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The weather is absolutely dreary.
Charles looks at the downpour through the car window and not for the first time in the last hour silently wonders if Erik’s silent grumbling actually has a grain of truth.
As if he’s the telepath, Erik glances at him with a deep scowl, and Charles rolls his eyes.
“She did not curse us, Erik.”
“You keep saying that,” Erik mutters, cursing at the road. “It could be a secondary mutation or something, though.”
“That’s impossible,” Charles sighs tiredly and slouches in his seat, rubbing his hands absently for warmth. “We’re talking about science here, not some sort of—magic, or whatever.”
“Metal manipulation and mind-reading sound just as impossible to anyone else,” Erik says, and okay, maybe he has a point, but—
Something snaps, and they stop with a screech. Erik slams his palms against the steering wheel and seethes; he doesn’t curse out loud, but his mind is all but screaming profanities.
“Fucking brilliant,” he growls, looking at the road with dismay and something akin to despair. “Now we’ve got a flat tire on top of everything else.”
Charles doesn’t believe in curses. He doesn’t.
But maybe Erik has a point.
“Do we have a spare?” he asks, anyway, even if he already knows the answer. Erik looks at him with a raised eyebrow, and Charles bangs his head against the headrest.
They’re essentially in the middle of nowhere and in the middle of a nasty storm, and at this hour of the night there’s little chance of anyone else driving by even if it wasn’t pouring so bad. Their rent car is so old that Charles has a suspicion Erik’s powers are contributing more than a little into making it actually move, but not even that is enough to make AC work, so he’s also freezing.
“At least we’re not lost,” he mutters, because that’s about the only good thing he can muster about their current situation. “Are we?”
“We might as well be,” Erik snaps darkly and pats his pockets for the roadmap. “At this rate we’d be lucky to get to the hotel by morning.”
“Oh,” he shudders at the thought of spending the night in the car and snatches the battered map from Erik’s hands, squinting as he struggles to see anything in the dim lightning. “There must be something on the way, we can’t be that far from civilization – it feels like there might be a motel somewhere ahead, so if we could just find the directions…”
Erik looks at him with a weird mix of non-plussed and impressed for expression, and silently holds out his hand. Charles sighs and returns the map – his telepathy might be useful for detecting people nearby, but they’ve been on the road long enough that there’s no point in pretending he’s not absolutely helpless when it comes to orienting himself in space. He can tell the top of the map from its bottom, but that’s about it.
“There is a motel,” Erik finally confirms with a frown, and glances at him dubiously. “But it’s most likely a shithole. Are you sure your delicate sensibilities can handle it?”
“Oh please,” Charles rolls his eyes. “I’m not that delicate. Besides, spending a night in a freezing car sounds worse, anyway.”
“That it does,” Erik agrees with a sigh and folds the map back, and then pauses, lifting his eyebrows when Charles reaches for the door handle. “What are you doing?”
“What does it look like? I’m getting out,” he grumbles, slumping against the door that won’t budge. “Come on, the sooner we start walking—”
“Charles, it’s not that close,” Erik huffs and starts the car again. “But it’s close enough that I think I can manage to move us there, so unless you absolutely want to get drenched, I suggest you stay in the fucking car, because I sure don’t want to deal with you when you catch a damn cold.”
“Fine,” Charles grumbles and settles deeper into the seat. “Well, what do you know? I guess at least my luck is holding out so far: there’s a place to spend the night ahead and I managed to acquire possibly the only person capable on towing the car with a flat tire along for a companion. See? Not cursed.”
“On second thought, get the fuck out,” Erik says flatly, staring ahead with a deep scowl. “You’ll probably get lost as soon as you set your foot out, and then you getting cold won’t be my problem anyway.”
His face is grim, but Charles feels no malice behind his words, so he hesitantly offers a wane smile in the rearview mirror; Erik doesn’t return it, but his eyes glint with sardonic humor when he meets Charles’s, and that settles it.
*
By the time they get to the motel, Erik is exhausted – he does his best not to show it, but there’s no hiding from a telepath, so Charles feels his weariness as if it were his own. For once, he bites his tongue before he can say anything about it, though – somehow, he doesn’t think that Erik would take kindly to anyone noticing what he himself undoubtedly considers a weakness.
Something twists in his chest at the sheer relief Erik emits when they stop in front of a shoddy motel half an hour later. The rain still hasn’t let out, so while the walk from the car to the front door is short, they’re soaked through when they get inside, leaving wet trails behind.
The sleepy receptionist looks at them with disdain, disgruntled by their appearance, but doesn’t seem to care all that much about anything beyond the fact that they disturbed his lazy night.
Wanna bet they don’t have any rooms left? Erik thinks, nudging him with a shoulder, and Charles startles a little – it’s a recent development, Erik trying to project thoughts at him, and he still marvels at the novelty and the trust Erik puts in him. If the way Erik grins at him is any indication, he’s aware of it, and probably did it just now to see his reaction more then to get an actual answer, which in turn makes Charles feel inexplicitly warm despite his wet clothes.
“We’ve only got one room left,” the receptionist drawls at last, yawning against his shoulder as he checks his notes.
You’ve just lost a bet, Charles tells Erik smugly and offers the receptionist a polite smile.
“It’s fine. As long as we don’t have to wait out this storm in the car, sharing a room wouldn’t be a problem.”
The man behind the desk shrugs and snaps his book close. They get a key and set on their way, still leaving puddles of water on the clipped tiles; there’s a spike of annoyance coming from the drowsy mind of the receptionist, but it’s due to the fact that he’d probably need to mop the floor now – as for the two men willing to spend the night in close quarters, he couldn’t care less.
