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Erik clutches the pillow dampened by sweat, his sweat streaming down his face, and he tries to breathe, in and out, in and out, but he can’t – it’s too much, too much – and he moans despite himself. Charles frees his wrist and catches his chin, turning his face to kiss him, to suck on his bottom lip, his tongue, his jaw, his ear, ever so tender and slow, clashing with the way he’s been slamming into Erik – fast, hard and deep, so deep it almost hurts, pain and pleasure becoming one. This sweet torture is driving Erik insane, and he can do nothing about it, nothing at all, for Charles is a solid weight on him, plastered all over his back, effectively pinning him down, his other hand flat on Erik’s stomach to hold him tightly, to keep him in place so that he can only get what Charles wants to give him. He’s truly and utterly trapped, unable to move his hips back to end this quickly, his body shaking at every ferocious thrust Charles feeds him.
“Charles,” Erik gasps, “I can’t –”
“Quiet during class,” Charles purrs into his ear and then promptly licks it, eliciting another moan out of Erik, “I’m teaching you… a lesson.”
Erik tries to think for one second and comes to the conclusion that perhaps he deserves this. Charles had had a difficult day, and he had been trying to grade a huge stack of papers that were due for very soon, and Erik, to support him, had pestered him all day, calling him “Professor”, playing with his metal glasses to get his attention, and in the end he had gotten it; Charles had dropped his pen to growl at him to remove his pants, and they had somehow miraculously ended up in their bed without breaking any furniture on the way. That had been hours ago, or so it seems to Erik, and he still hasn’t come, and he seriously considers begging for it, begging for his release.
“Charles…”
“No,” Charles cuts him off and presses his nose into the hollow behind his ear, “you have to ask for my permission.”
“What?”
“Quiet during my class,” Charles chastises him by thrusting harder into Erik who forgets to stifle one moan, or maybe thirty – he had lost count after the second one. He looks over his shoulder and meets Charles’ eyes, but he sees nothing that could help him; he doesn’t understand what he’s playing at, what he wants him to do. So he just stares at him with half-lidded eyes, waiting for some goddamn sign.
Charles smiles at him and lightly touches his wrist again. “Raise your hand.”
Erik is confused at first, and Charles doesn’t help by kissing him senseless, but when comprehension dawns at last and Charles releases his lips, his very swollen and red lips, he is mortified and he really wants to kick Charles out of their bed.
“You could do that, but trust me when I tell you that your torment won’t end in the near future,” Charles tells him, reminding him that he can easily hold him back from climaxing for more than a few hours. Erik gulps down saliva and shudders at the prospect of staying in this state for a very long time, burying his face into the pillow whilst Charles gently nips at his nape, still steadily plowing into him. When Erik finally raises his hand, Charles doesn’t notice, too focused on sucking and biting Erik’s skin. He stops bruising the soft and sweaty skin before him and looks up when he hears a muffled and frustrated sob. He snatches Erik’s hand to bring it to his lips, kissing it gingerly.
“Yes, Erik?”
“May I come, please…” Erik sends, not trusting his own voice to speak.
“Such a polite student, Erik… Permission granted,” Charles says.
The hold on Erik’s pleasure center is suddenly gone; there is nothing that can stop him now, nothing. So he comes, almost violently, and Charles keeps snapping his hips again and again, coming too, fucking him through his orgasm, properly filling him up, swallowing every choked cry that escapes Erik’s throat, tasting the salty liquid that rolls down his cheek…
Erik opens his eyes – and he realises that he probably blacked out at some point – feeling wet, oh-so very wet, and he wants to move, but he cannot, and why the hell can he not…
Oh yes, Charles.
“Charles, get off.”
“I did, Erik,” Charles replies, the amusement clear in his voice.
“What? No I can’t move…” He glances behind him and sees Charles wearing his boxers… Oh. Well, this is a bit embarrassing.
“That was the point you know; you were so well fucked – you’re welcome – that you won’t be able to move for a while, which gives me enough time to finish grading my papers,” Charles informs him as he retrieves his lilac sweater and his pants, heading for the door.
“No wait Charles!” Erik turns and tries to sit up, but he groans and falls backwards. “Fuck,” he says to no one in particular.
