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schmericaThis was originally going to be for the porn battle, but then ... I decided it wasn't. Yep.
the grammar of faith
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class, Erik/Charles. NC-17. ~2000 words. Takes place early in the mutant recruitment roadtrip.
Summary: "You need to stop fighting me," Charles says.
*****
They check into the motel late in the evening. They're in some tiny town in the middle of nowhere, some flat and boring state; they've been driving all day, and Charles has lost track of their exact location. Neither of them says a word as they walk down the halls and let themselves into their room. Charles has just placed his suitcase on one of the beds when the bathroom door slams hard behind him.
Of course Erik has claimed the first shower, he thinks sourly. Of course.
He takes off his shoes and partially undresses, down to his undershirt and boxers. It's been sweltering all day, and even now in the darkness the heat has yet to fade. Charles sits on the bed, back to the headboard, and stretches out his legs. He waits.
It's only a few minutes the door to the bathroom opens, and Erik reappears. He's dressed only in the towel he's wrapped around his waist, and his hair is messed and damp, droplets of water still hanging off the strands. He looks younger, somehow, softer like this, not so perfectly controlled and contained. Charles feels something in his chest soften slightly, and struggles against it.
"Don't pout," Erik says, crossing the room to the other bed. "I left you plenty of hot water."
"We need to talk," Charles says.
Erik rolls his eyes. "Not now, Charles," he says dismissively, as he turns down the bedspread. "I'm going to sleep. I'll wake you at five so we can get going."
"Erik," Charles says, "come here."
The lack of amusement, lack of levity in his voice must get through to Erik, because Erik straightens up then to look directly at him. Charles holds his gaze.
"Come here," Charles says again. He unfolds his arms from his chest, rests his hand on his thigh.
"Why should I?" Erik says. His tone isn't completely challenging; there's something in there of genuine curiosity.
Charles breathes deeply through his nose before he speaks. "Because," he says, very softly, "I told you to."
Erik raises an eyebrow, but otherwise his face gives away nothing. Charles can sense the wheels and gears turning inside at a furious pace, but he doesn't stretch out any further towards Erik's mind, towards his specific thoughts.
"You need to stop fighting me," Charles says. He's tired, all of a sudden; all he wants is to close his eyes, but now isn't the time.
"I haven't been fighting you," Erik says. He walks around the bed, slowly, as if he's convincing himself he's doing it of his own desire, until he's standing next to the nightstand between the two beds.
"All you do is fight me!" Charles says. "You need to let yourself trust me, Erik. You don't have to be in control of every decision."
Erik's eyes are dark and hooded; Charles doesn't like the angle he has to look up to see him, with the glare of the overhead light beyond Erik's head. "I don't trust anybody but myself," Erik says.
"That's a lie. You trust me already, or you wouldn't be here in the first place. You just need to let yourself admit it."
Erik opens his mouth to say something else, but he doesn't get a chance, because Charles stretches forward and yanks on his arm. It's sudden enough to catch Erik off guard, and with enough force to knock him off balance, onto the bed beside Charles. Charles launches himself on top of him immediately.
Erik has the advantage in size and strength, and his reflexes are amazingly sharp. In a fair match, it'd be over quickly, with him as the victor. As it is, as soon as he's turned them over, his weight pinning Charles down like a cage, Charles goes into his mind and holds his limbs still.
Erik realizes what's happened immediately, of course. He glares down the few inches between their faces. "Let me go, Charles."
"I'll let you go as soon as you stop fighting me," Charles says.
Erik grits his teeth - he's still struggling, still trying so hard. It's immensely frustrating, watching him like this, but Charles doesn't say a word, just waits for him to finish.
He knows how much Erik wants to give in. How much he needs to. The towel was lost in the wrestling, and Erik's hard cock is pressed solidly against Charles's hip.
It's all right, Charles thinks at him. I promise you, Erik. You don't need to agree with everything I say, but you do need to listen to me, just as I listen to you. We're in this together, you and I. We're partners. Can you not admit that I might know better than you about some things?
He honestly doesn't know if it's going to work. If Erik's even capable of giving up his isolation and control. He thinks he is, hopes he is, but he's been inside of Erik's mind, seen everything about him, every piece that's made him the way he is. And if Erik can't - if he's determined to be in charge of every moment, then their mission is doomed from the start. There's no point to any of it.
Erik stares back down at him, biting his lower lip, and Charles can feel the exact moment he lets himself relax.
Charles releases Erik's body from his mind immediately - too quickly, perhaps, because Erik isn't ready for it, and falls, somewhat awkwardly, full weight on top of Charles. It takes a moment for Charles to get his breath back. Erik's laugh in his ear is unfamiliar and sweet; he suspects it surprises Erik as much as it surprises him.