Not that there’s anything wrong with it, Charles thinks as they find their door and Erik carelessly pushes it open, not bothering with a key. They’ve already shared a room once or twice, when they had to change their route on a short notice and the bookings were tight, so this won’t be out of—
They both freeze as soon as they step inside.
The room is tiny – which is good, because at least it’s blessedly warm, which he didn’t dare hope for, considering their luck, but it’s also tiny enough that there’s only enough space for a rickety side table, a small desk, a chair and a coat rack.
And a bed, of course. Only—
“There’s only one bed,” Erik points out needlessly, and arches an eyebrow, glancing at Charles. “I’m calling a tie.”
“You specifically mentioned a room,” Charles huffs, moving past him and shrugging off his wet jacket. “And here’s a perfectly vacant room. Alas, I’m afraid you’ve lost, my friend,” he grins, absently scanning the motel. The receptionist didn’t lie, though – it wasn’t out of a futile attempt to get away from his duties that he assigned them to the first available room in the book; there really were no other options, so it was either getting back into the car (Charles shudders as the cold seeping into his bones seems to intensify just from the thought of it) or spending the night here, in a ratty, but blessedly warm room with only one bed.
Erik grumbles something under his breath, but then sighs, resigned, and slams the door close behind him.
The bed isn’t even big enough to share, Charles thinks, making a valiant effort of chasing away the disappointment at the idea. Maybe if it was as cold inside as it is outside, they could still do it, just to share body heat—
He shakes his head and runs his hands through his wet hair, tugging a little to ground himself against his vivid imagination. The last thing he needs is to accidentally project his fantasies to Erik, and while he absolutely doesn’t believe that the girl they failed to recruit in the afternoon cursed them, well – he just thinks there’s no need to push his luck. Just in case.
For all that the room is tiny enough that it had probably been a supply closet at some point, at least it has an even tinier bathroom attached. Erik squeezes inside with a grunt and throws a towel Charles’s way before emerging again, angrily rubbing his hair with another one.
“You should probably take a shower first,” Charles notes absently. “I’ll go and see if I can find some tea.”
“Yes, I’m sure they have a perfect room service,” Erik snorts. “If you find a water cooler that’s not empty, consider your luck is still holding out.”
Charles throws a towel in his face and runs out before Erik can retaliate.
You’re a child, Erik thinks pointedly, but Charles can feel the mirth wrapped around the words and the way Erik’s tension eases just a little – be it from the teasing or a prospect of a hot shower, he doesn’t know, and frankly, he doesn’t care: it still makes him smile as he leaves the room in search of the night staff despite still being wet and cold and tired himself.
*
The motel does have a small bar, which is, of course, closed at this time of the night, but Charles manages to charm a sleepy housekeeper into making them both hot chocolate (he doesn’t have the heart to tell her that no, he doesn’t really think that it’s so much better than tea) and providing some spare blankets and pillows. Unfortunately, they don’t seem to have a spare cot as well, but even if they did, it wouldn’t fit into their room, the kind lady tells him with a wince when he asks. She’s sympathetic, but sympathy is about the only thing she can offer; a stray and wistful thought that she’d gladly offer him her own bed, if only she were twenty years younger, crosses her mind, and Charles hurries back to their room with quick thanks.
He makes it just in time to hand Erik a still hot cup of chocolate right as he leaves the bathroom. He still looks disgruntled and tired, but seems to have lost some of his previous ire, which is a blessing in and of itself – staying in close quarters with an irritated Erik is a sure way to get a nasty headache, and Charles wasn’t looking forward to that. He’s inevitably going to end up with a sore back come morning anyway, and not having an empathetic headache on top of it is, frankly, more than he could hope for, all things considered.
Erik accepts the cup with a curt nod and leans against the desk, watching him arrange the blankets on the floor curiously.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Charles blinks up at him and gives his pillow a final thump. “I don’t care what you say about me being a spoiled brat, I’m not sleeping on the bare floor.”
“Of course not,” Erik rolls his eyes and drains the rest of his hot chocolate in one swallow; Charles very carefully avoids looking at the long line of his throat for longer than is considered polite. “But I’m fully capable of making my own sleeping arrangements, you know.”
It’s Charles' turn to look confused, and for a moment they just stare at each other blankly. It takes Charles a few seconds to process what Erik means, and when he does, his confusion evaporates along with his hopes for a headache-free awakening, because once Erik gets something in his head, it’s almost impossible to get it out (unless, of course, it’s Charles himself, who goes willingly, because he respects Erik’s request for privacy even if it grates on his mental shields to stay out).
“Absolutely not,” he says, pointing at Erik for a good measure. Erik just raises one eyebrow, clearly unimpressed, and there – the first spike of irritation that Charles’ shields can’t block, no matter how much he tries. “You’re not sleeping on the floor. I didn’t waste my charm on the kind housekeeper to get the best of their spare blankets for you,” he tries to joke, but it falls flat – if anything, now Erik looks more annoyed than unimpressed.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he grumbles. “You are a spoiled brat, and I’m used to sleeping in worse places. Since it wouldn’t really matter for me, I’d rather take the floor than subject myself to listening to your complaints tomorrow.”
Charles considers taking offence, but Erik’s mouth is quirked, and there’s no real bite in his words – he’s also trying to joke, it seems, so Charles lets it slide with a sigh.
“I’m not going to complain,” he rubs his eyes and stifles a yawn. “And believe it or not, but I’m not that spoiled. I’ve had my fair share of bad sleeping arrangements.”
