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schmericaNo Memory of the Sky
by Pearl-o
NC-17, Charles/Erik, post-beach, ~2000 words. Consent issues.
Thank you topocky_slash for help and encouragement.
Summary: Erik's sleep is overtaken by vivid, erotic dreams, until he confronts their source.
*****
It was a dream; that was obvious to Erik right away, in the easy and unquestioning way such revelations always occurred. But it was different from his usual dreams, which tended toward the dim, the muted and the horrible. He woke from most of those with only the faintest impression of what had actually transpired, and grateful that he couldn't remember more.
Here, though - everything was perfectly sharp-focused. He was on his back, in an absurdly large bed. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of the windows, and his hands were curled into sheets of luxurious cotton, soft against his skin. He could taste the dryness of his mouth, smell the scent of sex and sweat in the air.
Charles knelt over him, sunk down and impaled upon Erik's cock. His head hung back, exposing his long throat to Erik's view, and Erik stared up at him, unable to drag his eyes away. He hadn't forgotten how beautiful Charles could be, but he'd ... put it out of mind, somehow, locked it away with other irrelevant details. It was impossible to ignore it now, though, that tousled hair and creamy skin flushed with sex, the intensity of his eyes when he opened them again, looking down and meeting Erik's gaze.
When Charles moved, it wrung a small moan out of him, surprised and guttural. Affection filled Erik up almost painfully, and he lifted his hands from the sheet up to Charles's legs, running them up and down Charles's strong, solid thighs, lightly haired and firmly muscled.
"Charles-" Erik started to say, but Charles was shaking his head.
"No, no," Charles said, "no talking. Absolutely not."
That was wrong, Erik thought, that was entirely wrong. Charles liked it when he spoke, he always wanted Erik to speak-
"Let me have this," Charles said, sounding frustrated, and he rose up and twisted in a way that took Erik's breath away for a long moment.
Erik pushed himself up with one fluid movement, until he was sitting, and he clutched at Charles's full ass, squeezing him in as close as possible. Charles gasped at the sudden shift in position, and then buried his face against the crook of Erik's shoulder as Erik fucked him in short, rough pushes, their bodies moving against each other in a way just this side of painful.
Erik didn't say Come on, Charles or are you going to come for me? or I love you like this or, indeed, any of the million thoughts running through his head. He bit his bottom lip against all of them, even when Charles reached his orgasm, tightening and shaking around Erik as his ragged cries filled the air. Erik didn't stop, didn't slow, even then, and Charles's fingernails were sharp and gouging lines down the flesh of Erik's back, and when he bit Erik's shoulder Erik reached his peak, too, spilling himself into Charles's lovely body.
Erik awoke in the dark, in his rough coarse cot. He had spent himself into his underwear while he slept, and the warm wet stickiness left him feeling disgusted. He hadn't had a dream of that kind since he was a teenager, he thought. He couldn't imagine why it would happen again now.
*****
They were in a car. Not any car, Erik realized; it was the car they had taken from the CIA, that they had taken together on those first days of searching for others of their kind to join them in the fight against Shaw.
Erik was driving. He looked over to the passenger seat, to Charles, and found Charles looking back at him, with a determined expression on his face.
"Where are we going?" Erik said. He couldn't remember where they had begun the day, what came before this moment or what came next.
"Don't worry about it," Charles said. He set his hand on Erik's thigh. "Keep your eyes on the road."
Charles's hand moved to Erik's crotch, pulling at the zipper and buttons, and then tugging at his underwear until he was able to free Erik's cock. Erik stared forward at the road even as he grew erect under Charles's knowing strokes. Charles scooted across the seat, leaning over and taking Erik into his mouth, and Erik couldn't help but look down, absorbing the overwhelmingly arousing sight of Charles's head bobbing in his lap.
He took one hand off the steering wheel - really, the whole thing was metal, he didn't have any true need to use his hands at all - and reached down to Charles's dark hair, soft and thick against his fingertips. Charles moaned at the small contact, and Erik had to draw in a deep breath against the depth of the pleasure that ran through him.