He pushes at Erik, and Erik rolls to his side. Charles pushes himself back up on his elbows and looks down the length of Erik's naked body for the first time. Large hands, small waist, carefully maintained muscles. Scars up and down his torso and upper thighs - Charles knew they were there, knows how he got each of them, but seeing them is rather different. His generous stiff cock.
Erik's pale eyes are fixed on Charles's face as he waits for Charles to finish gazing at him. His breath is coming faster now, more shallow.
Charles places his hand over Erik's chest. His skin feels cool in contrast to Charles's own, and it makes Charles newly aware of his own warmth, the stale sweat covering his skin.
"If I got up now and took a shower," Charles says, "would you wait here for me? In this same position. Not moving. Not touching yourself. Just waiting for me to come back and take care of you."
"No," Erik says, but his yes blares so loudly through Charles's brain it almost makes him start.
Charles decided he won't test him now. He's feeling magnanimous. "All right," he says, "you can touch yourself now, instead."
There's a moment of hesitation, as Charles senses Erik debating with himself. And then Erik brings up his hand, his eyes fluttering close as soon as he touches his cock. He's still for a long moment, letting out a long sigh, and then he begins to move.
Charles watches him with a hunger he wasn't aware he possessed. He's wanted this - wanted Erik - maybe since the first moment on the ship, when he first felt Erik's mind, brighter, clearer, more complex than anyone else Charles has ever known. Someone like him, neither of them alone, and it went so much further than just their mutations.
You, Charles thinks, you, you, it's you, let me in, but he keeps it within his own mind, private, for now. He leans over and bites on the firm flesh of Erik's upper arm, and it makes Erik groan aloud. The slap of his hand against his cock is loud now, loud as Erik's breaths, and he's moving quickly, thrusting up into his own fist.
"Harder," Erik chokes out, "do it harder-"
Charles feels a little dizzy with the weight of Erik's desire. Erik wants him to make a mark - Erik wants it to hurt - that's what makes it real. Charles has never done anything like this before, wouldn't have thought himself capable of doing it now, but he digs his fingernails into Erik's chest and scratches hard, latches his teeth into Erik's skin and gnaws, and all he knows is how it makes Erik's pleasure bloom even brighter.
He watches Erik reach his climax, his semen splattering against his stomach and chest - the white contrasts against the red where Charles's nails have drawn faint blood. The noise Erik makes is low and strained, and it makes something shake through Charles's body as well.
Charles closes his eyes, trying to control his breathing. He can feel Erik take his hand, the one still lying on Erik's chest, and raises it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the palm. He opens his eyes again when Erik shifts, taking Charles's index and middle fingers into his mouth and sucking on them gently.
Charles extracts his fingers slowly. There's a wet pop as they leave Erik's mouth. Erik looks a little dazed; Charles suspects, somehow, that he is wearing a similar expression.
"I'm going to take my shower now," Charles says, and Erik's expression changes.
"You're not serious," he says.
Charles gets to his feet, slowly and carefully. Erik's gaze goes straight to his crotch, where his erection is straining against the fabric of his boxers in a frankly obscene manner. It takes most of Charles's self-control not to jerk just at the weight of his regard.
"I'm perfectly serious," Charles says. He gives Erik a smile, light and almost cheeky, for good measure. "Remember, Erik. You need to trust me."
He leans over and kisses Erik's mouth. Their first kiss - first of many, Charles thinks to himself, a hope and a promise. It's deep and sweet and thorough and it's difficult to Charles to break away, but he rustles up the remainder of his discipline.
"You can go to sleep now," Charles says. He takes a step backward. "Five am wakeup, you said?"
"That's right," Erik says. His teeth are worrying at his lower lip, and his hands are folded across his stomach, which still shows the evidence of his pleasure.
Charles smiles at him broadly and says, "Goodnight, my friend. Sleep well."
He goes into the bathroom and closes the door behind himself before he can change his mind. He finishes undressing, waits patiently for the water to reach the right temperature. He climbs into the stall, lets the warm water wash the grime and sweat and dust off his body, and only then does he take himself in hand. He lets himself bask in the sensations of Erik's mind in the next room, satiated, sleepy, calmer than Charles has ever felt it before. I did that, Charles thinks, joy bubbling up inside him as he strokes himself, enveloping himself further and further in the unexpected peace of Erik's mind. He sucks a finger of his free hand into his mouth, remembering Erik doing the same thing, and he reaches his orgasm all at once.