“I’m sure,” Erik snorts. “All those wild student parties at Oxford with falling asleep in the most inconvenient places must have been so trying.”
“Something like that,” Charles offers a tight smile. “But that’s beyond the point. You’re the one driving, so you need a proper rest more – unless you’d rather let me drive—?”
“Fuck no.”
This time Charles doesn’t bother feeling offended – the immediate reaction is just what he expected, and he smirks at the way Erik’s eyes widen slightly in horror. It’s true that he doesn’t care much for driving, even if his abysmal navigating skills were not a part of it, and Erik, being attuned to any car on a whole different level due to his metal sense, is even more particular to it, so the first time Charles offered they switch had lasted for all of twenty minutes and so far has remained the last.
Just as well. He shrugs and crosses his arms, a little smug, but of course Erik doesn’t look convinced.
He steps closer, and with the room being as small as it is, it mean just one step is enough to reduce the space between them to nothing; it’s unfair, Charles thinks faintly, with Erik looking like this, still damp after his shower, his thin undershirt stretched tight across his chiseled chest—
Charles doesn’t dare to check whether Erik knows the full extent of the effect he has on him or not, but either way he unfailingly uses it to his advantage.
“Go to the shower, Charles,” Erik mutters. Charles’ knees go a little weak from the proximity and almost intimate way his voice sounds; so he nods stiffly, ignoring the smirk playing on Erik’s lips – it’s a smug smirk, he’s merely satisfied that he got the upper hand, Charles knows, feels it, but his foolish heart that has never really gotten along with his telepathy still misses a beat.
He doesn’t quite forget what he was arguing about as much as he doesn’t trust his voice right now, and so a tactical retreat actually isn’t half bad. Besides, Erik is right – he’s still shivering a little in his damp clothes, and a hot shower sounds heavenly.
It does little to help him calm down — a cold shower would’ve probably been more efficient in that regard, but that’s out of the question, unless he really wants to catch that cold, which he doesn’t. He changes into his pajamas, painfully knocking his elbow against the wall in process, and finally goes back to the room, feeling only marginally better, but ready to drop off and sleep on the nearest surface nonetheless.
Of course, he finds Erik already settled on the floor. Stubborn idiot.
“Like you’re the one to talk,” Erik grumbles, and Charles winces — he must’ve projected the last thought, which means he’s even more tired than he accounted for, if his shields are slipping like this.
“Sorry,” he mutters. “Well, in my defense, you are. Get on the bed, Erik.”
He feels an immediate wave of something following his words and hastily tightens his shields before he can catch the meaning behind it — if it’s coming from Erik, he really doesn’t want to know if he feels affronted at the way his words sound, and if it’s coming from him, he certainly doesn’t want Erik to know how the idea of speaking the same words in a different setting makes him hot under the collar.
“The longer we argue, the less sleep we will get,” Erik tells him casually, leaning up on one elbow to glare. “If you insist on appeasing your misplaced privileged guilt, fine, you can stand there the whole night, for all I care, but I’m going to sleep now. Goodnight, Charles.”
“My privileged—oh for fuck’s sake,” Charles snaps and strides to the bed. Maybe he really should just take it; he tried to be thoughtful and polite, but god forbid Erik allows anyone to take care of him.
Unfortunately, Charles is just as stubborn, and he’s not about to admit a defeat without a fight.
“This is not about my guilt,” he says, not bothering to hide his irritation, and yanks the sheets off the bed. “Like I told you, it’s only logical for you to be better rested, so—”
“What do you think you’re doing?” Erik asks, incredulous, watching him scoop up the bedclothes before dropping them on the floor in a heap.
“Taking your advice to heart,” Charles shoots him a dirty glare and sets to arranging the blanket on the floor. There’s barely any space left between him and Erik now, the room being tiny as it is, but if Erik minds, well — there’s a perfectly suitable bed with his name on it. “I’m not going to waste my breath arguing with you, since you’ve already set your mind. I’m also not going to sleep on the bare floor, like I told you from the start.”
“Charles…” Erik takes a deep breath and slumps back down on the floor. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I’m not,” Charles crawls under the blanket and pointedly turns his back to Erik. “Take the bed or not, I don’t care, but I’m going to feel stiff tomorrow either way, and I prefer the real ache to the telepathic echoes, because those I can’t ignore by numbing my pain centers, and I get the exquisite opportunity to experience both the pain and the headache that comes along with it.”
Erik remains silent for a long moment after that. Charles is holding his breath, silently willing him to concede, but—
“Did you just try to guilt-trip me into taking the bed and letting you sleep on the floor?”
Of course, Erik wasn’t going to fall for that.
He sighs and turns to lie flat on his back, staring at the stained ceiling blankly.
“I thought you weren’t going to argue with me."
“This is childish,” Erik grunts, and with a flick of his fingers, the light goes out, leaving them in the dark. Somehow it makes Charles all the more aware of their closeness, and it sends goosebumps over his arms that have nothing to do with the draft. “There’s no reason for both of us to sleep on the floor.”
Charles gives him a side eye, but doesn’t deem that worthy of an answer.
Erik grumbles again and shifts, looking for a comfortable position, and for the first time that night Charles feels a thread of distress from him — it’s not very pronounced, more of a hint of discomfort than an actual discontent, but it’s still there, and it gives him pause. He’s never meant to make Erik more uncomfortable, and, if he’s to be honest, it stings a little that his close presence is more jarring to Erik than sleeping on the floor — but then again, if Erik wants to get away, the bed is still there, and it’s still up for the taking.
