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It starts with another game of chess on a Sunday evening. They're both loose with drink, not drunk but lulled into relaxation after a tiring day of training the newest students. Charles is talking about Raven's latest feminist rant and the poorly chosen audience of adolescent boys who have enough to worry about in how the world treats their mutations.
"She does have a point though," Charles is saying, frowning into his half-drained glass of scotch. "As much as the term "patriarchy" gets bandied about these days, it is a rather firm fact that the society is largely unfair towards women."
Erik raises an eyebrow at this, looking bemused.
"I never took you for a feminist, Charles. Based on the rumours I've heard of your Oxford days, apparently you used to very much enjoy attempting to seduce anything in a skirt."
"Jealous, Erik?" Charles asks, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Erik simply snorts and stretches out his foot to rub against Charles's ankle.
"Hardly. I happen to have it on good authority that your interest in skirts has waned in the recent months."
Curiously, Charles looks away from Erik's face, a blush staining his cheeks and neck, the tips of his ears ruddy with red.
"Ah. Yes, well," he stumbles, visibly flustered. "In any case, just because I appreciate female beauty doesn't mean I can't view them as intellectual equals," Charles says, regaining some of his certainty.
"There are so many sociological abstracts at work when it comes to establishing gender roles, in fact, some of it could be called ridiculously arbitrary."
Erik tilts his head to look at Charles along his nose, a habit that manifests when he thinks Charles is being either naive or arrogant.
"Don't you think this is all rather entitled of you? Seeing as you are male and therefore have no experience of the plights of the female gender."
Charles clears his throat. "Ah. Well, you see, the funny thing about manifesting telepathy at such a young age as I did, is that it's hard to not let it affect your sense of self."
Erik raises an eyebrow. "Explain."
"Well. What I mean is, when you're getting constant feedback from the people around you, it's difficult to not let them affect your self- image. Especially when you're a teenager and questioning your own identity becomes a rather acute state..."
"So, what?" Erik says, setting down his drink and leaning closer to Charles. "You're a sum of all the people whose thoughts you spent any significant time listening?"
Charles clears his throat. "Not exactly. I identify very definitely as me. I'm simply saying that you gain a certain insight to topics you normally wouldn't."
"Normally," Erik scoffs.
"Yes," says Charles, rolling his eyes. "Your distaste of the word "norm" and all its derivatives is well documented. I simply mean that there are things one cannot understand except through experiencing them - as you're so often telling me." He gives Erik a pointed look before continuing.
"And I firmly believe gender identity is one of those."
"And you're saying you have some special insight to the female gender then?"
Charles fidgets in his chair uncomfortably. "Not quite. I'm saying that my mutation enabled me to form a slightly more flexible view on gender roles than most males."
Erik shoots him a sceptical look. "Explain, then."
Charles looks at him, mouth shut tight, as though mulling something over. Finally, with a hesitating gesture, he stands up while motioning for Erik to stay seated.
"I can show you - no, not through telepathy," he says, and Erik looks at him, surprised.
"Stay here until I call you. It, ah. Might take a while. An hour or so." Charles smiles, the curve of his lips sweet and soft. "I think you'll appreciate it."
Erik nods, amused, and lets his gaze trail after Charles as he exits the room.
---
Charles does take his time. After fifteen minutes Erik picks up the book his currently in the middle of and settles in to wait. Whatever Charles has in mind, with a parting look like that, it's bound to be interesting.
Almost an hour and a half after Charles left Erik alone in the study he reaches for Erik mentally and gives him the gentle nudge that tells him to go upstairs to their bedroom.
Erik feels uncertain as he ascends the stairs. Why would Charles need so much time for to prepare? Erik hates surprises and Charles should know that by now. However, the hint of apprehension Charles showed was so uncharacteristic that Erik wants to know what he's been up to.
He has no idea then what to expect in their room.
