It annoys Charles that they have to go through these motions, but he doesn't complain. He smiles kindly while he moves their belongings out of the way as Erik helps with the cot. His lips twist into an amused smile at Erik's thoughts about brain halves, and he playfully asks him which side is he? Left or right?
But Erik's mind is close to shutting off and when they're alone he slumps onto the bed. Charles lifts up their bags from the floor, positioning them neatly on top of the table (to prevent any possible bedbugs from crawling in) and folds Erik's jacket on top of his. Then he moves to the bed, leaning over Erik to help him out of his clothes. Let's get you comfortable, he murmurs into his mind while listening to the idle prattle of Erik's thoughts about him. They make him smile happily while he divests Erik out of his clothes, careful not to stir him too much, gently suggesting at times to his beautiful mind which limb could be moving to help Charles on the task.
He thinks it's curious how similar and how different at the same time their thoughts are. He offers his own without even thinking about it. It's fair and it's rare that he can share. Because to him Erik is like learning to breathe again, like a child realising what his legs are made for and the joy of running until his legs are sore. Being accepted even outside his own mind is a gift that he doesn't know how to unravel without losing his mind in it. And there are days when he wants nothing else but to soar, to open more locks between those two halves of a brain and connect them in ways that none have been before. What would it be like if awareness and action could happen at the same time, his mind whispers. A temptation and sweet surrender to knowing it's safe, it's safe to explore. Erik is the air in his lungs after breathing under ground for so many years. And sometimes he wants to suck in more, and more, and more, until his head is dizzy with too much oxygen. He thinks he'll end up breathing into a paper bag with Erik eventually but still it will be worth it.
The covers go down around Erik and Charles tucks him in, safe and sound, discreetly he doesn't look even if Erik has a beautiful body, he just helps him undress and gathers the clothes away before pulling the sheets on him. And lastly a few fingers lingers on Erik's temple, sliding into his hair before slipping away.
Charles is the right side of course, with all its empathy and all its joy. And Erik is the machine that goes, that calculates, that tells the right it's too soft. But those come through as little amorphous thoughts, not really giving Charles a straight answer. Then again, Erik's brain has already begin to shut down for the night, start turning the lights off in the factories that churn out his thoughts.
He smiles, visibly, getting little bits of things that Charles thinks as a sort of soothing lullaby. Like the sound of seagulls or a tropical rain, it doesn't quite make him feel like he's sleeping in his own bed at home, but it does help move the sleep process along. His brain shoots back the thought that he doesn't mind if Charles takes a look, even as his filters try to awaken to move the thought directly into his mind's trash can.
Still, he trusts Charles. More than anything, he trusts Charles. It's hard not to, when the way they met was Charles saving Erik's life. It's hard not to, when Charles says he's seen all of Erik's past and his darkest thoughts and said, I accept you. And when Charles knows all of those thoughts are real, and what Erik might do with them, and Charles disregards him and tells him that yes, he's still here. They're still friends. And Charles respects and likes Erik just as much as he did before; it's hard to distrust someone like that.
The last thought he has before falling asleep is how Charles's fingers feel in his hair, and he wakes up in the middle of the night with a phantom feeling lingering at his temple.
Erik checks his watch to find that it's 4 AM, and he's overheated, sweaty, and suddenly very awake. He turns to look at Charles sleeping peacefully beside him, and his heart does a funny stir as he imagines reaching out to smooth out Charles's fingers from their curled position. He furrows his brows and peels himself out of bed to get some fresh air, go look at the still-asleep town around them.
Before going to bed, Charles hangs up Erik's clothes. He doesn't know if Erik will be changing or if he's going to use these the next day, so he doesn't want Erik to find them wrinkled. He lays out his own clothes for the next day and takes a brief shower and brushes his teeth before slipping into his pyjamas.
He doesn't fall asleep right away. But instead watches the peaceful way Erik's chest rises and falls. At the very edges of his consciousness, just before he falls asleep he feels like he comes to some kind of an understanding and somewhere inside him a bone deep longing drums to life. But he falls asleep and the thought is lost, erased by sleep and his brain trying to sort through what is important and what is not worth saving.