God, it really is childish. He stifles a nervous giggle and sighs instead, hoping that the day they’ve had will catch up with them soon, and the exhaustion would clear the air between them enough to allow some much-needed rest.
Erik twists again, and Charles closes his eyes, exhaling slowly and mentally preparing for a long night.
Even when he’s finally settled and stilled, Erik is restless; his usually organized and precise mind is running on overdrive, and while Charles isn’t actively listening in — he’s resolutely staying away, for both their sakes, even if it means that falling asleep is that much harder as he has to concentrate on maintaining mental shields — it’s impossible not to feel the hum of disarrayed thoughts at the front of his mind.
They stay like that for a long time — Charles making a valiant effort to keep his mind from wandering and Erik laying tense beside him, not quite pretending to be asleep, but obviously not quite ready to give up the pretense either. Charles wonders if he should say something, or ask if Erik’s alright — he can’t remember him being so restless at night before, even if Erik is naturally a light sleeper — but decides against it for fear of making it worse.
He’s been so set on ignoring Erik completely that it takes him a few minutes to realize that Erik shifted again, but instead of turning away, he twisted to face Charles.
“What now,” he mutters, because even if he wasn’t a telepath, he could feel Erik’s eyes on him.
“Just trying to imagine you falling asleep on the floor after a wild party,” Erik hums, and his voice might be teasing, but Charles is tired, and his head feels too tight, like he’s locked himself into a cage that doesn’t even let him stand to his full height, and he’s really not in the mood for bickering.
“I never fell asleep at the parties,” he says evenly, huffing at the way Erik’s mind immediately flares up with indignation. “They have always been far too loud for me. Oh, I’ve been to plenty, don’t get me wrong, but it’s essentially impossible to fall asleep with so many drunken minds around. I barely needed to drink myself — usually I got pretty sloshed just from second-hand experience.” Erik chuckles at that, shaking his head a little. Charles feels his mouth curl in turn.
“So you lied,” Erik teases. “You’ve never had to—”
“I didn’t lie about—less than ideal sleeping arrangements,” Charles turns on his side as well, away from Erik, and a wave of confused disappointment is almost suffocating, but he doesn’t pay it any mind. “Of course, I can’t imagine it being anything remotely close to your experience.”
This time, Erik keeps his disparaging comments to himself, although Charles can guess that there’s a “I can’t imagine you ever having any real trouble in your life” on the tip of his tongue. Or maybe not; maybe he’s unfair, and he knows that Erik never tries to be cruel about it, but sometimes it’s just too much. He can’t change his past and what he is any more than he can turn off his telepathy; it stings that Erik seems to be having problems with both, all the while proclaiming that they have nothing to hide and should never try to pretend not to be what they are.
“You don’t have to prove anything, you know,” Erik says at last, and Charles startles, afraid for a second that he’s accidentally projected some of his miserable memories to Erik, but of course that’s not the case, and of course it’s not what Erik means. “Just because I called you a spoiled brat doesn’t mean that you have to sleep on the floor to prove that you’re not. I was going to make fun of you regardless.”
“Woe is me,” Charles forces a laugh, not taking up the offer to turn this into a playful banter. “Whether I’m sleeping on the floor to avoid being beaten or made fun off, it never seems to work. Well, at least this place is better than a supply closet or a dusty attic, and your mocking only hurts my ego and not my face.”
He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth; Erik’s shock washes over him like a bucket of ice-cold water, and he sucks in a breath, struggling to keep his emotions in check and not drown in whatever Erik is feeling right now instead. The silence that settles over them is different now; it was tense before, but it’s stifling now, heavy and thick.
“Sorry,” he mutters into his pillow. “Didn’t mean to ruin the mood.”
It comes off even more biting than he meant to, and Erik exhales softly, shaking himself out of a shocked stupor.
“What happened?”
“Rather a lot,” Charles shrugs noncommittally. “Sometimes step-father happened. Other times it was step-brother. Mother, too, occasionally, although she never hit me, and it was much easier to hide from her, because she usually lost her resolve after a room or two.”
Maybe, Charles thinks, the girl did curse them, after all. Just not with bad luck; in his case, it apparently was running his stupid mouth, and in Erik’s — having to withstand it (so, okay, bad luck, after all). At least he no longer thinks about the fact that they’re lying so close together that he can practically feel Erik’s body heat, so there’s that.
Erik’s lingering unease fades, giving way to concern and low simmering anger, which is somewhat unexpected; maybe it was oversharing quite a bit on his part, but Charles didn’t think that it warranted such a reaction.
It’s better than pity all the same.
“Why didn’t you stop them?” Erik asks evenly, and — oh. It’s not him Erik is angry with, Charles realizes with a jolt; Erik is angry on his behalf — it’s as strong as any emotion he ever feels, focused and intense, but now that he’s talking, Charles can’t help but feel that it’s not aimed at him. Instead of sharp spikes hidden in spoken words, it wraps around them, around the thought of him, in a protective sheen.
It’s a heady feeling.
“I didn’t know I could, back then,” he admits quietly. “I wasn’t even sure if I could really hear other’s thoughts or if I was just insane. Not until Raven came along, anyway,” he chuckles, a fond memory bringing a welcome respite from the bitterness dripping of the others, much less fond. “I also didn’t know that I could do anything but hear the voices in my head at first, you know. Even when I realized that I could, it took time to learn, and time — was not something I always had. I did learn, eventually, but it came with a price. Not too high, and I don’t really mind having paid it,” he adds as an afterthought. “It’s in the past, anyway. I didn’t tell you any of that for some pity points, mind you, or to dissuade you from thinking that I’m a rich, ungrateful, pampered brat, just — please, don’t assume that I can’t handle an occasional inconvenience.”
