter) as part of introductory's low-key fic fest. Thank you to cm for encouragement and looking this over ♥Summary: Not only did Charlotte survive her first transformation to the wolf, but now that she's back in her normal form she still feels completely splendid.
*****
It should be uncomfortable, waking up like this. Even in summer, it gets cool during the nights, especially down here in the dirt, and it's early enough still that the dew is still on the grass. The ground's hard; there's a stone under her right thigh and a twig caught in her hair. It's ridiculous for it to feel this ... comfortable.
Charlotte rolls from her side onto her back, staring up at the canopy of branches above. She's been in every inch of this estate a million times in her childhood, but it all looks new this morning. The sunlight is mostly, but not completely, blocked out, just a few stray beams of sunlight that work their way into the tiny clearing. It gives the entire thing a rather romantic quality - it reminds her of the illustrations in the books she read as a child, fairy stories full of magic. It makes her laugh, thinking about it. A fairy could fit into this scene, she thinks, but only for a moment. Erik thinks the unfamiliar is a threat; she wouldn't put a fairy's chances very high against him, magic or no.
She bites her lip, still smiling, as she runs a hand down her body. There are scrapes and cuts everywhere, from her collarbone, down her breasts and stomach and thighs. They don't hurt, though. The brush of her fingers against them feels good, in a strange way.
God, Charlotte thinks, she feels so alive.
She can't remember anything about the night, not really, nothing of what it was like to be the wolf. It's all just flashes of feeling, the sense of something wild and glorious just outside her grasp. She has so many questions - even more of them now than she had before. It was hard to keep them all in when they just wanted to bubble up through her lips, what and how and why and what else, but - well. Erik has his own reasons to be wary of scientific curiosity, and it hasn't been so long since he stopped looking at her with that guarded expression. She doesn't want to ever be the cause of it again.
She does know this: this is something of Erik's Shaw never did get to study. From what she's gathered from Erik's brief explanation, in its inherited form, the transformation usually begins some time in early puberty, but for Erik it was later - his first time wasn't until a few years after the war. Charlotte has a private hypothesis about that. The transformation has to be very expensive for the body. A luxury like that would be the first thing to go, in a place like the camps, when survival was the only goal.
She turns onto her side again to face Erik. It's an indulgence, getting to look him over in this way. He's like a piece of art. She can imagine him in a museum, just like this, the muscles in his back turned to marble, the long line of his flank, perfectly formed, begging for a touch. The predator at rest.
She knows immediately when he's awake. She's not reading his mind, not in the sense of knowing or viewing his thoughts, but she can always feel his consciousness besides her, the heavy bright weight of it always there. He is good at pretending - his eyes are still closed, of course, and his breathing doesn't change, nor the tension of his body - but she knows better.
"You can't fool me," Charlotte says, running one finger down the line of his jaw. "I know you too well."
He turns his head and catches her finger in his mouth, eyes fluttering open as he does so. She makes a noise that's not quite a sigh.
Erik lets her finger fall from his mouth. "You're all right?" he says, pushing himself up on one elbow to look down at her.
"Perfectly," Charlotte says.
His eyes track down her body - he frowns at her scratches, but honestly, they're nothing serious, and it's not as though Erik doesn't have much the same covering his own skin.
"You're all right," Erik says again. This time it's not a question, more as if he's convincing himself, letting himself believe it.
"I told you," Charlotte says. She can't help grinning at him. "I'm strong, Erik. You know that." She's stronger than Erik is, in so many ways, and both of them know it. It's part of why he loves her.
"I know," Erik says. "I just- I wasn't sure." He swallows, hard, and his eyes go someplace else. He had let her read his mind before he bit her, so she knows what he's thinking of: the girl, back in Israel, the only other time he ever tried to turn someone. Neither of them had quite known what they were doing, they were practically still children, orphans of the war. The girl had been one of those who couldn't take to the wolf; she hadn't lasted the first night.
"It's all right," Charlotte says. She sends it to him, then, a fraction of what she's feeling: the excitement, the joy, the newness and freshness of everything, like all her senses are working at full capacity for the first time in her life.
Erik's eyes widen at he takes it in, along with a deep breath. "Charlotte."
"Yes," she says, stretching under his gaze.
His hand feels hot when he touches her, in contrast with the cool morning air, and it makes her shiver all over. He traces down her arm, and then her side. When he reaches down to her hips he says, "Open your legs," and when she does she can feel how wet she is, the moisture soaking all down her inner thighs. Part of her expects him to tease, but he doesn't, giving her his fingers right away. One, two, three, long and thick, moving inside her, while his thumb plays at her clit. She brings her hand up to her mouth, biting down on the fleshy part of her thumb to avoid yelling out loud.
He could take her apart like this, with just his hand, she thinks. He's done it before, long rainy mornings in her bedroom, all the blankets stripped from the bed, nothing but her and him and that amazing fullness and his dirty whisper full of awe, "Look at you, look at you taking all of that, you pretty thing-"
But not this morning. He lets go of her and she watches while he licks his hand - soaking, it's soaking with her juices, and the noise of his mouth against it is obscene. And then both of his hands are on her hips and he's helping her turn over, raising her up to her hands and knees.
Erik drapes his body over her, skin against skin everywhere he can. "Like this, all right?" he murmurs in her ear. Charlotte can't quite find the words to form an answer, so instead she lets her head hang down, presenting him with her neck.
