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schmericaput out the lamp when thou wishest
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class. Charles/Erik. NC-17. ~3500 words. Sex slavery (references to dubcon and past abuse), still-powered AU.
Written for![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
kink_bingo square class fantasies. Thanks to pocky_slash for beta.
Summary: There are many things Erik finds curious about his new owner, but curiosity's never been a particularly useful emotion for him.
*****
Erik holds himself perfectly still. His feet are a shoulder's width apart, his hands clasped behind his back. He could hold this pose for hours, if he needed to, without any strain. He has before.
"I've heard word of how much you appreciate beautiful things, Mr. Xavier," the old merchant is saying. Erik can't see, not with the blindfold tied snug around his head, but all of his other senses work perfectly well. The merchant's voice is syrupy sweet, speaking to a client, nothing like the harsh blunt tone he uses with Erik and the others. Erik can imagine his posture, subservient and sycophantic to whatever potential buyer he's dragged this far into his market. There's no pride in his sort, not when there are riches about to be had.
The other man - Xavier - murmurs, "I'm not sure you can really compare a collection of art or china to a person."
His voice is soft but confident. Cultured, Erik thinks; probably overeducated. Used to getting what he wants.
"Still," the old man says, "you must agree he's a remarkable specimen."
Xavier doesn't answer right away. Erik knows, as surely as if he could see the stare himself, that Xavier is looking him over, carefully gazing over every inch. This is where training shows itself, Erik thinks with something approaching both amusement and bitterness, though it doesn't quite reach either emotion. To resist the awkwardness, the self-consciousness, even nude and exposed, even under scrutiny - it takes will, not to let it out, not even as much as a shifting of weight from one foot to another.
"May I touch?" Xavier says after a few moments. His voice is still cool, but the old man is eager when he responds.
"Yes, yes, of course, feel free!"
Erik doesn't react at the brush of Xavier's fingers across the muscle of his thigh, though the caress is lower than the one he'd been expecting. Xavier's hand goes to Erik's cock next, which is more usual. The touch isn't particularly sexual, but rather exploring, almost scientific, as if Xavier is testing the length of him, the weight and heft in his hand.
"You'll notice his size, of course," the old man says, "it's really one of the features that make him so exceptional. Would you like to see him erect, as well?"
"That won't be necessary," Xavier says, sounding almost distracted. He lets go of Erik's cock. "Tell me about his mutilation."
"Ah. A religious rite, common in the east, where he's from. It doesn't affect function, I can assure you."
Xavier makes a noncommittal noise. "Still, aesthetically..." he trails off. His hand returns to Erik's skin, his fingers now delicate and precise, tracing a line across the small of Erik's back. "What about these scars? I suppose that's a religious rite as well?"
The old man is embarrassed, which gives Erik some small degree of satisfaction. "Ah. Well. His previous owner did not always ... take proper care of his possessions."
Xavier lets that hang in the air for a while, heavy and leaden, before he speaks again. "Take off the blindfold, please."
It takes Erik by surprise, and he's sure it must surprise the old man as well; it's not something that's usually done, letting the slave see a potential owner before a deal has been struck. Still, the old man complies with no sign of reluctance, which would be proof enough of how wealthy Xavier must be, even if Erik didn't already suspect.
Erik blinks as the fabric comes off. He has to look down to see Xavier - he's in a chair with wheels, the sort you see occasionally on the streets, being pushed by servants or slaves to transport men unable to walk themselves. All the men Erik's seen in them in the past have been elderly and infirm, but Xavier appears nothing of the kind, nor does he have a servant accompanying him. Xavier is young, perhaps younger than Erik, and fairly handsome. The tightness of his shirt shows off the muscles of his arms.
"Hello there," Xavier says, smiling very faintly. "And what is your name, then?"
Erik knows better than to respond directly. Sure enough, the old man answers for him. "He's called Erik."
"Hello, Erik," Xavier says, his eyes still locked directly with Erik's. His eyes are an intense shade of blue, like the shade of the sky the day Schmidt died, hot and cloudless and infinite. When he turns his head back to face the old man, Erik can almost physically feel the loss of his gaze. Xavier says to the man, "I think we should be able to make some sort of a deal. Your price is outrageous, of course, but I'm sure we can find a middle ground that will please us both."
