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schmericaI'm all the fishes in the sea
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class, Erik/Charles, NC-17, ~1700 words. Mutant recruitment roadtrip. Genderfuck of the "temporarily-has-girl-parts" variety.
Summary: When his body is transformed, Erik is not pleased. Charles sees possibilities.
*****
It's clear to Charles as soon as he steps back into the motel that Erik's emotions have calmed, at least somewhat. Whatever Erik's feeling, it's no longer the mental equivalent of a roar, a shout penetrating all of Charles's defenses with its anger.
He can't remember whether Erik actually requested to be left alone or if it was just obvious enough that even Charles noticed. Perhaps he's getting better at picking up on these things. It's a criticism Raven has made of him often, that he doesn't know when to leave well enough alone - there's a time for talking things over, she always says, but you have to give people their space, first. Don't push so hard.
It's advice he's always had some trouble taking.
But it's been a few hours, now, at least; Charles has stayed away as long as he can make himself. He knocks on the door lightly (though of course it's his room, too).
Erik? Can I come in?
He can hear the clicks of the lock unlatching, and it gives him the same thrill it always does, witnessing Erik working his powers. The door swings open, and Charles steps in, letting it shut behind him.
Erik is sitting at the small table near the window, where the curtains are still shut. There's half a cigarette stubbed out in the ashtray next to him. His hair's damp, and he's wrapped up completely in his bathrobe, so that very little of the shape of his body is visible at all.
He turns his head toward Charles, watching him with an even stare.
"I brought you a sandwich and some potato salad," Charles says. He sets the food down carefully on the dresser before sitting down on the edge of the bed closest to Erik. "How are you doing?"
It's a stupid question, Charles thinks, but Erik appears to be giving it more thought than it really deserves.
"Strange," Erik says, finally. "Do you know, Charles, I thought I knew what it was like to have things taken from me. I thought I was prepared for that, if it ever happened again. But one's body... You do take it for granted."
Are the lines of Erik's face really softer, or is Charles only seeing them that way because he knows? He can't tell. It's still, quite obviously, Erik and no one else. An oddly comforting thought, that. Charles feels as though he should perhaps be more jarred by the situation than he is. If it were Charles to whom it was happening - he can imagine the shock, the overwhelming disorientation of something so basic becoming unfamiliar. But Erik's body, as wonderfully dear as it might be, has always been secondary in Charles's considerations of him, and everything else is still the same.
"It should only be temporary," Charles offers. "When you wake up, most likely it will already be back to normal."
Erik acknowledges this with nothing more than a shrug.
Charles bites his lip. He stands up, moving behind Erik's chair. Carefully, he sets his hand on Erik's shoulder, on the soft fabric of his robe. He expects Erik to tense beneath his touch, but Erik doesn't react at all.
"You're still you," Charles says. "Everything that makes you you, it's still here - I can see it, I can feel it." If Charles was a religious man, he might think of it as a soul. But he's a scientist, and it's Erik's brain, his mind, subtle and enchanting and utterly singular, that Charles knows so well. Unforgettable from the first time Charles felt it, weeks ago in the water. "Your body will come back."
Although, Charles thinks rather loudly, you must excuse me for saying so, but the one in which you're currently encased is rather lovely on its own merits.
It surprises Erik, enough to provoke a snorting laugh, which Charles counts as a victory. Erik twists in his seat enough to look Charles in the face. "And how would you know that?"
"I saw enough," Charles says.
Immediately after it happened, Erik's clothes had almost fit the same; the changes from Charles's viewpoint had been subtle, but still noticeable if you were paying attention. Charles paid attention. Erik is still taller than Charles, still ridiculously skinny and lanky, but there had been signs: his shoulders, not quite as broad as before; his hips, perhaps a little wider in relation to his small waist; the way his shirt hung on his chest just so, a tantalizing suggestion of the small breasts hiding beneath it.
Charles closes his eyes, letting out a slow breath.
"You are rather a pervert, Charles," Erik says. His voice is even, betraying little emotion, but Charles can feel the beginnings of curiosity in the back of his mind, the slight amusement that often precedes his acquiesence to Charles's best ideas. He is willing to be convinced.
Charles leans down, curling to kiss at Erik's throat. Erik raises one of his hands, curling it into Charles's hair, holding his head close.