Erik is silent for a long time after that, but Charles can feel him contemplating something — so, clearly, it’s not quite over yet.
He’s right, of course.
“I never said you couldn’t,” Erik says at last, letting out a soft breath that tickles the back of Charles’ neck. “But you shouldn’t have to.”
Not when I’m here. Not when I can help it.
The words are so clear that for a moment Charles doesn’t realize Erik didn’t speak them out loud — and he couldn’t have meant them to be overheard, then, must have projected them accidentally, so Charles forces himself not to react, especially when he feels a wave of uncertain anxiety following the thought.
“Thank you, my friend,” he mutters, aiming for nonchalance and hoping that he wouldn’t come too far off. “Would you kindly take the bed now, then?”
It’s enough to make Erik bark an incredulous laugh, and Charles smiles, feeling lighter than he had for the whole night.
“I’ve just found a comfortable position, I’m not going anywhere,” he says wryly, with a gush of amusement covering the obvious lie.
“Your funeral,” Charles huffs, fidgeting a little and pulling the covers tighter around himself. “No complaints tomorrow.”
“Good night to you, too,” Erik chuckles, and although Charles can still feel some kind of nervous energy brimming at the front of his mind, the previous restlessness back now that the somber topic is over, it’s softer at the edges, as if Erik embraced it, and it no longer bothers him. It’s a small difference, but it’s enough to let Charles slip into unconsciousness, the day’s exhaustion finally taking its toll.
*
Despite the inevitable stiffness that comes with spending the night on the hard, unyielding floor, and the ungodly early hour, waking up is surprisingly nice. Mind still fuzzy with sleep, not yet settled fully into himself, it takes Charles a moment to take in his surroundings, but when he does, all lingering traces of sleep vanish into the thin air.
He’s barely moved since he fell asleep, so he’s still on his side, facing the stripped bed frame, right arm pretty much completely numb from where he’s been lying on it the whole night — so really, no matter what he might’ve been thinking, he can’t be the one to blame here; he’s absolutely certain he has nothing to do with the way Erik is plastered all over his back, or the way he has one arm casually wrapped around Charles’ waist, clutching at him almost possessively, or the way one of his legs somehow ended between Charles’ thighs, or—
Erik sighs softly in his sleep and snuggles even closer, and Charles feels his face burn, biting his lip to swallow an embarrassed moan, or maybe a hysterical laugh.
He can feel Erik’s dick poking his backside, hot and hard and huge from the feel of it — it takes every last bit of his resolve not to grind back against it, even as he feels lightheaded from the rush of lust taking over him.
But he already has some first-hand experience at dealing with this lust, having spent several weeks in close quarters with Erik; no matter how much his body is screaming at him that he’d rather get a first-hand experience with that dick, Charles can behave.
Even if it’s hard.
(Just like him.)
He burrows deeper into his pillow and bites back another frustrated groan, because it seems to be all he can think about right now; every word is an innuendo, apparently, and he can lie as still as a stone, but fuck all if he can stop his mind from running. It’s all perfectly natural, Erik’s morning erection has nothing to do with him, really, and he’s going to assure Erik that it’s alright and that it doesn’t mean anything when Erik wakes up, if this doesn’t pass by then, but he already knows that he’s going to be jerking off to this memory for one hell of a long time.
As if spurred on by his desperate thoughts, Erik flexes his arm, pulling Charles back, and nuzzles his neck.
It’s not all that often that Charles finds himself at loss, but right now his mind is filled with static. About the only thing he knows is that he can’t take advantage of Erik like this, but does it count as taking advantage if he doesn’t do anything? It would probably spare Erik the humiliation if he just—pretends to remain asleep, wouldn’t it? After all, it’s not like it’s unusual for Charles to sleep in; by now Erik must be used to him waking up late, so it would only make sense…
Erik shifts behind him, and Charles has to bite his lip when he ends up grinding against his ass.
And then Erik stills with a sharp intake of breath.
It’s too late to pretend to be asleep, he knows — he’s too tense, been lying too still when Erik woke up, been breathing too shallow for Erik not to notice. Anyone else might’ve missed it, but Erik is far too observant — not to mention that he’s claimed numerous times that Charles’ telepathy feels different when he’s asleep, whatever that means.
“It means that you have zero self-control in the morning,” Erik mumbles against the back of his neck. “And you tend to be projecting.”
For a moment, Charles panics.
And then, of course, it slowly registers that Erik has yet to pull away.
He’s become tense, like he’s ready to move any moment, but he seems to be waiting for something; hesitantly, Charles allows himself to reach out and brush against his thoughts — the remnants of sleep making his mind softer at the edges, mellow and clingy where it’s usually sharp and unyielding. It’s also glowing softly with a lazy arousal, the kind that could easily dissipate in a few moments if left ignored, but could also be just as easily reignited.
Apparently, Charles has been still for too long – a spike of anxiety rips through the softness of Erik’s thoughts, end even as he clenches his jaw and prepares to move away, Charles realizes with a sudden clarity just what exactly he’s feeling.
Rejection. Erik is feeling rejected.
Charles grasps the hand that’s already moving away from his chest so hard that Erik actually flinches and freezes.
“Charles?” he asks in a low voice that sends shivers down Charles’ back, and—well.