"As you say," the old man says, practically falling over himself in a fawning bow. Erik has never felt more scorn for him.
*****
In the carriage, Xavier says, "I'm sorry for some of the things I said in there."
Erik has been looking out the window, taking careful note of the streets that lead from the market to Xavier's home, but he looks over to Xavier when he speaks.
Xavier has a half-smile on his face, one eyebrow raised. As if he and Erik were somehow sharing a joke. He says, "Of course you're utterly lovely. But it would have been suspicious if I hadn't at least tried to haggle."
He's waiting for a response, so Erik nods, perhaps a little jerkily. It doesn't seem to entirely satisfy Xavier, but Erik turns back to the window anyway to continue to memorize the route.
*****
Xavier's home is enormous, by far the largest residence Erik has ever seen, though when they go inside he discovers that most of it has been closed off. Xavier uses only a handful of rooms, all located together on the ground floor. He gives Erik a brief tour nonetheless, pointing out each of the rooms. He tells Erik to feel free to help himself in the kitchen whenever he gets hungry - unusual enough, when most owners are so concerned about stealing, but even more strange is when he offers Erik the use of the library, whatever books he may want to read.
Erik can read, as it happens, but Xavier has no way of knowing that. It's a strange thing to assume of a slave.
Xavier stops outside a final room, waving Erik inside with a casual gesture. The door frame is too narrow to allow Xavier's chair to enter, which Erik finds interesting. It's a good sized room; the bed is large enough to fit several, though Xavier indicates the room belongs to Erik alone. He's never had a room to himself before. He supposes the servants' quarters are a long ways away; it makes sense that Xavier might want him closer.
In fact, there are no other slaves or live-in servants in the house. There is a cook, Xavier tells him, who comes every morning, and another woman who comes every second day to clean, but that's all.
There are many curious things about Xavier, Erik thinks. Curiosity has never been a particularly useful emotion, though, so he pushes it back again, out of his mind.
Xavier says that Erik should call him by his first name, Charles. His tone is light enough that it almost sounds like a request, rather than a command.
*****
Erik doesn't see much of Charles over the next few days. He's a busy man, the cook tells him - she's young, pretty, and immensely chatty, and Erik spends hours in the kitchen with her, soaking up information; one never knows what might be useful. She tells him that Charles is a scholar and a writer. He had been living abroad for some years, only returning home within the past year. He's a great man, she says, eyes wide and worshipful as she chops carrots, and Erik does not let her see when he rolls his eyes.
Charles doesn't call for him at night, either. Perhaps he's waiting for Erik to settle in. There are no other duties for Erik to perform, though, so it's not as if he has much to occupy himself. He spends some time reading, taking advantage of Charles's easy offer. He spends more time in his own room, plotting out his next move. He steals some paper from the study, as well as the nib of a pencil to write with. He can draw the route from the house back to the slave market, and from the market he knows the way back to the harbor where his ship landed. The cook's gossip tells him where the food market is, as well, and that it's next to the walls of the city - that's another route out, over land, if he needs to use his back-up plan.
Erik had thought Schmidt's death would bring him happiness. He'd counted on it. But in the end, after the sudden satisfaction had worn off, he had felt nothing at all. He was glad Schmidt was dead, because the world was better off without such a man in it, but another part of Erik felt empty, too. It was all he had looked forward to, for so many years, and yet the world had not stopped. Nothing had changed. His mother was still dead; all the other bad things had still happened.
All of Schmidt's possessions had been collected and sold off afterwards, to pay his debts. That was how Erik had come to be on the ship to this city in the first place.
He doesn't fool himself now that freedom will make him happy. Truly, he doubts anything will. But it will be better than this.
It would be easy to steal some of Charles's valuable things when he leaves - the man's taken no precautions against it - and it would be practical, too, to have something to help pay his way when he flees. Some part of Erik bristles at the idea, though, and when he packs to go he takes only his clothing, his papers, and enough food to start him off.
It's the middle of the night. He makes it to the front door - unlocked, not that a lock would pose much of a problem - before he hears the voice.