Erik stared out across the traffic, paying attention to very little but Charles. It was only after he had come, in fact, that he realized they had passed the same strip of landscape over and over, a few hundred feet of scenery in a loop just beyond them.
"This isn't real," Erik said. He stopped the car, right there in the middle of the highway, and turned in his seat.
Charles was sitting upright again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand; his lips looked red and swollen and a little sticky in the corner. He reached for his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and didn't reply to Erik.
"This never happened," Erik said, and it felt halfway like an accusation.
Charles looked directly at him, his expression twisting into a kind of frown Erik hadn't seen on him before. "Perhaps it should have," Charles said, and Erik had just enough time to recognize it as a dismissal before he blinked and opened his eyes once more to the nighttime ceiling above his bed.
*****
He searched out Emma in the morning, finding her sitting alone in the small kitchen of the house they ere currently hiding out in.
WIthout any preliminaries, Erik said, "How far is Xavier's telepathic range?"
"What difference does it make to you?" Emma said, as disdainful and dismissive as every other time she'd spoken to Erik. "You have that pretty piece of tin on your head to protect you."
From this, Erik deduced that Emma probably didn't know the answer to his question, and that even if she did, she was not likely to share it with him.
He wondered if Charles and Hank had begun rebuilding Cerebro. Charles had spoken of it, during the days at the mansion. There hadn't been time, but he was making plans even then for after. After, which Erik hadn't really believed in; he had agreed to it, to being there and helping, but he had always assumed that ending Shaw would be the end of his life as well.
Well, Erik had survived after all. They had reached that after, and it was nothing like Charles had expected, either.
*****
This time, it was the mansion. The kitchen, after dinner, and Erik stood at the sink full of the supper dishes. In truth this had been a two-person job, and they had taken turns in pairs; on their nights, Erik had rinsed while Alex dried beside him. But here, he was alone at the task.
The room was dim and quiet. The door creaked open behind him, and Erik set down the glass he held and waited.
Charles's body was warm, even though the layers of their sweatsuits. He pressed up against Erik full body, crotch against Erik's ass, the heavy weight of his forehead resting between Erik's shoulder blades. Charles wrapped his arms around Erik's middle, slipping his hands under Erik's sweatshirt. For a moment he held Erik's hipbones in place with a tight grip, but a second later he released them. He ran one palm across Erik's stomach, making Erik's breath catch a little, not quite ticklish. Erik braced himself against the sink, letting his head fall forward onto his chest.
Charles moved his hand again, this time underneath the waistband of Erik's pants. He took Erik's cock in hand, fondling it with a grip that seemed both familiar and greedy, working Erik's soft prick into hardness. Erik could hear the rough pants of Charles's breath behind him, heavier even than Erik's own.
"Wait," Erik said, biting his lip.
Charles paid him no mind.
"Stop," Erik said, and when Charles's hand continued, he pulled away, pushing himself off from the sink and throwing Charles's weight off his back. He turned around to face him. "What are we doing?"
Charles was frowning, brow deeply furrowed, almost annoyed. "I would have thought it was obvious, Erik," he said. There was an archness to his manner that Erik recognized, and hated, had always hated. It had been a long time since he had heard Charles use that tone.
He gritted his teeth and reached out, grabbing Charles tightly at the wrist. "Don't play coy with me, Charles. I want you to talk to me."
"I don't want to talk!" Charles burst out. He ripped his arm out of Erik's grip. "I've talked to you enough! Over and over, Erik, and what good did it do us? I told you things I'd never told another living person, and it didn't matter. You never listened to a word I had to say, I realize that now. Talking's useless."
Erik stared at him. "You're angry with me," he said after a moment.
Charles laughed, an ugly, wretched sound.
Erik took a step forward, but Charles backed away, raising a hand in front of himself and shaking his head.
Quietly, Erik said, "So is this a punishment, then?"
"Sex with me is a punishment for you?" Charles said, in a voice that sounded like perhaps it was meant to be light.
"What else am I to think?" Erik said. "You're torturing me with what I lost."
Charles closed his eyes. "It's not always about you, you know."