He rests his forehead against the wall of the shower as the water runs down his back, smiling helplessly to himself. Yes, he thinks, yes, this is going to work.
the grammar of faith
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class, Erik/Charles. NC-17. ~2000 words. Takes place early in the mutant recruitment roadtrip.
Summary: "You need to stop fighting me," Charles says.
*****
They check into the motel late in the evening. They're in some tiny town in the middle of nowhere, some flat and boring state; they've been driving all day, and Charles has lost track of their exact location. Neither of them says a word as they walk down the halls and let themselves into their room. Charles has just placed his suitcase on one of the beds when the bathroom door slams hard behind him.
Of course Erik has claimed the first shower, he thinks sourly. Of course.
He takes off his shoes and partially undresses, down to his undershirt and boxers. It's been sweltering all day, and even now in the darkness the heat has yet to fade. Charles sits on the bed, back to the headboard, and stretches out his legs. He waits.
It's only a few minutes the door to the bathroom opens, and Erik reappears. He's dressed only in the towel he's wrapped around his waist, and his hair is messed and damp, droplets of water still hanging off the strands. He looks younger, somehow, softer like this, not so perfectly controlled and contained. Charles feels something in his chest soften slightly, and struggles against it.
"Don't pout," Erik says, crossing the room to the other bed. "I left you plenty of hot water."
"We need to talk," Charles says.
Erik rolls his eyes. "Not now, Charles," he says dismissively, as he turns down the bedspread. "I'm going to sleep. I'll wake you at five so we can get going."
"Erik," Charles says, "come here."
The lack of amusement, lack of levity in his voice must get through to Erik, because Erik straightens up then to look directly at him. Charles holds his gaze.
"Come here," Charles says again. He unfolds his arms from his chest, rests his hand on his thigh.
"Why should I?" Erik says. His tone isn't completely challenging; there's something in there of genuine curiosity.
Charles breathes deeply through his nose before he speaks. "Because," he says, very softly, "I told you to."
Erik raises an eyebrow, but otherwise his face gives away nothing. Charles can sense the wheels and gears turning inside at a furious pace, but he doesn't stretch out any further towards Erik's mind, towards his specific thoughts.
"You need to stop fighting me," Charles says. He's tired, all of a sudden; all he wants is to close his eyes, but now isn't the time.
"I haven't been fighting you," Erik says. He walks around the bed, slowly, as if he's convincing himself he's doing it of his own desire, until he's standing next to the nightstand between the two beds.
"All you do is fight me!" Charles says. "You need to let yourself trust me, Erik. You don't have to be in control of every decision."
Erik's eyes are dark and hooded; Charles doesn't like the angle he has to look up to see him, with the glare of the overhead light beyond Erik's head. "I don't trust anybody but myself," Erik says.
"That's a lie. You trust me already, or you wouldn't be here in the first place. You just need to let yourself admit it."
Erik opens his mouth to say something else, but he doesn't get a chance, because Charles stretches forward and yanks on his arm. It's sudden enough to catch Erik off guard, and with enough force to knock him off balance, onto the bed beside Charles. Charles launches himself on top of him immediately.
Erik has the advantage in size and strength, and his reflexes are amazingly sharp. In a fair match, it'd be over quickly, with him as the victor. As it is, as soon as he's turned them over, his weight pinning Charles down like a cage, Charles goes into his mind and holds his limbs still.
Erik realizes what's happened immediately, of course. He glares down the few inches between their faces. "Let me go, Charles."
"I'll let you go as soon as you stop fighting me," Charles says.
Erik grits his teeth - he's still struggling, still trying so hard. It's immensely frustrating, watching him like this, but Charles doesn't say a word, just waits for him to finish.
He knows how much Erik wants to give in. How much he needs to. The towel was lost in the wrestling, and Erik's hard cock is pressed solidly against Charles's hip.
It's all right, Charles thinks at him. I promise you, Erik. You don't need to agree with everything I say, but you do need to listen to me, just as I listen to you. We're in this together, you and I. We're partners. Can you not admit that I might know better than you about some things?
He honestly doesn't know if it's going to work. If Erik's even capable of giving up his isolation and control. He thinks he is, hopes he is, but he's been inside of Erik's mind, seen everything about him, every piece that's made him the way he is. And if Erik can't - if he's determined to be in charge of every moment, then their mission is doomed from the start. There's no point to any of it.
Erik stares back down at him, biting his lower lip, and Charles can feel the exact moment he lets himself relax.
Charles releases Erik's body from his mind immediately - too quickly, perhaps, because Erik isn't ready for it, and falls, somewhat awkwardly, full weight on top of Charles. It takes a moment for Charles to get his breath back. Erik's laugh in his ear is unfamiliar and sweet; he suspects it surprises Erik as much as it surprises him.