Erik, wait.
It sounds like Charles, though he's nowhere around. It takes Erik a moment to realize it's inside his head.
Come to my room, Charles says, still directly to Erik's mind. It feels oddly gentle. I won't stop you leaving, if you decide that's what you want, but let's talk first.
"What are you doing?" Erik says out loud, his hand still on the doorknob. "What are you?"
I'm different, Charles says. I can do things ordinary people can't. Just like you.
Erik rests his forehead against the slick wood of the door, taking in a deep breath, trying not to shiver.
You're not alone, Erik, Charles says. You never have to be.
Erik turns, setting his bag on the floor, and he goes to Charles's room.
*****
"I've been looking for others like us for some time now," Charles says. "I was sure there had to be more out there, but you're the first one I've been able to find. I could sense you as soon as you entered the city - your mind is so bright, Erik, so clear and loud, you have no idea. But it took me a few weeks to narrow your location down to that place and come get you."
"So you bought me," Erik says.
"It seemed the simplest way, yes," Charles says, with a vaguely apologetic air. Only vaguely. "I know you're thinking I should have told you all this sooner," Charles continues, "but I really wasn't certain how you would react. I didn't want to scare you away."
"You weren't certain how I would react?" Erik repeats.
"I can read thoughts, but that doesn't mean I can predict actions."
Erik absorbs this information. "But you can do more than that, as well."
Charles's smile widens slowly, until it is blindingly bright. He says, "I can do much more than that, yes. Just like you can do so much more than coin tricks."
"Not so much more," Erik says ruefully, but Charles shakes his head, his smile never wavering.
"Just wait," he says.
*****
During the fifth week of their training together, Erik comes to Charles's room at night.
Erik doesn't knock; he just lets himself in. Charles is sitting up in his bed, reading by candlelight. He sets the book down in his lap, eyes going wide at the sight of Erik standing just inside his door.
"Erik," Charles says, and Erik can hear the curiosity, the questioning in his voice.
Erik unties his robe and lets it fall to the floor. He's not wearing anything else beneath it. "It would be suspicious if you didn't call for me sometimes," Erik says. As far as excuses go, it's weak, but he doesn't think it matters.
The color rises high on Charles's cheeks, and when he speaks, it's a little too fast. "There's no one else to see here; we don't have to pretend. Erik, you don't have to do anything - that's not how I want things to be between us-"
"You're not listening to me," Erik says, tapping his head.
"Oh," Charles says, a few seconds later. "Oh, I didn't know. If you're sure..."
"You're not very good at this," Erik says. He almost can't recognize the fondness in his own voice; it's not an emotion he's accustomed to expressing. "You have no trouble ordering me around when we're practicing together."
Charles shakes his head. "That's different."
"Not so different," Erik says softly. "You know what I want, Charles. Tell me the truth: do you want me to leave or to stay?"
"Stay," Charles says immediately, no pause or hesitation. "Stay here with me, Erik."
Erik crosses the room with a few quick steps, until he reaches the edge of Charles's enormous bed. He takes the book from Charles's hands, setting it out of reach on the bedside table, and then he pulls the covers off where they cover Charles's body. Charles is naked, too, all of him bare and pale in the glimmering light.
"Tell me what to do," Erik says, looking down upon him.
"Come here," Charles responds. He reaches out with both arms and pulls Erik close, onto the bed, taking Erik's weight upon himself. He kisses open-mouthed, dirty and intimate, and Erik follows his lead.
Charles pulls away after a minute, just far enough to break the seal of their lips. His hands are gentle, brushing against Erik's hair, the curl of his outer ear. "You're so beautiful. I couldn't believe it when I saw you. I still can't."
Erik has always been aware of his looks. He's heard any number of people comment upon the evenness of his features, the strength of his muscles, the size of his cock, the ratio of his torso. It never felt like a compliment; being aesthetically pleasing was a tool, a feature, not something that had anything to do with Erik himself. Hearing it from Charles is different. He likes it.
"You have to tell me what to do," Erik says again. "Tell me what you want, and I'll do it for you. Anything." He kisses Charles's neck. The strain of his tendons is oddly beautiful.