Erik didn't understand what he meant, and it was clear that Charles knew that. Charles blew out a huff of a breath, and the room around them vanished, leaving them in a formless void, akin to solid grey mist.
"Look at me," Charles said softly. "Do you see, Erik?"
Charles sat before him in a metal wheelchair. He was paler than the last time Erik had seen him, and thinner; his suit hang loose upon his frame. There were dark circles under his eyes, and there were streaks of gray in his hair that were new, as well.
"I don't care about what you lost," Charles said. His expression seemed less bitter than it had in the kitchen, and yet sadder. "I don't care. There are things I will never get back, and I thought- I thought, you could at least give me this. You at least owed me this."
Erik knelt down in front of him. He rested his hands on Charles's knees, but of course Charles didn't react. "Charles," Erik said, "I do love you."
"Please don't," Charles said.
"I never meant to hurt you," Erik continued evenly. "I would have destroyed anyone else who hurt you, I think you know that. I made the choices I had to make, to do what I believe to be right-"
"Please stop talking," Charles said, sounding choked, and Erik fell silent.
"If I came to see you," Erik said after a moment, "would you turn me away?"
For a minute, he didn't think Charles would answer at all, but finally Charles said, "No."
"Someday soon, then. I'll visit you," Erik promised. "We'll play chess. Without speaking, if that's what you want. Or you can tell me all the things you think I should know. You were a fool for ever believing in me, Charles, and I think you're still a fool, now, because you still do, even when you have every reason to hate me. Even when you do hate me. Am I right?"
"I don't know," Charles said.
Erik reached for Charles's hands, folding them into his own and squeezing tightly. "I don't think you're going to give up on me," Erik said. "God knows why not, but I don't think you will."
"Perhaps I already have," Charles said, but Erik could see his eyes. Charles had an incurable disease called hope. It was one of the things Erik loved about him, one of the things he would never understand about him.
"No, I don't think you have," Erik said. He tilted his face up towards Charles, capturing Charles's mouth into a kiss that dragged on endlessly until Erik finally awoke, once more, alone in his own mind.
by Pearl-o
NC-17, Charles/Erik, post-beach, ~2000 words. Consent issues.
Thank you to
pocky_slash for help and encouragement.Summary: Erik's sleep is overtaken by vivid, erotic dreams, until he confronts their source.
*****
It was a dream; that was obvious to Erik right away, in the easy and unquestioning way such revelations always occurred. But it was different from his usual dreams, which tended toward the dim, the muted and the horrible. He woke from most of those with only the faintest impression of what had actually transpired, and grateful that he couldn't remember more.
Here, though - everything was perfectly sharp-focused. He was on his back, in an absurdly large bed. Afternoon sunlight filtered through the thin curtains of the windows, and his hands were curled into sheets of luxurious cotton, soft against his skin. He could taste the dryness of his mouth, smell the scent of sex and sweat in the air.
Charles knelt over him, sunk down and impaled upon Erik's cock. His head hung back, exposing his long throat to Erik's view, and Erik stared up at him, unable to drag his eyes away. He hadn't forgotten how beautiful Charles could be, but he'd ... put it out of mind, somehow, locked it away with other irrelevant details. It was impossible to ignore it now, though, that tousled hair and creamy skin flushed with sex, the intensity of his eyes when he opened them again, looking down and meeting Erik's gaze.
When Charles moved, it wrung a small moan out of him, surprised and guttural. Affection filled Erik up almost painfully, and he lifted his hands from the sheet up to Charles's legs, running them up and down Charles's strong, solid thighs, lightly haired and firmly muscled.
"Charles-" Erik started to say, but Charles was shaking his head.
"No, no," Charles said, "no talking. Absolutely not."
That was wrong, Erik thought, that was entirely wrong. Charles liked it when he spoke, he always wanted Erik to speak-
"Let me have this," Charles said, sounding frustrated, and he rose up and twisted in a way that took Erik's breath away for a long moment.
Erik pushed himself up with one fluid movement, until he was sitting, and he clutched at Charles's full ass, squeezing him in as close as possible. Charles gasped at the sudden shift in position, and then buried his face against the crook of Erik's shoulder as Erik fucked him in short, rough pushes, their bodies moving against each other in a way just this side of painful.