What he sees, upon entering their bedroom, is beyond what his imagination could’ve come up with. It's Charles, but at first glance there's almost nothing familiar about him. He stands still, ramrod straight in the middle of the hardwood floor, his body tense with obvious nerves. But even more startling than his posture, while definitely unlike Charles who Erik is used to seeing lounging, seductive and loose, easy in any environment, is how he looks.
Charles is wearing a black, sleeveless velvet dress, the colour so deep it seems to reflect absolutely no light. It clings to his body in all the right places, accentuating his slim hips and baring his shoulders, draping loose over his chest in folds, creating an illusion of breasts where there's only masculine flatness. The hem of the dress reaches just below knees, baring smooth, shaved legs covered in black stockings. He's wearing no make-up, but his hair is looser, slightly wavier than usual, his mouth as gloriously red and full as ever. There are simple diamond studs in his ears (Erik had once noticed, and wondered, about the punctures) and a delicate silver necklace glints against the smooth, creamy skin of his neck. On his cheeks there's a light dusting of pink - flushed with either shame or nerves or arousal - or a combination of all.
And on his feet Charles is wearing black heels, the sharp angle of the shoes accentuating the elegant curve of his foot arches, his stance bringing out the defined muscles of his calves and the curve of his arse.
"I used to go out like this," Charles says. When he speaks, his voice sounds strained, and Erik's chest tightens at the realisation that Charles is nervous - scared of Erik's reaction.
"Not... Not as me, you understand. I'd use my mutation to manipulate how people saw me, made them look at my face and see a woman, have them look at my body and see all the necessary curves..."
He takes a deep, shuddering breath and gestures weakly with his hand.
"I never did it often. Once every few months. Just to indulge. It's not that I don't feel male," he looks at Erik, alarmed, and Erik knows Charles dipped into Erik's thoughts.
"No, you must understand, I am very much a man, and quite happy that way." Charles lets out a deep sigh, biting his lower lip in indecision.
"Sometimes though, it feels nice to explore... different sides to one’s identity."
Erik takes a step closer, lets his eyes roam over Charles's body, so familiar and yet so different in these clothes.
"Does... Is it sexual?" he asks, looking Charles in the eyes. Charles hesitates, then nods.
"Part of it, yes. Some of it is purely intellectual. Some even psychological. But I did want to share this with you in the hopes that you might... Well." He trails off, standing awkwardly there in the middle of the room.
Erik tries to look at Charles objectively, try to see him as a stranger might, now. It's impossible though, because Charles is his, every inch of him, no matter what he's wearing. And he's decided to show Erik this side of himself, while others have only seen him in the complete disguise - the new body and the new face his powers granted him.
But he's not projecting more feminine features now - he's definitely the Charles Erik knows, all male like he's always been, except.
Except he's dressed his body up as a woman, and it's such dichoomy of masculinity and femininity that Erik would be lying if he said he didn't find the disparities arousing.
Making a decision, he takes three long strides towards Charles and pulls him into an embrace, kissing him slowly, softly, on the mouth.
Charles sighs into the kiss, sounding happy and relieved. Erik pulls back and brushes a lock of hair from Charles's brow.
"You're stunning," he says, voice low and soft as he leans in to kiss Charles again.
He touches Charles gently, exploring the dissonancy in his attire - the swell of his biceps and the softness of his hair, the male fullness of his waist and the soft fabric draped over the firmness of his bum. The ever-present redness of Charles's lips and the sharp scent of his maleness, musky and familiar; the slimness of his hips and the hot hardness of his budding erection tenting the fabric of the dress so obscenely.
Erik is hard too, almost surprisingly so. It's more intense than he'd ever have guessed, blood rushing as he holds Charles tightly against him, Charles's smaller form, firm and broad but more compact than Erik's, fitting perfectly into Erik's embrace.