"Anything," Charles repeats, sounding thoughtful.
"Just say it and I'll do it," Erik says. He raises himself up, straddling Charles's hips, waiting.
"Mmm," Charles says. Erik watches his eyes; he goes back and forth between meeting Erik's gaze and staring at his hardening cock. "What if - what if it was the other way around, though? What if you had bought me and brought me home to serve you, Erik? What would you have me do?"
The thought, the idea, is unexpected enough that Erik's first response is a laugh. Charles smiles up at him crookedly. "I suppose it is a foolish notion. Nobody would buy someone without full use of their body."
Erik shakes his head. "That's not what I was thinking at all," he says, stroking a hand across Charles's chest, feeling the nipples stiffen under his fingertips. "You'd sell fast. The pretty ones always go first. Especially with a mouth like that."
Charles blinks at him rapidly. One of his hands comes up to his temple, in the gesture Erik's come to learn is one of Charles's clear tells with his abilities. "Oh, you are fond of my mouth, aren't you?" Charles says, with something like delight. "Come up here closer, then, and let me taste you."
Charles reaches behind himself, setting more pillows to support his head, setting himself at an angle. Erik moves forward on the bed, his knees on either side of Charles's chest. He gives his cock a few slow strokes, staring down at Charles's red mouth, the way his teeth tease at his lower lip as he waits.
"That's enough," Charles says after a moment. He pushes Erik's hand away, replacing it with one of his own. His grip's warm and tight, nothing like the clinical observation of the last time Erik felt his touch, and he tilts Erik's cock down so he can take it into his mouth.
Charles's other hand goes to Erik's ass, his fingertips pressing in hard, pulling him forward. His mouth is greedy on Erik's cock, hungry for it. Erik traces his lips, the corner of his mouth where he's straining open so wide, where the wetness leaks out onto his skin.
You're so big, Charles says. He can't talk out loud, but Erik can still hear him, perfectly clear and live as day in his head. Yes, come on, Erik, more, I want to take it all...
He gives Charles what he wants. "Yes, take it," Erik murmurs. He braces himself, hands against the wall, and closes his eyes. He can still see Charles's image upon the inside of his eyelids. Charles's voice is still inside his head.
Anything you'll tell me, Charles says, I want to know, anything you'll share.
"I would have bought you there," Erik says, "I wouldn't even have haggled, I would have paid any price-"
Charles moans, muffled but still loud.
"I wouldn't have waited, either. Not even to get home. I would have taken you right there in the carriage, lifted you up onto my lap and pushed my cock inside. Split you open. Would you be able to feel that, me inside you?"
Yes, yes, I could feel that, I like that.
"Take you home," Erik says, and he can hear his words starting to slur as the pleasure wells up inside him. "Chain you to the bed," he sends Charles an image, the chain he'd make himself, perfect and solid and infinite, no catches and no locks, "wouldn't let you leave, because you'd be mine."
He reaches his peak, gasping at the force of it, the unfamiliar glow and sparkle in his mind that can only be the effect of Charles's mental presence. Charles swallows down his seed, and he continues to hold Erik in his mouth as Erik softens. When Erik pulls out, finally, he smiles up at Erik with a rakish grin.
"I would like your hands on me now," Charles announces, as he adjusts his jaw, rubbing at it absently with one hand. "And your mouth on my nipples, if you would. Please," he adds at the end, as an afterthought.
"Yes, sir," Erik says, and he sets himself to the task.
*****
"How do you feel about travel?" Charles says at lunch.
Erik looks up from his (quite delicious) soup. "Travel?"
Charles has been opening the day's mail; he shakes the open letter he holds in one hand. "I've been corresponding with a scientist inland. He has some very interesting ideas about how we might be able to go about finding more people like us."
Erik thinks this over as he takes another spoonful. "What do you plan on doing with them if you do find them?"
"Well," Charles says, "it is a very large house. I feel like there's so much we could teach others, don't you?"
"We?" Erik repeats.
"Yes, of course. Me and you."
"Of course," Erik says.
Charles smiles. "Is that an agreement, then?"
Better than what was, Erik thinks. Better than what is. "Yes," Erik says. "We'll go together."