He pushes at Erik, and Erik rolls to his side. Charles pushes himself back up on his elbows and looks down the length of Erik's naked body for the first time. Large hands, small waist, carefully maintained muscles. Scars up and down his torso and upper thighs - Charles knew they were there, knows how he got each of them, but seeing them is rather different. His generous stiff cock.
Erik's pale eyes are fixed on Charles's face as he waits for Charles to finish gazing at him. His breath is coming faster now, more shallow.
Charles places his hand over Erik's chest. His skin feels cool in contrast to Charles's own, and it makes Charles newly aware of his own warmth, the stale sweat covering his skin.
"If I got up now and took a shower," Charles says, "would you wait here for me? In this same position. Not moving. Not touching yourself. Just waiting for me to come back and take care of you."
"No," Erik says, but his yes blares so loudly through Charles's brain it almost makes him start.
Charles decided he won't test him now. He's feeling magnanimous. "All right," he says, "you can touch yourself now, instead."
There's a moment of hesitation, as Charles senses Erik debating with himself. And then Erik brings up his hand, his eyes fluttering close as soon as he touches his cock. He's still for a long moment, letting out a long sigh, and then he begins to move.
Charles watches him with a hunger he wasn't aware he possessed. He's wanted this - wanted Erik - maybe since the first moment on the ship, when he first felt Erik's mind, brighter, clearer, more complex than anyone else Charles has ever known. Someone like him, neither of them alone, and it went so much further than just their mutations.
You, Charles thinks, you, you, it's you, let me in, but he keeps it within his own mind, private, for now. He leans over and bites on the firm flesh of Erik's upper arm, and it makes Erik groan aloud. The slap of his hand against his cock is loud now, loud as Erik's breaths, and he's moving quickly, thrusting up into his own fist.
"Harder," Erik chokes out, "do it harder-"
Charles feels a little dizzy with the weight of Erik's desire. Erik wants him to make a mark - Erik wants it to hurt - that's what makes it real. Charles has never done anything like this before, wouldn't have thought himself capable of doing it now, but he digs his fingernails into Erik's chest and scratches hard, latches his teeth into Erik's skin and gnaws, and all he knows is how it makes Erik's pleasure bloom even brighter.
He watches Erik reach his climax, his semen splattering against his stomach and chest - the white contrasts against the red where Charles's nails have drawn faint blood. The noise Erik makes is low and strained, and it makes something shake through Charles's body as well.
Charles closes his eyes, trying to control his breathing. He can feel Erik take his hand, the one still lying on Erik's chest, and raises it up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to the palm. He opens his eyes again when Erik shifts, taking Charles's index and middle fingers into his mouth and sucking on them gently.
Charles extracts his fingers slowly. There's a wet pop as they leave Erik's mouth. Erik looks a little dazed; Charles suspects, somehow, that he is wearing a similar expression.
"I'm going to take my shower now," Charles says, and Erik's expression changes.
"You're not serious," he says.
Charles gets to his feet, slowly and carefully. Erik's gaze goes straight to his crotch, where his erection is straining against the fabric of his boxers in a frankly obscene manner. It takes most of Charles's self-control not to jerk just at the weight of his regard.
"I'm perfectly serious," Charles says. He gives Erik a smile, light and almost cheeky, for good measure. "Remember, Erik. You need to trust me."
He leans over and kisses Erik's mouth. Their first kiss - first of many, Charles thinks to himself, a hope and a promise. It's deep and sweet and thorough and it's difficult to Charles to break away, but he rustles up the remainder of his discipline.
"You can go to sleep now," Charles says. He takes a step backward. "Five am wakeup, you said?"
"That's right," Erik says. His teeth are worrying at his lower lip, and his hands are folded across his stomach, which still shows the evidence of his pleasure.
Charles smiles at him broadly and says, "Goodnight, my friend. Sleep well."
He goes into the bathroom and closes the door behind himself before he can change his mind. He finishes undressing, waits patiently for the water to reach the right temperature. He climbs into the stall, lets the warm water wash the grime and sweat and dust off his body, and only then does he take himself in hand. He lets himself bask in the sensations of Erik's mind in the next room, satiated, sleepy, calmer than Charles has ever felt it before. I did that, Charles thinks, joy bubbling up inside him as he strokes himself, enveloping himself further and further in the unexpected peace of Erik's mind. He sucks a finger of his free hand into his mouth, remembering Erik doing the same thing, and he reaches his orgasm all at once.
He rests his forehead against the wall of the shower as the water runs down his back, smiling helplessly to himself. Yes, he thinks, yes, this is going to work.
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