Erik's hand drifts to Charles's thigh and grips the hem of the dress and bunches it up, revealing the lace lining and clips of the garter belt he's wearing. Whatever confusion or hesitation that may still have lingered in Erik is chased away by the idea of kissing his way across the straps to Charles inner thigh. Suddenly Erik's burning with the need to know what Charles is wearing underneath the dress, if he's still wearing boxers or if there's more black fabric there, satin covering the stiffness of his cock in silky fabric.
Erik pushes Charles back, crowds him against a desk and gently turns him around and bends him forward until he's resting on his elbows. Charles shuffles his feet and the heels clack sharply against the hardwood floor. Erik kisses his way down Charles's spine, mouthing at the stocking-covered thighs as he sinks to his knees and bunches up the dress, revealing the smooth, pale strips of skin where the lace edging of the stockings end, divided only by the garter straps. He touches his lips to the bare skin of the back of Charles's right thigh, and somewhere above him a deep sigh trails down to him.
Erik's left hand is holding up the dress while he strokes Charles's leg with his right hand, the sheer fabric of the stockings smooth as silk under his knuckles.
He licks at the salty skin, kissing and sucking his way to Charles's inner thighs, feeling the tensing in Charles's powerful tight-muscles as another moan floats in the otherwise silent room.
Still, Erik's lust is burning a hole in his belly as he's dying to know...
He rolls up the bottom of the dress slowly, and inch by inch he reveals more lace. Not black, but dark purple, clinging to the swell of Charles's arse, framing the pale skin, the contrast there so mouth-watering Erik can't resist pressing an open-mouthed kiss on Charles's right buttock, right at the edge of the dark lace. Charles moans out Erik's name, pushes slightly back against the pressure of his lips and, encouraged, Erik takes the full flesh between his teeth and bites carefully as Charles cries out. Erik bites just enough to sting, sucking hard on the skin, eager to leave out his mark. When he pulls away he gives the damp spot a couple of sharp nips, encouraging the dark bloom of blood underneath the skin, his cock twitching in his trousers as the bruise starts to form, purple to match the shade of Charles's panties, round to match the shape of Erik's mouth, his mark where no one but he can see it.
"Erik... please," Charles groans, his voice breathless. His thighs are trembling under Erik's hands, muscles clenched hard with the effort to stay still. Erik traces his fingers along the crease of Charles's left buttock, marvels at how silky smooth the skin is. Charles has never shaved before, not during their time together, but now he's completely bare of body hair, that Erik can see.
And what he can't see... Well, Erik's never liked being left in the dark.
Slipping his fingers under the edge of the lace panties he trails them down a little, at the same time bringing up his other hand between Charles's thighs to encourage him to widen his stance. Charles obeys with a moan, the gentle pressure of Erik's hand against his leg enough to make him spread his thighs, the arch of his back deepening as Charles pushes his arse back to accommodate the shift in balance.
Erik hooks his finger in the edge of the panties and pulls them to the side, twisting his hand to pin the fabric down to the inside of Charles's buttock with his thumb so that it's no longer covering the cleft of Charles's arse. He uses his other hand to part the pliant flesh, revealing the tempting path from Charles's tailbone all the way to his hole, and it's...
It's all smooth. Erik lets out a curse at the sight, and his voice sounds deep and guttural, like something untamed.
The skin there is bare and milky white where Erik's used to seeing dark, wiry curls of hair. Charles's pucker looks vulnerable, pink like candied cherries, naked and clenching as Erik blows air across it before he noses his way in close, burying his face between Charles's arse cheeks and pressing his mouth to his hole, kissing it with as much reference as he usually does when kissing Charles's lips.
Charles's hips jerk, and Erik hears him groan loudly, stuttering and breathless, "Ah, f-fuck, Erik, E-Erik please..."