"Bodies are created for pleasure," Charles says, licking thoughtfully at Erik's pulse point. "It would be a shame not to experiment while you have the chance."
"That's not even a coherent argument," Erik says. "Are you appealing to my sense of decadence or my dedication to knowledge?"
"Why do I have to choose? Come on, then, Erik, let me see you-"
He tugs on Erik gently, pulling him out of the chair. As soon as Erik's upright, they're kissing again, pressed together sweetly. Charles's hands are between them, reaching for the knot of Erik's robe, when Erik pushes him away with a sudden shove.
Charles raises a questioning eyebrow and Erik gives him his familiar, slightly mocking smile as he unties the robe himself, pushing it off of his shoulders to fall at the ground. He's not wearing anything underneath.
Beautiful, Charles thinks, absolutely beautiful. "Would you like to witness the fruits of my ill-spent youth, my dear?"
"Are you going to recite genetics texts to me?"
"I didn't spend all my time in Oxford studying," Charles says with a grin.
*****
Erik smells wonderful. He tastes wonderful. It's been a while since Charles was with a girl - he had been so busy with his dissertation, and then Moira had appeared as soon as he received his degree - and God, how had he forgotten how much he loves this? How marvelous it is?
After Erik orgasms for the first time, he pulls on Charles's hair. "You can- you can stop now, you don't have to, you already made me come," Erik says, breathless and husky, and Charles has to rest his forehead against Erik's soft inner thigh to gather his thoughts.
"I'll stop if you want me to," he manages after a moment, "but I'd like to- let me keep going, please, Erik-"
"You really like it so much," Erik says, and Charles can sense his surprise, and so he sends it to Erik directly, the pleasure Charles is taking in this, how he could stay here forever, living here with his face between Erik's thighs.
There's the barest hint of a thought - something about how Erik had thought the way Charles approached his cock was eager - and then Erik is saying, "Yes, all right. Keep going," kicking one heel against Charles's shoulder. It is all the encouragement Charles needs.
*****
By the time he makes Erik come again, Erik's passed through giving specific directions and been reduced to mindless cursing. After the third time, he pushes Charles off.
Charles rolls onto his back. His lips are almost numb, his fingertips are wrinkled like raisins, and his scalp is sore from where Erik tore away strands of hair during his excitement.
Erik has an arm thrown over his face, covering his eyes. When he pants, it makes his breasts rise up and down in a distracting manner. Small, yes - and Charles has seen enough of Erik's memories to know that Erik himself has always preferred women with curves, a bit of flesh around the chest and hips. Charles, though, has no such prejudices, and Erik's tits are exquisitely formed, firm and tilted upwards. The dark pink of his areolae contrasts vividly against the paleness of his skin.
Charles leans over, just far enough to lick softly at Erik's erect nipple. Erik jerks wildly, letting out a noise that's almost a sob.
"Goddammit, Charles," Erik says. "Give me a moment to recover, and then you can stick it in."
Charles does not come immediately upon hearing those words, something for which he's quite proud. He manages to wait until he's inside Erik's wet, hot cunt, until he can feel the pleasure soaring through him every time he moves, can feel the shivers racking Erik and the faint echo Erik sends of his too-sensitized flesh too much/don't stop/Charles, can feel all of it, and Charles can't resist it, then, can't even pull himself together enough to pull out, just spends himself helplessly into Erik's body.
*****
"So that's what they taught you at Oxford, hmm?" Erik says, yawning.
"Some of it," Charles says. He curls himself around Erik. It's the same way they have fallen asleep each night of the past few weeks, since they started this trip and began sharing a bed.
Some of it I made up just for you, Charles thinks, but he keeps it to himself, because Erik is already falling into slumber, and there are few things better than this feeling, of Erik's mind as calm and gentled and quiet as Charles as ever known it to get. As close to at peace. Charles did that, managed that even during a situation as fraught as this one.
Raven's right about one thing: Charles can't leave well enough alone. He doesn't want to. Especially not with Erik; not ever with Erik. It's not even a conscious choice anymore, if it ever was. Tomorrow Charles will likely wake up with a different body in this bed, but he's prepared for that. It will be Erik, still.
