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fic: with every other beat i've got left in my heart (xmfc, erik/charles)
With Every Other Beat I've Got Left in My Heart
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class, Charles/Erik, R. ~1100 words. Takes place several years post-movie.
Thank you to![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pocky_slash for looking this over for me. ♥
Summary: Erik is here, after all, for one reason, and that is to see Charles. It's not as though they have all the time in the world.
*****
Charles arrives first, of course. He always does. He's checked in, all of his things put away wherever he likes, and he's made himself at home in the hotel room long before Erik even shows up. It gives Erik the sensation that they're always meeting on Charles's turf, even when it's a place Erik has picked out and chosen for them. It's just as well, in a way; it's not as though there's any place that feels like home to Erik.
When Erik lets himself into the room, Charles is sitting by a small table in front of a wide picture window. There's a view of the city skyline, which Erik assumes is quite attractive, though when Erik looks at it, he barely sees the buildings at all, just the rhythm and sense of all the metal. Charles is reading a book, and there's a cup of tea beside him.
There's no way to know what Charles's telepathic range is these days, so Erik isn't sure how long Charles has been aware of Erik approaching, slowly moving closer and closer. It's another small politeness of Charles's that he waits until they're in the same room, until Erik can see him, before he lets Erik feel their minds connecting. He's not exactly speaking - there are no words that Erik can make out - but there's a sense of togetherness, of affection and history suddenly pushed gently into Erik's mind that he only associates with Charles.
"Hello," Erik says. He sets down his suitcase on the side of the bed farther from the door. He takes off his suit jacket and lays it down as well, before he turns and takes a chair next to Charles.
"Hello, Erik," Charles says, smiling. He's put his book down on the table, and he reaches out to take one of Erik's hands and hold it between his own. "You look well."
Erik grunts in response. He doesn't feel particularly well. He has more than one new scar since the last time he and Charles met, which Charles will discover soon enough. Charles always spends time on the scars, kissing them, stroking them, as if he's learning and memorizing Erik's body anew, studying every way it's changed since he saw it last.
"You've grown a beard," Erik says.
"I did," Charles says agreeably, tilting his head up as if to give a better view. "Do you like it? I'm afraid the students are rather split in their preferences. Some of them think it's rather dashing, but others very much disapprove."
Erik ignores the reference to the school, as he always does. He removes his hand from Charles's grasp and places it on Charles's cheek, the curve of his jaw. The hair is coarse and curly, even scratchy, though well-trimmed. He can't help but think about what it will feel like when Charles goes down on him, how it might mark the skin of his inner thighs.
A very faint blush begins to rise in Charles's cheeks as Erik ponders this, but he says nothing. Charles has always blushed surprisingly easily for someone with so little shame or embarrassment over these things.
"It's ... different," Erik says, still stroking his thumb against the hairs. "It's very red." He leans in and kisses Charles, and as he expected, the sensation is different than when Charles is clean-shaven, but not at all unpleasant. Certainly nothing worth the complaints he's heard Charles express in the past on occasion, when Erik's stubble has grown out a tad and he's forgotten to shave.
Charles pulls away from the kiss after only a few moments. "I thought perhaps we could go out for dinner instead of ordering in tonight. There's a lovely Italian place just down the block."
"I'm not particularly hungry," Erik says. His hand still seems to naturally gravitate to Charles's upper thigh, even after all this time, even though he knows Charles can't feel it in the slightest, no matter how hard he squeezes.
"Yes, well," Charles says, wheeling himself backwards, just out of reach, "I am. I'd like to go out."
Erik leans back in his chair with a sigh. He feels a little annoyed. He is here, after all, for one reason, and that is to see Charles. It's not as though they have all the time in the world. Every minute they have together is stolen, rare and precious. It's such a waste to spend it on something like this, dinner in public, surrounded by so many useless and indistinguishable humans.
"Honestly, Erik, you're hurting my feelings," Charles says, though there's enough humor in his tone that Erik can tell this is a lie. "One would think you were just using me for my body. Whatever happened to a nice date before taking someone to bed?"
Erik rolls his eyes as he stands up and fetches his coat from the bed, shrugging it back on. When he turns around, Charles is watching him with a frank and appreciative gaze. His gaze travels slowly up Erik's body, finally coming to a stop when he meets his eyes.
"Don't pout now, my darling," Charles says. "You know I'll make it up to you later. Don't I always?"
And because Charles is, above anything else, a cheater, he sends Erik a series of images, memories of other times they've spent together. Erik on his knees, giving the filthiest, most performative blowjob of his life. The time Charles sent him out to pick up a girl and stayed in Erik's head the entire time he fucked her, using Erik almost as a tool, drinking up the sensations of Erik's body that Charles could no longer feel in his own, speaking constantly in Erik's head the entire time in the most ridiculous and loving dirty talk. The constant reinventions of metal restraints they've come up with together. The obscene map of Charles's neck, shoulders, chest, painted with dozens of bruises and marks after a night of Erik's oral attentions to his skin.
"It's very unfair of you to do something like that, just before we're to go out in public," Erik complains.
Charles simply grins. "I thought you didn't believe in fairness."
"No," Erik says, "but you're supposed to."
"I do my best just to keep up with you," Charles says. Another lie, Erik thinks, almost fondly. "Shall we?" Charles continues, gesturing toward the door.