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class. Charles/Erik. NC-17. ~3500 words. Sex slavery (references to dubcon and past abuse), still-powered AU.
Written for
kink_bingo square class fantasies. Thanks to pocky_slash for beta.Summary: There are many things Erik finds curious about his new owner, but curiosity's never been a particularly useful emotion for him.
*****
Erik holds himself perfectly still. His feet are a shoulder's width apart, his hands clasped behind his back. He could hold this pose for hours, if he needed to, without any strain. He has before.
"I've heard word of how much you appreciate beautiful things, Mr. Xavier," the old merchant is saying. Erik can't see, not with the blindfold tied snug around his head, but all of his other senses work perfectly well. The merchant's voice is syrupy sweet, speaking to a client, nothing like the harsh blunt tone he uses with Erik and the others. Erik can imagine his posture, subservient and sycophantic to whatever potential buyer he's dragged this far into his market. There's no pride in his sort, not when there are riches about to be had.
The other man - Xavier - murmurs, "I'm not sure you can really compare a collection of art or china to a person."
His voice is soft but confident. Cultured, Erik thinks; probably overeducated. Used to getting what he wants.
"Still," the old man says, "you must agree he's a remarkable specimen."
Xavier doesn't answer right away. Erik knows, as surely as if he could see the stare himself, that Xavier is looking him over, carefully gazing over every inch. This is where training shows itself, Erik thinks with something approaching both amusement and bitterness, though it doesn't quite reach either emotion. To resist the awkwardness, the self-consciousness, even nude and exposed, even under scrutiny - it takes will, not to let it out, not even as much as a shifting of weight from one foot to another.
"May I touch?" Xavier says after a few moments. His voice is still cool, but the old man is eager when he responds.
"Yes, yes, of course, feel free!"
Erik doesn't react at the brush of Xavier's fingers across the muscle of his thigh, though the caress is lower than the one he'd been expecting. Xavier's hand goes to Erik's cock next, which is more usual. The touch isn't particularly sexual, but rather exploring, almost scientific, as if Xavier is testing the length of him, the weight and heft in his hand.
"You'll notice his size, of course," the old man says, "it's really one of the features that make him so exceptional. Would you like to see him erect, as well?"
"That won't be necessary," Xavier says, sounding almost distracted. He lets go of Erik's cock. "Tell me about his mutilation."
"Ah. A religious rite, common in the east, where he's from. It doesn't affect function, I can assure you."
Xavier makes a noncommittal noise. "Still, aesthetically..." he trails off. His hand returns to Erik's skin, his fingers now delicate and precise, tracing a line across the small of Erik's back. "What about these scars? I suppose that's a religious rite as well?"
The old man is embarrassed, which gives Erik some small degree of satisfaction. "Ah. Well. His previous owner did not always ... take proper care of his possessions."
Xavier lets that hang in the air for a while, heavy and leaden, before he speaks again. "Take off the blindfold, please."
It takes Erik by surprise, and he's sure it must surprise the old man as well; it's not something that's usually done, letting the slave see a potential owner before a deal has been struck. Still, the old man complies with no sign of reluctance, which would be proof enough of how wealthy Xavier must be, even if Erik didn't already suspect.
Erik blinks as the fabric comes off. He has to look down to see Xavier - he's in a chair with wheels, the sort you see occasionally on the streets, being pushed by servants or slaves to transport men unable to walk themselves. All the men Erik's seen in them in the past have been elderly and infirm, but Xavier appears nothing of the kind, nor does he have a servant accompanying him. Xavier is young, perhaps younger than Erik, and fairly handsome. The tightness of his shirt shows off the muscles of his arms.
"Hello there," Xavier says, smiling very faintly. "And what is your name, then?"
Erik knows better than to respond directly. Sure enough, the old man answers for him. "He's called Erik."
"Hello, Erik," Xavier says, his eyes still locked directly with Erik's. His eyes are an intense shade of blue, like the shade of the sky the day Schmidt died, hot and cloudless and infinite. When he turns his head back to face the old man, Erik can almost physically feel the loss of his gaze. Xavier says to the man, "I think we should be able to make some sort of a deal. Your price is outrageous, of course, but I'm sure we can find a middle ground that will please us both."