He sleeps soundly, turned towards Erik, curled around his core. He stirs when Erik springs up from the bed, the mattress shaking upon losing Erik's weight on it. Blue eyes crack open for a moment, checking on Erik, then fall close again. Charles dozes for a minute or two, then realises that he can't fall asleep again. Erik's thoughts buzz just at the edges of his understanding. He rolls up, sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment, disoriented, half lidded eyes glancing around in confusion.
Charles is absolutely not a morning person. He tends to be grumpy before he gets his cup of coffee, groggy and out of it. Waking up at 4 AM isn't any different, quite the contrary. His hair sticks up wildly from one side, oh the other it sticks to his face. He stumbles across the hotel room and rubs his face sleepily as he slips to the balcony with Erik.
"Is it time to wake up?" he asks, while leaning on the door frame, arms around his middle against the morning chill.
"No," Erik answers, looking back at him. "Go back to sleep, Charles." His voice is low, racked with sleep, soft with the pre-dawn. His thoughts blanket affectionately in Charles's general direction, and he seems to try and withdraw it as soon as he's made conscious of it. It's a sharp intake, sort of like a cringe. A wince.
No, they don't need more complication. And Erik doesn't need to have to tell himself twice to get over himself, to let something be. His heart is usually so well-tamed, hiding in a cage plastered over with hatred, with disgust, with rejection. After the war, he'd still been Jewish. He'd been poor. And there was very little sympathy for him in the land of opportunity. So he was just like a house abandoned and overgrown with vines. But nothing tried to break through like Charles has. And nothing's been so hard to chase back out as Charles.
Charles is blue in the dim twilight, hair a mess from the pillow, sleep-worn and tired-looking. And a familiar feeling flits around in Erik's stomach and dries up his throat, until he commands it to stop. The cool air dares Erik to be brave, but he walks towards the hotel room. In case anyone is awake. In case anyone is awake right this second and looking out their window, right at them, making up some sort of narrative that is painfully untrue.
He pauses as he reaches out to take Charles by the arm, to usher him back inside. Erik's hands have cooled and Charles is warm to the touch; his hands turn as his fingertips against Charles's skin turn to his knuckles, such a subtle gesture that changes his meaning from 'move back' to 'stay.' It's an accident.
"Alright--" Charles starts to say, his lips curving into a smile as he leans his head against the door frame, just watching Erik with half lidded eyes. But then Erik withdraws sharply and Charles draws in a breath, rushed and sudden. Erik hasn't done that, not since the very beginning.
He blinks his eyes open, a frown appearing on his brows as he reaches up and rubs a hand over his face, trying to focus.
Something is... different.
He watches Erik walk back in, his awareness slowly returning to him. It's taking leaps and bounds, alarm obvious on his gaze, in the way his breath is short, unguarded. It's hard to adjust suddenly to the mixed messages Erik is giving him. The touch is reassuring for a brief second or two and Charles feels a relief flood him only to be yanked away as Erik pulls away.
Without thinking, Charles reaches for that hand, takes it in his own and pulls it close as he melts back against the door frame. "Erik," he whispers softly. "What's wrong?"
Why it feels like there's a giant hole in his stomach where cold wind is blowing in? He doesn't know.
Erik lets his hand rest there, but wonders how Charles can ignore his thoughts bubbling just beneath the surface, or even how loudly his pulse beats up in his neck. He lifts a hand to draw the curtains, draw the one over the still-open door to the balcony, pulling Charles forward so the cloth doesn't hit his back. "I'm wrong," he admits, into the air like an open sore.
His imagines being back on the balcony, and when Charles shows up at the door, pulling him outside, into his arms, smoothing down all the flyaways in his hair. He imagines what it might have been like if they'd been slightly drunk and dancing and laughing along to nickel tunes from the jukebox. And maybe if the waitress had looked at them and thought, how cute they are together.
Erik stands in front of Charles, and places a hand on the small of his back. They're standing two inches apart and he imagines what it might be like to bridge that gap and to steal a kiss, and maybe Charles would get angry and his cheeks would turn red and that'd be the end of that conversation. He'd storm off, and Erik would know, and they could move forward.
But Erik doesn't do that; he lets go, he drops his fingers, he keeps his distance.
"No," Charles says immediately, not paying any mind to what Erik is doing with the curtain. He's focused on Erik and Erik alone. What he means, he doesn't know, so he opens up like a bloom to Erik's mind, sharing - maybe oversharing - the feeling of shaking ground under his feet when Erik pulls away, the anxiety that fills him with those little snippets of rejection.