Erik didn't say Come on, Charles or are you going to come for me? or I love you like this or, indeed, any of the million thoughts running through his head. He bit his bottom lip against all of them, even when Charles reached his orgasm, tightening and shaking around Erik as his ragged cries filled the air. Erik didn't stop, didn't slow, even then, and Charles's fingernails were sharp and gouging lines down the flesh of Erik's back, and when he bit Erik's shoulder Erik reached his peak, too, spilling himself into Charles's lovely body.
Erik awoke in the dark, in his rough coarse cot. He had spent himself into his underwear while he slept, and the warm wet stickiness left him feeling disgusted. He hadn't had a dream of that kind since he was a teenager, he thought. He couldn't imagine why it would happen again now.
*****
They were in a car. Not any car, Erik realized; it was the car they had taken from the CIA, that they had taken together on those first days of searching for others of their kind to join them in the fight against Shaw.
Erik was driving. He looked over to the passenger seat, to Charles, and found Charles looking back at him, with a determined expression on his face.
"Where are we going?" Erik said. He couldn't remember where they had begun the day, what came before this moment or what came next.
"Don't worry about it," Charles said. He set his hand on Erik's thigh. "Keep your eyes on the road."
Charles's hand moved to Erik's crotch, pulling at the zipper and buttons, and then tugging at his underwear until he was able to free Erik's cock. Erik stared forward at the road even as he grew erect under Charles's knowing strokes. Charles scooted across the seat, leaning over and taking Erik into his mouth, and Erik couldn't help but look down, absorbing the overwhelmingly arousing sight of Charles's head bobbing in his lap.
He took one hand off the steering wheel - really, the whole thing was metal, he didn't have any true need to use his hands at all - and reached down to Charles's dark hair, soft and thick against his fingertips. Charles moaned at the small contact, and Erik had to draw in a deep breath against the depth of the pleasure that ran through him.
Erik stared out across the traffic, paying attention to very little but Charles. It was only after he had come, in fact, that he realized they had passed the same strip of landscape over and over, a few hundred feet of scenery in a loop just beyond them.
"This isn't real," Erik said. He stopped the car, right there in the middle of the highway, and turned in his seat.
Charles was sitting upright again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand; his lips looked red and swollen and a little sticky in the corner. He reached for his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief and didn't reply to Erik.
"This never happened," Erik said, and it felt halfway like an accusation.
Charles looked directly at him, his expression twisting into a kind of frown Erik hadn't seen on him before. "Perhaps it should have," Charles said, and Erik had just enough time to recognize it as a dismissal before he blinked and opened his eyes once more to the nighttime ceiling above his bed.
*****
He searched out Emma in the morning, finding her sitting alone in the small kitchen of the house they ere currently hiding out in.
WIthout any preliminaries, Erik said, "How far is Xavier's telepathic range?"
"What difference does it make to you?" Emma said, as disdainful and dismissive as every other time she'd spoken to Erik. "You have that pretty piece of tin on your head to protect you."
From this, Erik deduced that Emma probably didn't know the answer to his question, and that even if she did, she was not likely to share it with him.
He wondered if Charles and Hank had begun rebuilding Cerebro. Charles had spoken of it, during the days at the mansion. There hadn't been time, but he was making plans even then for after. After, which Erik hadn't really believed in; he had agreed to it, to being there and helping, but he had always assumed that ending Shaw would be the end of his life as well.
Well, Erik had survived after all. They had reached that after, and it was nothing like Charles had expected, either.
*****
This time, it was the mansion. The kitchen, after dinner, and Erik stood at the sink full of the supper dishes. In truth this had been a two-person job, and they had taken turns in pairs; on their nights, Erik had rinsed while Alex dried beside him. But here, he was alone at the task.
The room was dim and quiet. The door creaked open behind him, and Erik set down the glass he held and waited.