"As you say," the old man says, practically falling over himself in a fawning bow. Erik has never felt more scorn for him.
*****
In the carriage, Xavier says, "I'm sorry for some of the things I said in there."
Erik has been looking out the window, taking careful note of the streets that lead from the market to Xavier's home, but he looks over to Xavier when he speaks.
Xavier has a half-smile on his face, one eyebrow raised. As if he and Erik were somehow sharing a joke. He says, "Of course you're utterly lovely. But it would have been suspicious if I hadn't at least tried to haggle."
He's waiting for a response, so Erik nods, perhaps a little jerkily. It doesn't seem to entirely satisfy Xavier, but Erik turns back to the window anyway to continue to memorize the route.
*****
Xavier's home is enormous, by far the largest residence Erik has ever seen, though when they go inside he discovers that most of it has been closed off. Xavier uses only a handful of rooms, all located together on the ground floor. He gives Erik a brief tour nonetheless, pointing out each of the rooms. He tells Erik to feel free to help himself in the kitchen whenever he gets hungry - unusual enough, when most owners are so concerned about stealing, but even more strange is when he offers Erik the use of the library, whatever books he may want to read.
Erik can read, as it happens, but Xavier has no way of knowing that. It's a strange thing to assume of a slave.
Xavier stops outside a final room, waving Erik inside with a casual gesture. The door frame is too narrow to allow Xavier's chair to enter, which Erik finds interesting. It's a good sized room; the bed is large enough to fit several, though Xavier indicates the room belongs to Erik alone. He's never had a room to himself before. He supposes the servants' quarters are a long ways away; it makes sense that Xavier might want him closer.
In fact, there are no other slaves or live-in servants in the house. There is a cook, Xavier tells him, who comes every morning, and another woman who comes every second day to clean, but that's all.
There are many curious things about Xavier, Erik thinks. Curiosity has never been a particularly useful emotion, though, so he pushes it back again, out of his mind.
Xavier says that Erik should call him by his first name, Charles. His tone is light enough that it almost sounds like a request, rather than a command.
*****
Erik doesn't see much of Charles over the next few days. He's a busy man, the cook tells him - she's young, pretty, and immensely chatty, and Erik spends hours in the kitchen with her, soaking up information; one never knows what might be useful. She tells him that Charles is a scholar and a writer. He had been living abroad for some years, only returning home within the past year. He's a great man, she says, eyes wide and worshipful as she chops carrots, and Erik does not let her see when he rolls his eyes.
Charles doesn't call for him at night, either. Perhaps he's waiting for Erik to settle in. There are no other duties for Erik to perform, though, so it's not as if he has much to occupy himself. He spends some time reading, taking advantage of Charles's easy offer. He spends more time in his own room, plotting out his next move. He steals some paper from the study, as well as the nib of a pencil to write with. He can draw the route from the house back to the slave market, and from the market he knows the way back to the harbor where his ship landed. The cook's gossip tells him where the food market is, as well, and that it's next to the walls of the city - that's another route out, over land, if he needs to use his back-up plan.
Erik had thought Schmidt's death would bring him happiness. He'd counted on it. But in the end, after the sudden satisfaction had worn off, he had felt nothing at all. He was glad Schmidt was dead, because the world was better off without such a man in it, but another part of Erik felt empty, too. It was all he had looked forward to, for so many years, and yet the world had not stopped. Nothing had changed. His mother was still dead; all the other bad things had still happened.
All of Schmidt's possessions had been collected and sold off afterwards, to pay his debts. That was how Erik had come to be on the ship to this city in the first place.
He doesn't fool himself now that freedom will make him happy. Truly, he doubts anything will. But it will be better than this.
It would be easy to steal some of Charles's valuable things when he leaves - the man's taken no precautions against it - and it would be practical, too, to have something to help pay his way when he flees. Some part of Erik bristles at the idea, though, and when he packs to go he takes only his clothing, his papers, and enough food to start him off.
It's the middle of the night. He makes it to the front door - unlocked, not that a lock would pose much of a problem - before he hears the voice.