His gaze focuses on Erik's chest when he follows that first mental image, a hint of colour rising to his cheeks as he realises just how ridiculous his hair looks like and he reaches up to smooth it down as Erik has them dancing the bar.
Suddenly there's a different sort of hole in his stomach as Erik's hand finds its way to his back and Charles' breath catches in his throat, blue eyes cast up, wide, surprised. There's colour to his cheeks now, burning hot, but not with anger. He gives a soft gasp at the imagined kiss and reaches up to touch his own mouth with his fingertips, as if he could feel the heat of Erik's mouth there.
It is Charles who bridges that distance between them, all two inches of it. Pushing to the tips of his toes and his hand finding purchase on Erik's chest to steady himself as he presses their mouths together. It's not much of a kiss with how abrupt it is and how much Charles needs to reach with the height difference between them. But it probably will get his point cross.
And if that's not enough, Erik can listen to his shared thoughts that are nothing but sensations, warmth, rushing heart rate, elation that drums up from the tips of his toes and travels through him with a rush.
Erik feels relief flood into him like slipping into a warm bath after a long day, like coming home to your own bed after a long journey away. And he holds Charles in a full embrace, crushing their lips together and deepening the kiss as he exudes all his thoughts of desire, of fear of rejection, of bottling everything up and hoping that it would go away all as his feelings grew too much for their container now overflowing.
He doesn't know whose thoughts are whose, but as their emotions tangle together, so does he tangle his hand into Charles's hair, and grip him tightly on the hip. He envelops Charles's body whole in his arms, and just holds him that way contentedly against his body.
"I've wanted to do that," he murmurs against Charles's lips. He's wanted it for awhile, but he's always told himself no. He told himself no until he couldn't anymore. But Erik's always been like that, in full control until everything was a complete and utter wreck. This is no different except that this is the only thing that's gone well, that's objectively been a good turn of events for him. And Erik can't change that way of living; it's just his nature to burn a bridge he's still on and refuse to look back. So his heart does victorious flips in his chest, that Charles doesn't sour to think of him, and all his mouth can say is: "Thank you."
Charles' mind explodes with half thought words, half articulated ideas when Erik reaches for him to answer that kiss with his own. His knees go literally weak and he hangs onto Erik with a soft sound erupting from his throat.
What Erik feels, he feels and what he feels, Erik feels. It's a mess. It's a beautiful chaos that Charles doesn't even try to sort out. He only reaches up to wrap his arms around Erik's neck and melts against his front, while opening up to the most dizzying kiss of his whole adult life.
"Y-you know how to..." seduce a telepath, he thinks the rest of the thought to Erik because he's too busy to press his mouth onto Erik's again. Just to feel the zap of excitement that runs through him at the first contact.
He pulls back eventually, blue eyes wide as he stares at Erik. "I don't even know where to begin," he says hoarsely, but the smile that blooms on his lips is almost painfully sincere and happy. It would only make sense that Charles who is so smooth and capable of charm usually would be wordless in the face of something so obvious and so right.
"Except... please don't stop," he says with a small chuckle, his chest rising rapidly with his quick breath.
When Charles's knees go slack is when Erik realizes that yes, this is real, and yes, they both feel this way. His heart beats with an aching, knowing this. It's that feeling of a whole second of emotion, unpacked: what if they had never confessed, what if they had been unrequited, what if they had never met, what if Erik had never come to Miami, what if Charles hadn't been a telepath, what if, what if, what if. And now, what if this is it, what if every moment in his life was leading up to finding his complete and total opposite in Charles, that he already knew they were soulmates but just, before this, platonic ones?
It's a long second of thought and it slams into him and takes the wind out of his lungs.
And then, when Charles flashes him that smile, it shatters Erik's heart to know he almost told himself, forget this. And then it tapes his heart back together with the thought, this is yours. Be careful with it.
"Never," he says, pressing kisses to the underside of Charles's jaw as he draws Charles back so they can sit on the bed as the sun creeps up over the horizon. He tumbles into it instead, having misjudged the distance, and pulls Charles on top of him, laughing into his neck of his clumsy good luck. Two minutes in and he's already wondering how they've ever lived a friendship unromantically. How could they both have been so blind?