Charles's body was warm, even though the layers of their sweatsuits. He pressed up against Erik full body, crotch against Erik's ass, the heavy weight of his forehead resting between Erik's shoulder blades. Charles wrapped his arms around Erik's middle, slipping his hands under Erik's sweatshirt. For a moment he held Erik's hipbones in place with a tight grip, but a second later he released them. He ran one palm across Erik's stomach, making Erik's breath catch a little, not quite ticklish. Erik braced himself against the sink, letting his head fall forward onto his chest.
Charles moved his hand again, this time underneath the waistband of Erik's pants. He took Erik's cock in hand, fondling it with a grip that seemed both familiar and greedy, working Erik's soft prick into hardness. Erik could hear the rough pants of Charles's breath behind him, heavier even than Erik's own.
"Wait," Erik said, biting his lip.
Charles paid him no mind.
"Stop," Erik said, and when Charles's hand continued, he pulled away, pushing himself off from the sink and throwing Charles's weight off his back. He turned around to face him. "What are we doing?"
Charles was frowning, brow deeply furrowed, almost annoyed. "I would have thought it was obvious, Erik," he said. There was an archness to his manner that Erik recognized, and hated, had always hated. It had been a long time since he had heard Charles use that tone.
He gritted his teeth and reached out, grabbing Charles tightly at the wrist. "Don't play coy with me, Charles. I want you to talk to me."
"I don't want to talk!" Charles burst out. He ripped his arm out of Erik's grip. "I've talked to you enough! Over and over, Erik, and what good did it do us? I told you things I'd never told another living person, and it didn't matter. You never listened to a word I had to say, I realize that now. Talking's useless."
Erik stared at him. "You're angry with me," he said after a moment.
Charles laughed, an ugly, wretched sound.
Erik took a step forward, but Charles backed away, raising a hand in front of himself and shaking his head.
Quietly, Erik said, "So is this a punishment, then?"
"Sex with me is a punishment for you?" Charles said, in a voice that sounded like perhaps it was meant to be light.
"What else am I to think?" Erik said. "You're torturing me with what I lost."
Charles closed his eyes. "It's not always about you, you know."
Erik didn't understand what he meant, and it was clear that Charles knew that. Charles blew out a huff of a breath, and the room around them vanished, leaving them in a formless void, akin to solid grey mist.
"Look at me," Charles said softly. "Do you see, Erik?"
Charles sat before him in a metal wheelchair. He was paler than the last time Erik had seen him, and thinner; his suit hang loose upon his frame. There were dark circles under his eyes, and there were streaks of gray in his hair that were new, as well.
"I don't care about what you lost," Charles said. His expression seemed less bitter than it had in the kitchen, and yet sadder. "I don't care. There are things I will never get back, and I thought- I thought, you could at least give me this. You at least owed me this."
Erik knelt down in front of him. He rested his hands on Charles's knees, but of course Charles didn't react. "Charles," Erik said, "I do love you."
"Please don't," Charles said.
"I never meant to hurt you," Erik continued evenly. "I would have destroyed anyone else who hurt you, I think you know that. I made the choices I had to make, to do what I believe to be right-"
"Please stop talking," Charles said, sounding choked, and Erik fell silent.
"If I came to see you," Erik said after a moment, "would you turn me away?"
For a minute, he didn't think Charles would answer at all, but finally Charles said, "No."
"Someday soon, then. I'll visit you," Erik promised. "We'll play chess. Without speaking, if that's what you want. Or you can tell me all the things you think I should know. You were a fool for ever believing in me, Charles, and I think you're still a fool, now, because you still do, even when you have every reason to hate me. Even when you do hate me. Am I right?"
"I don't know," Charles said.
Erik reached for Charles's hands, folding them into his own and squeezing tightly. "I don't think you're going to give up on me," Erik said. "God knows why not, but I don't think you will."
"Perhaps I already have," Charles said, but Erik could see his eyes. Charles had an incurable disease called hope. It was one of the things Erik loved about him, one of the things he would never understand about him.
"No, I don't think you have," Erik said. He tilted his face up towards Charles, capturing Charles's mouth into a kiss that dragged on endlessly until Erik finally awoke, once more, alone in his own mind.
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24/2/13 20:39 (UTC)(no subject)
26/2/13 05:16 (UTC)