Let me in, Charles thinks, always, as he tightens his grip around Erik's waist, and then he, too, falls asleep.
by Pearl-o
X-men: First Class, Erik/Charles, NC-17, ~1700 words. Mutant recruitment roadtrip. Genderfuck of the "temporarily-has-girl-parts" variety.
Summary: When his body is transformed, Erik is not pleased. Charles sees possibilities.
*****
It's clear to Charles as soon as he steps back into the motel that Erik's emotions have calmed, at least somewhat. Whatever Erik's feeling, it's no longer the mental equivalent of a roar, a shout penetrating all of Charles's defenses with its anger.
He can't remember whether Erik actually requested to be left alone or if it was just obvious enough that even Charles noticed. Perhaps he's getting better at picking up on these things. It's a criticism Raven has made of him often, that he doesn't know when to leave well enough alone - there's a time for talking things over, she always says, but you have to give people their space, first. Don't push so hard.
It's advice he's always had some trouble taking.
But it's been a few hours, now, at least; Charles has stayed away as long as he can make himself. He knocks on the door lightly (though of course it's his room, too).
Erik? Can I come in?
He can hear the clicks of the lock unlatching, and it gives him the same thrill it always does, witnessing Erik working his powers. The door swings open, and Charles steps in, letting it shut behind him.
Erik is sitting at the small table near the window, where the curtains are still shut. There's half a cigarette stubbed out in the ashtray next to him. His hair's damp, and he's wrapped up completely in his bathrobe, so that very little of the shape of his body is visible at all.
He turns his head toward Charles, watching him with an even stare.
"I brought you a sandwich and some potato salad," Charles says. He sets the food down carefully on the dresser before sitting down on the edge of the bed closest to Erik. "How are you doing?"
It's a stupid question, Charles thinks, but Erik appears to be giving it more thought than it really deserves.
"Strange," Erik says, finally. "Do you know, Charles, I thought I knew what it was like to have things taken from me. I thought I was prepared for that, if it ever happened again. But one's body... You do take it for granted."
Are the lines of Erik's face really softer, or is Charles only seeing them that way because he knows? He can't tell. It's still, quite obviously, Erik and no one else. An oddly comforting thought, that. Charles feels as though he should perhaps be more jarred by the situation than he is. If it were Charles to whom it was happening - he can imagine the shock, the overwhelming disorientation of something so basic becoming unfamiliar. But Erik's body, as wonderfully dear as it might be, has always been secondary in Charles's considerations of him, and everything else is still the same.
"It should only be temporary," Charles offers. "When you wake up, most likely it will already be back to normal."
Erik acknowledges this with nothing more than a shrug.
Charles bites his lip. He stands up, moving behind Erik's chair. Carefully, he sets his hand on Erik's shoulder, on the soft fabric of his robe. He expects Erik to tense beneath his touch, but Erik doesn't react at all.
"You're still you," Charles says. "Everything that makes you you, it's still here - I can see it, I can feel it." If Charles was a religious man, he might think of it as a soul. But he's a scientist, and it's Erik's brain, his mind, subtle and enchanting and utterly singular, that Charles knows so well. Unforgettable from the first time Charles felt it, weeks ago in the water. "Your body will come back."
Although, Charles thinks rather loudly, you must excuse me for saying so, but the one in which you're currently encased is rather lovely on its own merits.
It surprises Erik, enough to provoke a snorting laugh, which Charles counts as a victory. Erik twists in his seat enough to look Charles in the face. "And how would you know that?"
"I saw enough," Charles says.
Immediately after it happened, Erik's clothes had almost fit the same; the changes from Charles's viewpoint had been subtle, but still noticeable if you were paying attention. Charles paid attention. Erik is still taller than Charles, still ridiculously skinny and lanky, but there had been signs: his shoulders, not quite as broad as before; his hips, perhaps a little wider in relation to his small waist; the way his shirt hung on his chest just so, a tantalizing suggestion of the small breasts hiding beneath it.
Charles closes his eyes, letting out a slow breath.
"You are rather a pervert, Charles," Erik says. His voice is even, betraying little emotion, but Charles can feel the beginnings of curiosity in the back of his mind, the slight amusement that often precedes his acquiesence to Charles's best ideas. He is willing to be convinced.
Charles leans down, curling to kiss at Erik's throat. Erik raises one of his hands, curling it into Charles's hair, holding his head close.