Ask Charles tomorrow about this all. Erik probably has never heard his thoughts so distracted and easily halted, at a complete disarray. He's never had something like this. Never. All the people he's ever kissed have been mostly uninteresting strangers and definitely none of them have known him like this. He's never felt like this for someone.
Tomorrow he'll be arrested with worry because definitely he has an awful track record with anything romantic and Erik's heart has been broken enough times that Charles never wants to be the one to give him more heartache. Tomorrow he'll be terrified and excited at the same time.
Today he's intoxicated, drunk on Erik's laughter that he hears already in his mind before they stumble onto the bed and Charles crawls on top of him, pushing himself up to look at Erik with warm blue eyes, leaning down to kiss his laughing mouth and feel his chest swell up almost painfully with the overflowing affection that he doesn't even want try containing.
He presses his arms onto the mattress on both sides of Erik's head, threads his fingers through his hair and presses soft kisses to his mouth and jaw. Usually these things lead straight to physical satisfaction with Charles because little else is on the table, but he hasn't even gotten to that point yet. He's just full of wonderment and affection, so much so that he doesn't know what to say.
Erik meanwhile twirls Charles's hair in his fingers, happily chasing after Charles's kisses, bleeding thoughts of boundless warm affection. It's true; there has never been another situation where he's been happily content just to kiss another person in his bed when they're both stripped down to their underwear, but with Charles it's... different. With Charles, everything is different.
It's not that he doesn't want Charles in that way, because he does. If he's not aware of it quite yet, then his body will make sure he is aware of it soon, as he keeps trying to suck the sweet taste off of Charles's lips, and flattened under the weight of his full body blanketed by his sunny attitude and natural perfume. Erik takes a deep breath against Charles's neck, and lying under him alternates lapping the hollow under his throat and sucking a blooming bruise.
He tries not to leave any telltale marks, lest he get too carried away.
All this but he's restless with his hands, fingertips dragging along Charles's back and combing into his hair, palm flat against his shoulderblades but then curled around his thigh, or softly resting on the back of his knees. He tries to find the sensitive parts of Charles's back, to find what kind of touches his body responds to, to discover the things he never thought Charles would let him discover. He wants to explore, forget about being trapped all day in a car and stay here instead, kissing a map of Charles's body. He knows that's not feasible; he'll take what he can get.
He can always request that Charles stop time.
But, since Erik was always the practical one, he looks up at Charles's chin and nuzzles into his collar a moment, putting a little stopper on anything too strongly physical. "Should we put this off until tonight?" he asks. "I can drive fast. You can point the cops away. We'll get to our next stopping point with time to spare."
Charles responds to each touch like a it were a reverent blessing, shivering and pressing closer to Erik even if there's no space between to cross. It's his mind that first awakens to the exciting quality of their vicinity with a sudden pour of desire into the mental link he's built between them. Erik's lips upon his neck send a pulse of want into his core, bringing him suddenly to a completely new kind of awareness of Erik's body beneath him, solid, warm, oh so--
He pushes up, both hands planted on the mattress on both sides of Erik's head. If there were a name to the kind of rushed exhales he lets out, it would probably be heat. He's wanted people before, felt the swell of a soft female body underneath him and flushed with desire. But this is different. Erik is different.
One day Charles will realise that Erik will always be the exception for him.
He takes a deep inhale to shake off the cloud of pure lust from his head, cheeks puffing out as he exhales, this time slower.
"Are you... actually serious?" he asks, brows arching and those blue eyes begging Erik to admit he was just joking. His gaze steals away, following his hand that is smoothing down along Erik's chest, feeling the firm muscle under his touch and he quakes with the raw inhales he pulls into his lungs. "If... If that is what you want, yes. Sure." He licks his lips and looks up at Erik's face again, his expression melting into a gentle smile. "I'm very liable to say yes to anything you happen to want right now."
Erik's eyes dart to the light starting to stream in as he says: "Alright." He lifts his face up to peck kisses like one of those thirsty bird toys, and wraps his arms around Charles's shoulders to pull him back down. "We can take the time now, and then rush to get to our next checkpoint instead." The whole point of getting there early was that he could take the rest of the night to really savor Charles, figure out where they wanted to go. But right now he doesn't want to extricate himself either, nor ask Charles to get off of him.