Almost mindless with want himself, Erik licks at Charles's hole, lathering it with saliva before he pushes inside with his tongue, revelling in the smoothness there, the scent that's undeniably Charles. He stabs at the tight opening with his tongue, pressing his face as close as he can without suffocating himself, nose pressed tight into the skin of Charles's bum. Erik loves this, loves doing this to Charles, loves how it drives Charles incoherent with lust and pleasure. Even now he can hear the hitching gasps, Charles's breath hiccupping as he tries to keep quiet, like he doesn't know how much Erik wants to hear him.
When he finally pulls away Charles's hole is red and swollen, and Charles is whimpering softly, begging Erik to not stop.
Erik presses his thumb to the pucker, not breaching it but only applying pressure. Charles moans deep in his chest and presses his hips back, eager for more.
"Look at you," Erik mutters, voice gone so rough he barely recognises it. "Look at you, Charles, you're just gagging for it aren't you?" Charles moans aloud, a hissed "Yes" escaping his lips without a trace of shame. Erik rubs his thumb more firmly, slick with his own spit covering Charles's hole.
"You're so wet for me. Wet and slick and open, just for me, aren't you?"
Another buck of his hips, Charles sobs and Erik marvels at how wanton Charles can be, how shameless he is in his lust, and it's all for Erik, only Erik.
"Do you want me to fuck you," he asks, dipping his finger inside just a little, teasing the rim without pushing properly in. "Do you want me to fuck your wet little hole, Charles."
"Yu-yes," Charles moans, sounding desperate, the sound going straight to Erik’s cock.
Erik pushes his thumb in, pulls it back out again. "You must ask nicely, Charles. You must tell me what you want or you can't have it."
Charles sobs but stays otherwise quiet. Erik removes his hand from Charles's bum and slaps his right cheek, not terribly hard but with enough force to sting. Charles cries out and bucks hard, turning to peer at Erik over his shoulder.
Erik's breath hitches - Charles looks wrecked, his mouth parted, lips bitten red and raw, glistening with spit. His pupils are contracted into pinpricks of black, the blue of his eyes brilliant against the deep black of his dress. The light flush on his cheeks has turned into a bright red blush, his face heated with want. Erik presses the heel of his hand to his own cock, stemming his arousal just that one bit. He wants this, wants Charles like this, delicate and elegant in a wholly new way, and he wants it to last.
"Say it Charles. Say it for me."
Charles looks at him, expression slack with lust and indecision. Finally, with a shuddering breath, he closes his eyes and says,
"Fuck... Fuck me, please. Fu-fuck my p-" a moan, harsh and pained, and then, rushed: "Please fuck my pussy, fuck my we- wet cunt, Erik, ah!" Charles shouts as Erik quickly shoves two fingers into him, not giving him time to adjust before he starts moving them, fingering him fast and hard, setting a rapid pace, fevered with lust.
Slowing his pace he presses a series of fluttery kisses on Charles's left buttock before pulling his fingers out and peeling the lace panties down, rolling them to Charles's thighs and lower, until they get caught in the stretch of Charles's spread legs.
"Lift your leg, Charles," Erik instructs softly, adding a "good girl" when Charles obeys with a low moan. The panties drop to the floor in a heap, tangled in the heel of Charles's left foot.
Erik takes a moment to explore the space between Charles's thighs, the smooth skin beyond his arse. His balls, heavy and full and shaved silky smooth. He reaches his hand between Charles's leg and touches the skin at the base of his erect cock - smooth as well, velvety and soft under Erik's fingers.
"Erik, please, I can't..." Charles sounds agonised, his voice pitched high and body coiled tight.
Erik presses one last kiss to Charles's buttock. "Shhhh," he hushes gently, keeping the hem of the dress up as he rises to his knees, pressing himself flush to Charles's backside, his cock nestled in the crack of Charles's arse.
Erik uses both his hands and his powers to unbuckle his belt and undo the fly of his trousers, shoving down his trousers and boxers to free his cock. He stretches his body to cover Charles, pressing gentle kisses to his bare, freckled shoulders, trailing up to kiss Charles's neck, his smooth-shaven jawline.