"Bodies are created for pleasure," Charles says, licking thoughtfully at Erik's pulse point. "It would be a shame not to experiment while you have the chance."
"That's not even a coherent argument," Erik says. "Are you appealing to my sense of decadence or my dedication to knowledge?"
"Why do I have to choose? Come on, then, Erik, let me see you-"
He tugs on Erik gently, pulling him out of the chair. As soon as Erik's upright, they're kissing again, pressed together sweetly. Charles's hands are between them, reaching for the knot of Erik's robe, when Erik pushes him away with a sudden shove.
Charles raises a questioning eyebrow and Erik gives him his familiar, slightly mocking smile as he unties the robe himself, pushing it off of his shoulders to fall at the ground. He's not wearing anything underneath.
Beautiful, Charles thinks, absolutely beautiful. "Would you like to witness the fruits of my ill-spent youth, my dear?"
"Are you going to recite genetics texts to me?"
"I didn't spend all my time in Oxford studying," Charles says with a grin.
*****
Erik smells wonderful. He tastes wonderful. It's been a while since Charles was with a girl - he had been so busy with his dissertation, and then Moira had appeared as soon as he received his degree - and God, how had he forgotten how much he loves this? How marvelous it is?
After Erik orgasms for the first time, he pulls on Charles's hair. "You can- you can stop now, you don't have to, you already made me come," Erik says, breathless and husky, and Charles has to rest his forehead against Erik's soft inner thigh to gather his thoughts.
"I'll stop if you want me to," he manages after a moment, "but I'd like to- let me keep going, please, Erik-"
"You really like it so much," Erik says, and Charles can sense his surprise, and so he sends it to Erik directly, the pleasure Charles is taking in this, how he could stay here forever, living here with his face between Erik's thighs.
There's the barest hint of a thought - something about how Erik had thought the way Charles approached his cock was eager - and then Erik is saying, "Yes, all right. Keep going," kicking one heel against Charles's shoulder. It is all the encouragement Charles needs.
*****
By the time he makes Erik come again, Erik's passed through giving specific directions and been reduced to mindless cursing. After the third time, he pushes Charles off.
Charles rolls onto his back. His lips are almost numb, his fingertips are wrinkled like raisins, and his scalp is sore from where Erik tore away strands of hair during his excitement.
Erik has an arm thrown over his face, covering his eyes. When he pants, it makes his breasts rise up and down in a distracting manner. Small, yes - and Charles has seen enough of Erik's memories to know that Erik himself has always preferred women with curves, a bit of flesh around the chest and hips. Charles, though, has no such prejudices, and Erik's tits are exquisitely formed, firm and tilted upwards. The dark pink of his areolae contrasts vividly against the paleness of his skin.
Charles leans over, just far enough to lick softly at Erik's erect nipple. Erik jerks wildly, letting out a noise that's almost a sob.
"Goddammit, Charles," Erik says. "Give me a moment to recover, and then you can stick it in."
Charles does not come immediately upon hearing those words, something for which he's quite proud. He manages to wait until he's inside Erik's wet, hot cunt, until he can feel the pleasure soaring through him every time he moves, can feel the shivers racking Erik and the faint echo Erik sends of his too-sensitized flesh too much/don't stop/Charles, can feel all of it, and Charles can't resist it, then, can't even pull himself together enough to pull out, just spends himself helplessly into Erik's body.
*****
"So that's what they taught you at Oxford, hmm?" Erik says, yawning.
"Some of it," Charles says. He curls himself around Erik. It's the same way they have fallen asleep each night of the past few weeks, since they started this trip and began sharing a bed.
Some of it I made up just for you, Charles thinks, but he keeps it to himself, because Erik is already falling into slumber, and there are few things better than this feeling, of Erik's mind as calm and gentled and quiet as Charles as ever known it to get. As close to at peace. Charles did that, managed that even during a situation as fraught as this one.
Raven's right about one thing: Charles can't leave well enough alone. He doesn't want to. Especially not with Erik; not ever with Erik. It's not even a conscious choice anymore, if it ever was. Tomorrow Charles will likely wake up with a different body in this bed, but he's prepared for that. It will be Erik, still.
Let me in, Charles thinks, always, as he tightens his grip around Erik's waist, and then he, too, falls asleep.
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