It makes Erik growl - and the memories from last night, from their other forms, are locked away somewhere where Charlotte can't quite reach them, but that sound is so familiar that for a second she thinks she can almost glimpse what they were like, before she loses it again. Did they do this last night, coming together as nothing but animals? Surely they must have. The idea is thrilling and disturbing, all at once.
Erik's inside her, and it feels - he feels even bigger this way. He's not being gentle with her, either, not taking it slow. He's fucking her like he can't do anything else, rutting against her with a animal desperation like he can't even think about anything else, like there's nothing else in the world, and she can feel him everywhere, and it should be too much, it should be too far, but somehow it's not. She scrabbles her fingernails into the dirt, holding on for dear life.
He bites down on her shoulder, hard, and doesn't let go, and she wonders if it's going to break the skin, if his teeth prints will stay there, if he's marking her-
She's so close to orgasm now she can't stand it, and so she cheats, just the slightest bit, letting herself go just a little further into Erik's mind-
Possession mine mine beautiful possession. Erik's thoughts repeat, steady and unstoppable like a locomotive engine, a solid block of fierce single-minded desire, and it's exactly what Charlotte wants, exactly what she needs, and she comes, shaking around him and gasping.
Her arms seem to stop working, then, but Erik catches her before she can fall forward, one arm circling around her chest and holding her up, close against him. There's no break, no pause in his rhythm as he fucks her, and Charlotte feels a little lost, like there's nothing but the two of them intertwined like this, nothing but Erik's rough pants in her ear, his teeth on her skin, his cock in her cunt. As if there was nothing before this and there will be nothing after.
But everything ends, even this, and Erik holds her close, gripping her hips painfully tight as he spills himself inside her. They both collapse together in a pile, though Erik manages to arrange it somehow so that he is the one who is mostly touching the ground, while Charlotte rests almost entirely on top of him. She rearranges herself to be more comfortable, until she can see Erik's face, and then she kisses him for a long time.
"Do you want me to-" Erik starts, his hand coming down to cup her mons. She thinks about it for a moment - she's still wet from his come; there's few things either of them like better than him going down on her like this, tasting himself everywhere on her - but ... no. It's too soon. She's too sensitive, after sex like that. Another one would be too much.
She shakes her head. "Later," she says, though, and she pecks his lips to seal the promise. "Right now I'm starving."
Erik looks around, as if to study the food options in the trees around them. She gives him a light shove.
"Breakfast," she says. "Back at the house. Sausage and eggs and bacon and toast and tea. Find our clothes."
Erik closes his eyes. She can see his concentration in the way the lines in his face deepen, that slight strain - much lighter now, after their training, but still there. Erik's not old; he's not got more than two or three years on Charlotte, truly, but he looks older than he is, all of his experiences, all of his efforts shown on the worn grooves of his face. Charlotte finds it rather beautiful, but she's well aware of how far gone she is, anyway.
After a minute or two, a pair of trousers and a shirt float slowly into the clearly and lie themselves down beside Charlotte without ceremony. "I can't get your dress," Erik says, his eyes still closed. "Couldn't you have worn something with a zipper?"
"Next time I will," Charlotte says. "Go get it for me, won't you."
"I'm comfortable like this," Erik says, so she shoves him again, a little harder.
"Go."
He sighs, but he gets to his feet, and as he walks away Charlotte admires his naked body once again. She feels nothing but satisfaction, bursting out of her everywhere, from the top of her head to the very tips of her toes.
Tags:
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15/1/12 02:45 (UTC)(no subject)
15/1/12 21:09 (UTC)(no subject)
15/1/12 09:42 (UTC)(no subject)
15/1/12 21:09 (UTC)(no subject)
15/1/12 19:57 (UTC)(no subject)
15/1/12 21:09 (UTC)(no subject)
16/1/12 01:19 (UTC)(no subject)
15/1/12 21:27 (UTC)- You wrote me exactly the thing I wanted and then went through my random list of likes and added like half of them OH MY GOD.
- They are so in love!
- MENTION OF FISTING. YESSS. Oh my god Erik's hands.
- "Erik looks around, as if to study the food options in the trees around them. She gives him a light shove." ♥_♥
- So much joy and life and happiness!
- Presenting him with her neck askdjsklkd.
- "Possession mine mine beautiful possession" sldklskff.
- "there's few things either of them like better than him going down on her like this, tasting himself everywhere on her -" sjdlkdld.
- And then making him get her things because obviously.
- I was so sure nobody was gonna write me this and then you did!
SO YES. <3!
(Alsoooo, could you maybe do this thing on AO3 that makes it show up in our gifts because grabby hands grabby hands? *makes hopeful eyes at yooou*)
(no subject)
16/1/12 03:42 (UTC)And your list of likes was a BEAUTIFUL THING OF BEAUTY, of course I could not resist rifling through it, ahhh. Seriously, why is there not more fisting fic? mooooooooore. (ERIK DOES HAVE REALLY NICE HANDS.)
"there's few things either of them like better than him going down on her like this, tasting himself everywhere on her -" sjdlkdld.
right? right.
and charles bossing erik around is canon in all universes.
UGH I AM JUST SO HAPPY YOU LIKE IT. SO HAPPY.