He tilts Charles's head towards him, and it requires a bit of contortion but they're kissing, Charles's mouth wet and pliant against Erik's. Charles accepts Erik's tongue hungrily, sucking on it like a man starved. Erik lets his hands wander, lets them smooth down Charles hips, reaches to touch his stockinged thighs and go back to caressing the crease where buttock meets thigh. Charles sighs happily, pressing back and enjoying the tenderness of the touch.
Erik's hands come back up to settle on Charles's waist as he presses his hips into the firmness of Charles's bum, his cock leaving a trail of wet over Charles's skin. He can feel Charles shaking with want beneath him, his shoulders heaving as he breathes, little keens bursting out from his lips.
With a flick of his fingers a steel-capped bottle of slick flies into Erik's hand from their bedside table. Fumbling it open he slicks himself up and uses the excess to wet Charles's hole, pushing two fingers back in to prepare him, which earns him another moan from Charles.
"You're so wet for me," Erik murmurs into Charles's ear, breath hot and damp between them. "Such a good girl, such a good little slut, your cunt's so hungry for my cock, isn't it?"
Charles sobs brokenly and nods his head frantically, tousling his hair even more. "Yes, yes oh please, oh god, please."
Pressing another kiss to the nape of Charles's neck Erik grabs his prick and guides it to Charles's hole, nudging the blunt head against the rim, pressing but not penetrating, teasing both himself and Charles equally.
Charles cries out in frustration and jerks his hips back, forcing the head of Erik's cock throug, startling a shout from Erik and a low, guttural moan from Charles.
Forcing himself to relax, to gain control, Erik presses in, slips deeper into Charles's body until he's buried deep, his balls flush against Charles's arse. He presses his face into the soft skin at the curve of Charles's neck and shoulder, breathing in the smell of sweat and sex and Charles.
Charles trembles under him, trying to contain his lust in tense muscles. Erik noses at the skin behind Charles's ear, licks sweetly where Charles's hair curls with dampness. Charles's body is tight around his cock, squeezing and pulsing in a gentle rhythm.
Slowly, oh so slowly, Erik starts to move his hips. Minute thrusts of his hips that elicit small moans from Charles.
Erik keeps his pace slow, raises his hands to touch more of Charles's body, small brushes of touches all over the velvet of his dress and satin of his skin, finally resting his palms on Charles's shoulders, stroking gently as he deepens his thrusts and Charles moans, loud and wanton.
Charles is getting impatient, moans and whimpers mixed with curses and pleas, Erik's name used to beg and to demand, and it gets harder for Erik to keep a steady pace, to hold back his own moans. Charles clenches around him and a high whine escapes from Erik's throat as his hips snap forward. Charles shouts Erik's name and suddenly it feels like a dam has broken and Erik's thrusting hard, pulling Charles up to his chest tight, biting at his neck as Erik fucks into him, deep and hard and wild, his own grunts and gasps drowning out Charles's cries.
It doesn't last long after that, both of them wound up too tight. Erik could tell, right in the beginning when he entered the room, that the hour of preparation that Charles went through - shaving himself, the extra care he must've taken when he did his balls and hole, pulling up the panties and attaching the garters, rolling up the stockings and slipping his feet into those heels, the dress, the jewelry... all of it must've been foreplay to him, arousing in its own right. And Erik's response must've ramped up his arousal - there's nothing Charles finds as erotic as Erik's naked want aimed towards Charles, Erik's lust exclusive to him after years of celibacy brought on by necessity.
And Erik himself... the thought of seeing Charles like this, in a way no one ever has or ever will, this fantasy of his spread wide open for Erik to enjoy and cherish. The trust Charles has bestowed in him is as arousing as any sexual act previous partners have ever performed on him.