"It's up to you," he adds, with the loud thought that he'll want Charles just as much in twelve hours as he does now. More, because he'll have spent the whole car ride thinking about how Charles's mouth tastes and wondering how the rest of him might be, how the rest of his body responds to Erik's ministrations and to his curious kisses and deft tongue. Then there's the non-physical; he'll think about how fulfilled he feels to be truly understood, how lucky he is that Charles has the same feelings for Erik, how on the open road with no one driving on either side of them he can clutch Charles's hand to his heart.
Right now instead, he lifts Charles's hand to his mouth, dotting his palm and his fingers and the bones of his wrist. Whatever he doesn't get with his mouth he gets with his stubble, little hairs to tickle Charles as long as he doesn't get up to shave. He thinks things like, I hope it doesn't bother him I'm a little unshaven, and he still has bedhead, it's so cute, and oh were his eyes always this beautiful?
The truth be told, they really could use the day to figure out what to do with each other, to get used to this. But Charles doesn't want to stop. Not right now. Erik doesn't want that either, so he's not feeling awfully selfish when he leans into those pecking kisses and turns them into something more.
Let's stay for a second longer, he thinks at Erik, promising that they'll get a move on in a little bit in a side thought.
Charles has never thought about how to be close to a man like this. He has no idea how to even start. He'll need to do some research during the day. There are bound to be a few minds he can get some ideas from.
It really feels like they're searching each other again. Charles is curious to see how every part of Erik feels under his lips, how he likes to be touched, how he reacts to it. How is it different from the usual him? He wants to know everything.
But he also feels the amusement to the answering thoughts in Erik's mind. His cheeks heat up at the compliment about his eyes and he assures Erik quietly that he doesn't mind the stubble at all even if he's already getting a bit of a beard burn on the lower part of his face. Erik isn't alone in needing a shave. Charles' hand looks so small when it's put beside Erik's and Charles feels a bit of a quirk at the bottom of his stomach at the realisation even as he chuckles a little shyly at all those kisses that fall on his fingers and wrist.
He reaches between them and buttons open his pyjama top, then brings Erik's hand under the labels of it, pressing it against his heart so Erik can feel how hard it beats while Charles is burying his face on Erik's neck and peppering his skin with kisses, sucking soft pecks onto his skin all the way down to the crook of his neck, tasting salt on his skin and shuddering at the thought of it.
Luckily for the both of them, Erik isn't quite as unversed in this department. Well, no, he's never been with a man quite like this either. But, though he is very (very) conscious that Charles is no woman, he considers that it may not be a complete forgone conclusion that they have no idea what they're doing.
He snakes his hand underneath Charles's pajama top, smoothing over the expanse of his chest, easing the next-highest button out of its buttonhole, and then brings his hand down to undo the rest of them. He attempts to lift Charles's arms to thread them out of his sleeves, leaning back and eyes fluttering when Charles gets to a particular spot on his neck. Experimentally, he flicks a nipple with his thumb, wondering if that does anything for Charles. It's never really done anything for Erik, but it's curiouser yet that his nipples are standing full attention, swollen and red and begging to be touched.
In fact, Erik's whole skin is lit with fire brimming below and blood simmering right beneath the surface. His skin waits for Charles to come around with his hands, soft with bookwork and studying but rougher than the soft and generally shier ones to which Erik is accustomed. He doesn't know why he thought this would be different; meeting Charles and becoming friends with Charles was one of the most intense experiences of his life. Knowing Charles is like unlocking secrets to which Erik never even knew he had questions. It makes him appreciate more the scenery around him, because seeing through Charles's view makes him think everything is just a little bit better. Why would this be the exception by being any less than exceptional?
Rid of his shirt, Erik now slides a hand down Charles's back to act as a support, and he suggestively nudges him with the other as if to politely ask if they could switch positions for a little while.
Struggling out of the pyjama top, Charles worries his lips over that one spot on Erik's neck that makes him react so strongly. He presses his tongue to the salty skin through his parted lips and then applies suction. A faint mark is left on Erik's tanned skin and for a moment Charles feels as if he should feel like he did something forbidden.
But he doesn't.
And the thought is chased away with Erik's thumb brushing over his nipple, making him gasp. Not necessarily at the sensation, but the jolt that it sends through him. Excitement, sharp pleasure. He retaliates without thinking, moving slightly lower to be able to lap his tongue over one hard nub on Erik's chest. Honestly touching his own nipples has never done much to Charles either and the women he's bedded haven't felt like the need to touch him in that particular place. It's a new thing. New and fascinating and he's watching Erik while he moves his red mouth across that piece of his chest.