Erik, wait.
It sounds like Charles, though he's nowhere around. It takes Erik a moment to realize it's inside his head.
Come to my room, Charles says, still directly to Erik's mind. It feels oddly gentle. I won't stop you leaving, if you decide that's what you want, but let's talk first.
"What are you doing?" Erik says out loud, his hand still on the doorknob. "What are you?"
I'm different, Charles says. I can do things ordinary people can't. Just like you.
Erik rests his forehead against the slick wood of the door, taking in a deep breath, trying not to shiver.
You're not alone, Erik, Charles says. You never have to be.
Erik turns, setting his bag on the floor, and he goes to Charles's room.
*****
"I've been looking for others like us for some time now," Charles says. "I was sure there had to be more out there, but you're the first one I've been able to find. I could sense you as soon as you entered the city - your mind is so bright, Erik, so clear and loud, you have no idea. But it took me a few weeks to narrow your location down to that place and come get you."
"So you bought me," Erik says.
"It seemed the simplest way, yes," Charles says, with a vaguely apologetic air. Only vaguely. "I know you're thinking I should have told you all this sooner," Charles continues, "but I really wasn't certain how you would react. I didn't want to scare you away."
"You weren't certain how I would react?" Erik repeats.
"I can read thoughts, but that doesn't mean I can predict actions."
Erik absorbs this information. "But you can do more than that, as well."
Charles's smile widens slowly, until it is blindingly bright. He says, "I can do much more than that, yes. Just like you can do so much more than coin tricks."
"Not so much more," Erik says ruefully, but Charles shakes his head, his smile never wavering.
"Just wait," he says.
*****
During the fifth week of their training together, Erik comes to Charles's room at night.
Erik doesn't knock; he just lets himself in. Charles is sitting up in his bed, reading by candlelight. He sets the book down in his lap, eyes going wide at the sight of Erik standing just inside his door.
"Erik," Charles says, and Erik can hear the curiosity, the questioning in his voice.
Erik unties his robe and lets it fall to the floor. He's not wearing anything else beneath it. "It would be suspicious if you didn't call for me sometimes," Erik says. As far as excuses go, it's weak, but he doesn't think it matters.
The color rises high on Charles's cheeks, and when he speaks, it's a little too fast. "There's no one else to see here; we don't have to pretend. Erik, you don't have to do anything - that's not how I want things to be between us-"
"You're not listening to me," Erik says, tapping his head.
"Oh," Charles says, a few seconds later. "Oh, I didn't know. If you're sure..."
"You're not very good at this," Erik says. He almost can't recognize the fondness in his own voice; it's not an emotion he's accustomed to expressing. "You have no trouble ordering me around when we're practicing together."
Charles shakes his head. "That's different."
"Not so different," Erik says softly. "You know what I want, Charles. Tell me the truth: do you want me to leave or to stay?"
"Stay," Charles says immediately, no pause or hesitation. "Stay here with me, Erik."
Erik crosses the room with a few quick steps, until he reaches the edge of Charles's enormous bed. He takes the book from Charles's hands, setting it out of reach on the bedside table, and then he pulls the covers off where they cover Charles's body. Charles is naked, too, all of him bare and pale in the glimmering light.
"Tell me what to do," Erik says, looking down upon him.
"Come here," Charles responds. He reaches out with both arms and pulls Erik close, onto the bed, taking Erik's weight upon himself. He kisses open-mouthed, dirty and intimate, and Erik follows his lead.
Charles pulls away after a minute, just far enough to break the seal of their lips. His hands are gentle, brushing against Erik's hair, the curl of his outer ear. "You're so beautiful. I couldn't believe it when I saw you. I still can't."
Erik has always been aware of his looks. He's heard any number of people comment upon the evenness of his features, the strength of his muscles, the size of his cock, the ratio of his torso. It never felt like a compliment; being aesthetically pleasing was a tool, a feature, not something that had anything to do with Erik himself. Hearing it from Charles is different. He likes it.
"You have to tell me what to do," Erik says again. "Tell me what you want, and I'll do it for you. Anything." He kisses Charles's neck. The strain of his tendons is oddly beautiful.