He’s right, Charles has absolutely zero self-control in the morning. Or maybe it’s just Erik who affects him like this; anyway, he can hardly find any coherent words, so instead, he answers with a quiet moan and presses back into Erik’s chest, feeling light-headed and slightly drunk on the emotions waving off from Erik.
This time, it’s relief. Relief and want and all kinds of things that he doesn’t have words for, but it doesn’t matter, because Charles feels the same – it’s a finally and it’s a wanted this for so long, and it’s a is this really happening, am I dreaming still, oh good lord—
“Charles,” Erik breathes out, burying his face in Charles’ hair – it must be a mess, and he’s made fun of Charles for it for a thousand times, only he feels so painfully fond of it right now, the way he mouths at Charles’ nape softly, reverently—
Charles pushes back, arches against him, burning up and half-mad with the loop of desire he feels, and it takes Erik biting his ear softly for him to come back to his senses somewhat.
“Charles,” Erik growls, insistently. “Are you—”
Charles blinks through the haze of emotions and valiantly tries to remember what the shields are. Right. Shielding. Shielding is good, unless he wants to lose himself completely in Erik’s mind – which actually doesn’t sound too bad, but Erik’s right, of course he is, he probably wants to be present for this. For Erik’s sake, at the very least, if not for his own – but his own, too, so that he could remember it as something that really happened in the real world and not just in his mind.
“You think too much,” Erik chuckles and presses a kiss behind his ear, which makes Charles shiver.
“That’s what I do,” he manages at last, voice hoarse from sleep. He feels the way it makes Erik hot and nearly drowns in it again. “Thinking. It’s my thing.”
“Well then,” another chuckle followed by a kiss leaves Charles breathless, but he manages to remain present — for now. “Let’s see what it takes to make you stop, shall we?”
It startles a laugh out of Charles, but before he has a chance to protest, Erik’s marvelous fingers find their way under his shirt, and the touch is electrifying.
It’s everything he’s ever imagined and more.
“And you imagined it a lot, hm?” Erik mutters against his ear, pushing his shirt up. Charles swallows a groan and throws his head back onto Erik’s shoulder, pressing even closer – there’s barely any space between them, but it’s still not enough.
Despite his thoughts being all over the place, Erik is clearly expecting an answer, so Charles nods jerkily, rubbing against him and clutching at his arm.
“Yes,” he breathes out. “I have. How—how could I not? Erik…”
“You’ll have to show me,” Erik grumbles and scratches his nails gently over his sternum, making Charles keen softly. “Everything. It’s only fair – I didn’t have the same luxury, after all. Couldn’t let myself think about you like this,” his hand squeezes Charles through his pants, and he bucks into it to Erik’s smirk against his neck. “Couldn’t risk you knowing it and feeling disgusted.”
“Oh, darling, never,” Charles promises vehemently, twisting in Erik’s arms to finally face him.
Despite having felt everything since the moment they both woke up, it’s actually seeing him that does it for Charles – something clenches painfully in his chest at the hungry yet impossibly fond look on Erik’s face, and he lurches forward, pressing their lips together, clutching Erik’s undershirt in both fists. Morning breath be damned; it’s the best kiss he’s ever had, and the possessive growl that escapes Erik at the thought of being compared to others only makes it that much better.
I could show you everything, he tells Erik without breaking the kiss, which sends a thrill over Erik – it’s not a promise of a show, but the way he uses his powers so easily that makes him wonder, and it makes Charles preen in turn. But I assure you, they are nothing compared to the real thing.
Erik might find it cheesy (like he’s the one to speak; Charles knows for a fact that he feels the same, for all that he denies having had fantasies of his own), but it’s true – somehow Charles has never imagined how good the weight of Erik’s hand would feel on the small of his back, how rough his callused fingers would be against his sleep-warm skin, how it would drive him mad with lust to feel Erik’s strong thigh pressing between his—
Erik bites his lip—gently, just enough to ground him and bring him back.
“You keep slipping away,” he mutters, running a hand through Charles’ hair. “Don’t get me wrong – it’s flattering, really,” and Charles stifles a laugh, rolling his eyes fondly instead. “But – I want you here. With me.”
He doesn’t really have words for this, Charles can feel it – his mind searching, frustrated at being unable to express himself properly and somewhat confused by conflicting emotions: it’s not that he doesn’t want Charles to use his powers, it is flattering that he’s able to make Charles lose self-control like this, and the thought of sharing everything during sex is nearly overwhelming – but at the same time he needs Charles right here. He needs Charles, not just a thought of him in his mind, even if it’s also a part of Charles, and he knows—
“Now who’s thinking too much,” Charles whispers with a soft smile and presses another sweet kiss to the corner of Eriks’ lips. “It’s okay, Erik. I’m here.”
I’m not going anywhere you can’t follow.
The instant relief that floods Erik is intoxicating – Charles could get high on that alone, but he keeps true to his promise. Erik needs to be able to control this, at least this first time – and it means the same to him as it does for Charles to feel that Erik is willing to let him in. It’s a heady feeling all on its own.
“The things I want to do to you,” Erik groans, his hands wandering incessantly. “Charles…”
Charles has never loved the sound of his own name more.
“Yes,” he whispers back, clutching at Erik desperately. “Yes to all of it, Erik, fuck, please—”
It’s probably been only minutes since they woke up, but it feels like a lifetime, and he thinks he might as well die if they don’t do anything soon. He sends this thought Erik’s way and takes a vicious satisfaction at the way it makes him shudder.
He should’ve known better, really – his telepathy aside, he’s known Erik for months. Erik doesn’t take challenges likely, so he should’ve seen it coming when Erik’s large hands promptly slide underneath his sleeping pants and grasp his buttocks firmly, pulling him in at the same time as he grinds their groins together.