"Lead the way," Erik says, with a dip of his head, and he follows Charles out of the room and back into the bland and empty hotel hallway.
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class, Charles/Erik, R. ~1100 words. Takes place several years post-movie.
Thank you to
pocky_slash for looking this over for me. ♥Summary: Erik is here, after all, for one reason, and that is to see Charles. It's not as though they have all the time in the world.
*****
Charles arrives first, of course. He always does. He's checked in, all of his things put away wherever he likes, and he's made himself at home in the hotel room long before Erik even shows up. It gives Erik the sensation that they're always meeting on Charles's turf, even when it's a place Erik has picked out and chosen for them. It's just as well, in a way; it's not as though there's any place that feels like home to Erik.
When Erik lets himself into the room, Charles is sitting by a small table in front of a wide picture window. There's a view of the city skyline, which Erik assumes is quite attractive, though when Erik looks at it, he barely sees the buildings at all, just the rhythm and sense of all the metal. Charles is reading a book, and there's a cup of tea beside him.
There's no way to know what Charles's telepathic range is these days, so Erik isn't sure how long Charles has been aware of Erik approaching, slowly moving closer and closer. It's another small politeness of Charles's that he waits until they're in the same room, until Erik can see him, before he lets Erik feel their minds connecting. He's not exactly speaking - there are no words that Erik can make out - but there's a sense of togetherness, of affection and history suddenly pushed gently into Erik's mind that he only associates with Charles.
"Hello," Erik says. He sets down his suitcase on the side of the bed farther from the door. He takes off his suit jacket and lays it down as well, before he turns and takes a chair next to Charles.
"Hello, Erik," Charles says, smiling. He's put his book down on the table, and he reaches out to take one of Erik's hands and hold it between his own. "You look well."
Erik grunts in response. He doesn't feel particularly well. He has more than one new scar since the last time he and Charles met, which Charles will discover soon enough. Charles always spends time on the scars, kissing them, stroking them, as if he's learning and memorizing Erik's body anew, studying every way it's changed since he saw it last.
"You've grown a beard," Erik says.
"I did," Charles says agreeably, tilting his head up as if to give a better view. "Do you like it? I'm afraid the students are rather split in their preferences. Some of them think it's rather dashing, but others very much disapprove."
Erik ignores the reference to the school, as he always does. He removes his hand from Charles's grasp and places it on Charles's cheek, the curve of his jaw. The hair is coarse and curly, even scratchy, though well-trimmed. He can't help but think about what it will feel like when Charles goes down on him, how it might mark the skin of his inner thighs.
A very faint blush begins to rise in Charles's cheeks as Erik ponders this, but he says nothing. Charles has always blushed surprisingly easily for someone with so little shame or embarrassment over these things.
"It's ... different," Erik says, still stroking his thumb against the hairs. "It's very red." He leans in and kisses Charles, and as he expected, the sensation is different than when Charles is clean-shaven, but not at all unpleasant. Certainly nothing worth the complaints he's heard Charles express in the past on occasion, when Erik's stubble has grown out a tad and he's forgotten to shave.
Charles pulls away from the kiss after only a few moments. "I thought perhaps we could go out for dinner instead of ordering in tonight. There's a lovely Italian place just down the block."
"I'm not particularly hungry," Erik says. His hand still seems to naturally gravitate to Charles's upper thigh, even after all this time, even though he knows Charles can't feel it in the slightest, no matter how hard he squeezes.
"Yes, well," Charles says, wheeling himself backwards, just out of reach, "I am. I'd like to go out."
Erik leans back in his chair with a sigh. He feels a little annoyed. He is here, after all, for one reason, and that is to see Charles. It's not as though they have all the time in the world. Every minute they have together is stolen, rare and precious. It's such a waste to spend it on something like this, dinner in public, surrounded by so many useless and indistinguishable humans.
"Honestly, Erik, you're hurting my feelings," Charles says, though there's enough humor in his tone that Erik can tell this is a lie. "One would think you were just using me for my body. Whatever happened to a nice date before taking someone to bed?"
Erik rolls his eyes as he stands up and fetches his coat from the bed, shrugging it back on. When he turns around, Charles is watching him with a frank and appreciative gaze. His gaze travels slowly up Erik's body, finally coming to a stop when he meets his eyes.
"Don't pout now, my darling," Charles says. "You know I'll make it up to you later. Don't I always?"
And because Charles is, above anything else, a cheater, he sends Erik a series of images, memories of other times they've spent together. Erik on his knees, giving the filthiest, most performative blowjob of his life. The time Charles sent him out to pick up a girl and stayed in Erik's head the entire time he fucked her, using Erik almost as a tool, drinking up the sensations of Erik's body that Charles could no longer feel in his own, speaking constantly in Erik's head the entire time in the most ridiculous and loving dirty talk. The constant reinventions of metal restraints they've come up with together. The obscene map of Charles's neck, shoulders, chest, painted with dozens of bruises and marks after a night of Erik's oral attentions to his skin.
"It's very unfair of you to do something like that, just before we're to go out in public," Erik complains.
Charles simply grins. "I thought you didn't believe in fairness."
"No," Erik says, "but you're supposed to."
"I do my best just to keep up with you," Charles says. Another lie, Erik thinks, almost fondly. "Shall we?" Charles continues, gesturing toward the door.
"Lead the way," Erik says, with a dip of his head, and he follows Charles out of the room and back into the bland and empty hotel hallway.
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