"Anything," Charles repeats, sounding thoughtful.
"Just say it and I'll do it," Erik says. He raises himself up, straddling Charles's hips, waiting.
"Mmm," Charles says. Erik watches his eyes; he goes back and forth between meeting Erik's gaze and staring at his hardening cock. "What if - what if it was the other way around, though? What if you had bought me and brought me home to serve you, Erik? What would you have me do?"
The thought, the idea, is unexpected enough that Erik's first response is a laugh. Charles smiles up at him crookedly. "I suppose it is a foolish notion. Nobody would buy someone without full use of their body."
Erik shakes his head. "That's not what I was thinking at all," he says, stroking a hand across Charles's chest, feeling the nipples stiffen under his fingertips. "You'd sell fast. The pretty ones always go first. Especially with a mouth like that."
Charles blinks at him rapidly. One of his hands comes up to his temple, in the gesture Erik's come to learn is one of Charles's clear tells with his abilities. "Oh, you are fond of my mouth, aren't you?" Charles says, with something like delight. "Come up here closer, then, and let me taste you."
Charles reaches behind himself, setting more pillows to support his head, setting himself at an angle. Erik moves forward on the bed, his knees on either side of Charles's chest. He gives his cock a few slow strokes, staring down at Charles's red mouth, the way his teeth tease at his lower lip as he waits.
"That's enough," Charles says after a moment. He pushes Erik's hand away, replacing it with one of his own. His grip's warm and tight, nothing like the clinical observation of the last time Erik felt his touch, and he tilts Erik's cock down so he can take it into his mouth.
Charles's other hand goes to Erik's ass, his fingertips pressing in hard, pulling him forward. His mouth is greedy on Erik's cock, hungry for it. Erik traces his lips, the corner of his mouth where he's straining open so wide, where the wetness leaks out onto his skin.
You're so big, Charles says. He can't talk out loud, but Erik can still hear him, perfectly clear and live as day in his head. Yes, come on, Erik, more, I want to take it all...
He gives Charles what he wants. "Yes, take it," Erik murmurs. He braces himself, hands against the wall, and closes his eyes. He can still see Charles's image upon the inside of his eyelids. Charles's voice is still inside his head.
Anything you'll tell me, Charles says, I want to know, anything you'll share.
"I would have bought you there," Erik says, "I wouldn't even have haggled, I would have paid any price-"
Charles moans, muffled but still loud.
"I wouldn't have waited, either. Not even to get home. I would have taken you right there in the carriage, lifted you up onto my lap and pushed my cock inside. Split you open. Would you be able to feel that, me inside you?"
Yes, yes, I could feel that, I like that.
"Take you home," Erik says, and he can hear his words starting to slur as the pleasure wells up inside him. "Chain you to the bed," he sends Charles an image, the chain he'd make himself, perfect and solid and infinite, no catches and no locks, "wouldn't let you leave, because you'd be mine."
He reaches his peak, gasping at the force of it, the unfamiliar glow and sparkle in his mind that can only be the effect of Charles's mental presence. Charles swallows down his seed, and he continues to hold Erik in his mouth as Erik softens. When Erik pulls out, finally, he smiles up at Erik with a rakish grin.
"I would like your hands on me now," Charles announces, as he adjusts his jaw, rubbing at it absently with one hand. "And your mouth on my nipples, if you would. Please," he adds at the end, as an afterthought.
"Yes, sir," Erik says, and he sets himself to the task.
*****
"How do you feel about travel?" Charles says at lunch.
Erik looks up from his (quite delicious) soup. "Travel?"
Charles has been opening the day's mail; he shakes the open letter he holds in one hand. "I've been corresponding with a scientist inland. He has some very interesting ideas about how we might be able to go about finding more people like us."
Erik thinks this over as he takes another spoonful. "What do you plan on doing with them if you do find them?"
"Well," Charles says, "it is a very large house. I feel like there's so much we could teach others, don't you?"
"We?" Erik repeats.
"Yes, of course. Me and you."
"Of course," Erik says.
Charles smiles. "Is that an agreement, then?"
Better than what was, Erik thinks. Better than what is. "Yes," Erik says. "We'll go together."
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