Never the one to be left behind, Charles trails his fingers over Erik’s chest, scratching his nipples lightly over the thin fabric of his undershirt; it earns him a most delicious groan and a messy kiss that turns into a gasp when he squeezes a hand between them and palms at the hard line of Erik’s cock.
God, the man is huge.
Which is, regrettably, a problem.
“I’m not taking that dry,” he mutters wistfully, squeezing his hand for good measure. “And I don’t suppose you have anything...?”
Erik blinks at him owlishly, and Charles feels a shock of disbelief and lust wash over him at the same time his eyes go almost completely dark with arousal.
So he didn’t even consider that this was on the table.
Oh.
“So much for wanting to do ‘things’ to me,” he laughs weakly when Erik ducks his head to suck on his throat and rolls his hips, rocking back into Erik’s hands. “I assure you, my friend, I intend to get fucked as hard as you could possibly manage as soon as we get some proper supplies – until then, though…”
“I take it back,” Erik grumbles against his neck, nipping petulantly at his skin. “I liked it better when you weren’t so coherent.”
His fingers teasingly slide over the cleft of his ass, teasing, and Charles promptly loses any coherence he’s had left.
Erik is really frighteningly good at making his thoughts go astray, and he must be aware – Charles feels his lips curl into a grin against his clavicle even as his fingers press lower, hovering just over his hole, barely there – only a hint of a touch, maddening at its promise of more.
“So you’d let me fuck you?” Erik breathes, trailing wet kisses back up his neck. “Is that what you’ve been thinking about? Me, bending you over your desk, right over all of your papers and notes? Or slamming you into the wall in one of those hotels we stayed in as soon as we were alone?”
Despite what he’d said earlier, Erik must’ve had some fantasies of his own, after all – the vague impressions of the scenes he’s describing flash briefly in his mind, and Charles squeezes him harder, making him hiss, presses in closer, begs silently for more, because he can tell – both from the blurred memories Erik is trying to hide and from the way he’s picking his words so carefully – that Erik is holding back even now.
He doesn’t have to, of course, but he probably doesn’t know that yet.
“No,” Charles tells him serenely, pressing an almost chaste kiss to his chin. “I wasn’t just thinking about you fucking me – I thought how I’d let you ruin me.”
Erik’s mind flares up briefly in shock and then kind of short-circuits. The lust clogging it is all-consuming, and it seems stuck, of all the things, on the way Charles’ lips (so wet and red and kiss-swollen in Erik’s mind-eye) part around obscene words.
Charles smirks and slowly runs the tip of his tongue over his lower lip before sucking it in, biting at it coyly.
“Oh, darling, do you have any idea how many times I hoped you’d make use of that wonderful power of yours to come to my room at night and slide in bed with me? I would’ve loved nothing more than to wake up with your cock buried in my ass, because you could no longer wait and because you didn’t want me to know what you were up to—”
“Charles,” Erik hisses, and then finally, finally, in a mad rush of fumbling hands and twisted bodies, they manage to get both their pants down their hips, their straining cocks pressed tight between them. They're done with the teasing for now, it seems – which was more them testing waters than foreplay, anyway, each touch a revelation and a may I, what if, can we, all of that fading in face of their desperation.
They can continue learning each other’s boundaries later. Preferably when they’ve managed to obtain some lube and a proper bed, so that the next time could end up with him getting fucked within an inch of his life.
Right now, though, Charles would settle for grinding, because frankly, even this feels incredible – Erik being a hot, hard line against him, his usually organized mind a whirlwind of emotions too intense for Charles to discern unless he wants to risk falling under again.
They both stumble a little, trying to find a perfect position – they keep pressing too close to really get their hands where they need them most, both searching for more contact, and whenever Charles tries to get his hand back on Erik’s cock, Erik’s hands bump into his as he’s trying to push Charles’ shirt out of the way, or Charles halts his progress, lurching forward for another kiss that’s more of a wet glide of lips against lips and mixed gasps—
He laughs, light-headed and high on pleasure, and Erik grins at him with all of his teeth in turn.
Charles hasn’t felt this much like a horny teenager since he was one. Actually, come to think of it, he probably hasn’t felt this way back then; he’s not really in the mood to ponder that particular thought, though, but the point is that Erik does wonders to his libido and general well-being.
They finally still long enough for Charles to grasp them both in a loose fist, and Erik slides an arm around his waist to help the slow back and forth rhythm they settle into.
And then his fingers are dipping between his legs again, and Charles jerks in surprise – focused on the most immediate feelings (the press of their cocks, the slide of skin against skin, the friction of clothes over sweat-slicked skin, puffs of breath and soft gasps shared and swallowed between messy, uncoordinated kisses—), he completely missed Erik’s intentions, and if Erik’s widening grin is anything to go by, he’s immensely pleased with himself.
His fingers are wet, Charles realizes, dazed, as his fingertips start rubbing his hole – still gently, but firmer this time, no longer questioning. When he managed to lick his fingers is a mystery that’s revealed to Charles in a bout of an awkwardly projected memory: Erik covering his mouth with a fist to muffle a cry as Charles mawed his neck moments ago and getting an idea, spitting into the palm of his hand.
Charles shares a thought of his own in turn: Erik pressing those fingers to his lips, tugging his chin down, Charles sucking his fingers in, swirling his tongue over them—
Aside from a shared spark of arousal, it actually makes Charles consider the idea of pushing Erik on his back and sliding down to suck him off, but then the first fingertip presses unfailingly in just as Erik bites at his earlobe with a low growl, and it’s enough to distract him.