Equally desperate to both come and prolongue this, Erik grasps Charles's hips in a tight grip, his hold slipping over the smooth fabric of the dress as he pulls Charles into his thrusts, pounding into him, feeling like he's so out of control, like he couldn't stop now if the whole house started crumbling over them.
Charles is chanting something, voice pitched high but muted, and it takes a while before Erik realises Charles is calling his name, over and over again, breathless and desperate, "Erik, Erik, ah, Erik..." like a prayer.
Charles is using his leverage on the desk to push back into Erik's thrusts, eager and shameless, and Erik feels his orgasm as a slow build-up at the base of his spine, crawling over his whole body while gaining intensity. He snakes his left hand around Charles's waist, slips it between Charles and the desk to grasp his cock and starts stroking it, firm and relentless until he feels Charles convulsing around him, feels his sharp shout of pleasure before Charles bucks hard, his body arching as his seed spreads across Erik's knuckles.
The spasms around Erik's cock are enough to shove him over the edge, his orgasm tearing through him violently, making him bite hard into the flesh of Charles's shoulder as he empties himself deep inside Charles, his hips jerking with aftershocks long after he's stopped coming.
He slumps across Charles's back, spent and breathless, yet still mindful of not crushing Charles with his weight. Charles is lying flat on the table now, no longer having the energy to prop himself up. He's resting his left cheek on the desk, breath coming out in wet little puffs against the wooden surface. Erik presses a soft kiss to his temple, a burst of tenderness blooming in his chest.
"Alright?" he murmurs into Charles's ear, nuzzling at his cheek with his lips.
Charles smiles and hums, content, and cracks open one bright blue eye to gaze at Erik.
After he's caught his breath, Erik pulls himself up and lets his softening cock slip out of Charles's hole, earning him a displeased hiss from Charles.
"Did I hurt you?" Erik asks, concerned even though he knows Charles likes the burn, likes it when he can feel Erik for days afterwards. Charles mumbles an incoherent dismissal.
Erik palms Charles's arse gently, parting his cheeks and crouching on his knees to inspect the damage.
Charles's hole is red and puffy, and it's still gaping slightly, well-used, the stretch of Erik's cock too much to recover from immediately.
"Gorgeous," Erik gasps, his tone reverent, full of wonder at how Charles keeps accommodating him, his body and mind and heart all welcoming Erik in a multitude of ways.
Charles moans brokenly when Erik presses his thumb to his hole and massages it, watching as milky semen starts leaking out, dripping down his thigh and soaking into the lace of his stockings. Erik scoops some of it up and pushes it back in with his fingers, slipping the digits in to play with the slickness there.
"Erik don't... God, I can't. Nnnnhh."
"Hush," Erik whispers, petting Charles's flank gently before putting his face between his cheeks, parting the plump globes with his hands as his tongue darts out to lick at Charles's entrance, loose and slippery and letting Erik's tongue in easily. He tastes lube and come as he sucks, using his lips to coax out as much of his on spunk as he can, eating Charles out, hungry for the noises Charles is making again, high and desperate and all for Erik.
When he pulls out, satisfied that he's cleaned every inch of Charles's hole, Charles is a boneless heap on the desk, his legs trembling as the strains to stay upright in the high-heeled pumps.
Erik reaches down and gently guides each of Charles's feet up one at a time, removing the shoes so Charles can stand flat on his feet again. Charles lets out a relieved sigh and pushes himself up again, turning around to lean back against the table. He gives Erik a loopy smile and beckons him to stand up, pulling him into a deep kiss when Erik obeys. Erik wraps his arms around Charles and holds him close, imagines Charles can taste Erik's seed on his tongue, sharing it with Erik.
When they part from the kiss, Charles brushes his lips across Erik's jaw and rests his head on Erik's breast.
"Thank you," Charles mutters, his voice rumbling against Erik's chest.
Erik cups Charles's head in his palm and presses a kiss to messy hair at the top of his head and whispers, "no, thank you."