“Maybe next time,” Erik says, hoarse, and Charles acquiesces. Later. They can save it all for later, and as for now—
Now he revels in the slightest hint of a burn as Erik’s fingers breach him, and gasps against his neck, lining them up yet again and twisting his hand just so, making Erik hiss in turn. He’s on the verge of coming already — been there, actually, ever since he’s felt Erik’s hardness poking him in the butt, and he doesn’t quite mean to, but he sends the picture to Erik, which earns him a husky chuckle and a sharp thrust.
Impatient, Erik thinks at him, fondly, sucks at the soft spot just beneath his jaw and scissors his fingers a little.
“I’ve been waiting for months, Erik,” Charles mutters back petulantly. “I’d say I’ve been plenty patient.”
Erik doesn’t bother taking his lips off his neck, not when he knows Charles would hear him anyway.
Plenty stupid, is what you are, he thinks pointedly. We could’ve been doing this for all those months.
And they really could have, Charles thinks, dismayed, hiding his face in Erik’s shoulder with a pitiful moan.
Well, all the more to make up for.
Erik strokes his insides just right, and Charles doesn’t know if he’s unconsciously sending Erik the hints of what he likes best or if Erik is just that perfect, perfect for him; he rocks between the hand stroking them off and Erik’s fingers, and it’s barely a rhythm, but it doesn’t matter, not when Erik finds his prostate and he rubs a thumb over their leaking heads.
As much as he wishes this moment to last forever, he also desperately wants to come, and he wants Erik to come even more – the need to feel his emotions at the moment of his climax as strong as the selfish desire to feel his come covering his skin, marking him, and it’s nearly overwhelming, all in all.
“Come on, Charles,” Erik whispers and cards his fingers through Charles’ hair, tugging his head back a little so that he can lick into his mouth again. Come for me.
Charles does.
He knows that Erik follows almost immediately after – also knows that it’s him, his face on the verge of an orgasm, the way his lips made a perfect ‘o’ and his brows furrowed, the way he arched so beautifully against Erik, and the way he squeezed his fingers tight where they’ve been fucking him through it all, did it for Erik, more so than a rushed handjob ever could. He knows it all because he’s afloat, his mind pressing against Erik’s in a facsimile of their physical embrace, and he sees himself through Erik’s eyes – blissed out and flushed and deliciously disheveled, a sight that threatens to keep Erik hard even after he just came blindingly and also makes him almost purr, proud and sated and happy.
It’s the last thread of a feeling that stops Charles from actually regretting getting lost in a telepathic limbo. He is a tiniest bit peeved about missing the actual moment of Erik’s climax as well – all of his mind is brilliant, of course, and to experience it in such a way is a most precious gift, but still. He’d gladly exchange seeing himself for seeing Erik, if he could.
“It’s okay,” Erik mutters, bringing him back to present with lazy kisses and nudging his face with a tip of his nose. Charles blinks; he might have missed the past few seconds, but Erik’s self-satisfied grin and relaxed posture almost make up for it. “You’d get another chance.”
Oh. Charles winces and smiles guiltily, pulling his consciousness back; no wonder Erik heard all of his musings – he must’ve installed himself pretty deep in his mind, something he promised not to do—
“It’s okay,” Erik repeats firmly and gently cups his cheek, pressing their foreheads together. “I don’t mind. I didn’t mean—I wasn’t going to ask you to cut your telepathy completely, just…”
He trails off, once again, unsure how to put it into words, but Charles gets it.
“You just didn’t want to have some sort of a tantric sex for our first time,” he says, and the way it makes Erik honest to god blush – being called out for thinking of Charles’ powers as ‘tantric sex’ – is utterly adorable.
Erik retaliates by biting his nose and growling menacingly, but he must understand that trying to convince Charles that he’s not adorable is a moot point, because he doesn’t even try to.
Instead, he rolls them over so that he’s hovering over Charles and slides a hand under his rumpled top.
Charles doesn’t see any fault in that particular course of action.
He gets his chance to make up for missing Erik’s first climax soon after that.
*
The receptionist at the hotel at their next designated stop is exceptionally polite and pleasant as she talks to Charles, and Charles smiles at her just as flirtatiously as he always does. This time, it comes with a bonus perk of feeling a pang of Erik’s jealousy – it’s more playful than anything, a hot wave of possessiveness flushing over him with a mental equivalent of an epic eyeroll, and Charles’ smile turns into a sly smirk once he turns to Erik.
Erik glances at the key in his hands questioningly.
“Oh bother,” Charles exclaims cheerfully. “Would you look at that. It appears they only had one room left.”
“Did they, now,” Erik snorts as they follow to the elevator. Charles twists the key around his finger mindlessly, and as soon as the elevator doors close on them, Erik crowds him against the wall, snatching the key with a half-hearted glare. Right, Charles thinks, absently licking his lips; he just rolled a metal keyring all over his fingers. Erik is as attuned to these things now as Charles is to the barest changes of his mood.
Erik leans in, slowly, but before things can get heated, they reach their floor, and Charles slips away with a wink.
The door to their room opens before him, even though Erik is still a few steps behind. Charles chuckles under his breath and turns to face him, walking backwards.
“Seems like our bad luck prevails,” Erik says solemnly as he takes in the room. “Once again, there’s only one bed.”
“That’s really unfortunate,” Charles agrees just as gravely, even as Erik walks him into the king-sized bed, the door shutting close behind them on its own. “But I’m sure we’ll manage.”
And they do.