Charles knows already that this isn't going to be the only time they touch each other like this. It couldn't be. An unusual thought for him, almost unheard of. He doesn't bother exploring much when he brings someone to his bed, he already knows what they want and how they want it. Because he's divested that information out of them already. But somehow that doesn't feel right with Erik. (Exception #2.) He wants to know through discovery and hold those bits and pieces of information like gems that only he could ever touch. What a foolish and romantic notion, yet it is on the forefront of his mind...
Charles laughs at the mild suggestion that they flip around and he makes it easy for Erik by rolling them over with a hand behind Erik's neck. Suddenly crowded by Erik's larger body, Charles exhales in a rush, then reaches up to wrap his arms around Erik's neck, pulling him down for a kiss.
I'm not going to break, dear one, he murmurs into Erik's mind.
I know that, he shoots back immediately, and takes Charles by the wrists, pinning them above his head as they kiss. Stretched out so far he runs the other hand down his whole form, snagging at his nipple and again at his waistband. Charles had welcomed Erik into the bed, had insisted he touch Charles's skin, had lovingly kissed Erik's mouth and his chest and his throat and even still... He becomes a little shy as he wonders whether to proceed further. There's no going back from this, and he's not sure he would want to.
Erik moves down Charles's body, leaving heated kisses all down his torso, dotting his ribcage and peppering his stomach. He has a beautiful body and beautiful skin, pale in contrast to his dark hair. And his skin is so soft underneath Erik's hands, and the rise and fall of his chest with his breathing; these little things from down here are a breathtaking new vantage point.
He guides Charles's hand into his hair and groans at the feeling of those fingers carding into his locks, so easily could they squeeze together and grip them by the root.
Erik finds his courage soon thereafter, and digs his fingers into the waistband of Charles's pajama pants, moving them slowly as if peeling them off of him, presses the heel of his palm to cup around his cock still covered by his undershorts. It's all the resolve he needs, as he lays his mouth indiscriminately down on its trail across Charles's body, right where he swells against the cloth. He nudges Charles's legs apart to better accommodate him, and looks up with his eyes hungry and asking. Is this okay?
There's an amused thought forming as a response to Erik's quick response but then it breaks apart completely when Erik pins him down to the bed while they kiss. Charles' mind floods with arousal instead, his whole body arching up to Erik's while his fingers curl and uncurl. Erik's body is so much bigger and he feels a sweet tingle of excitement at the bottom of his stomach as he realises that Erik could push him around quite easily.
But that thought is broken as well when Erik starts moving down along his body. Charles is flushed with heat, his pale skin tinted with rosy hue and eyes following the descend with eager trepidation, both a little afraid and so excited. Erik's mouth is hot and soft and leaves little kernels of heat on his skin. His fingers curl in Erik's hair, combing through it gently at first, but when Erik's mind flashes a suggestion of tightening the hold, he does, without a single beat of hesitation, gripping right at the roots.
At least until Erik pulls off his pyjama bottoms and cups his erection through his underwear. Charles lets out a hollow groan and arches up against that palm, his fingers gone slack and uninspired. Erik's eyes are met with darkening blue eyes, sharp and raw. Charles' thighs spreading on their own volition once he kicks the pyjamas out of the way.
"Please," he whispers, his fingers tugging sharply at Erik's hair. He's not even sure what he's asking, but whatever it is, he's completely ready for it. Whatever Erik wants to do.
Erik's hands are steady but his mind is shaking, caught in suspension between disbelief and absolute pleasure. Though he isn't at all hesitant, he isn't sure until he looks Charles in the eyes. He isn't sure until Charles whispers at him a quiet request, a small plea that sends a cold shiver right down his spine.
He slides the underwear off of Charles in a smooth motion, but has to get up from his position to do so. Still, none of this is all that foreign to him, until he reaches down to give Charles a few short tugs and smiles down at him and his body all glowing and pink just for Erik. He kisses Charles on the inside of his thighs, reverent but curt, delaying little time before focusing attention on his cock instead.
Erik quickly realizes, slinging one of Charles's legs over his shoulder, that he has no idea what it's like to be on this end of a blowjob.
Grasping Charles firmly at the base, Erik finds his resolve and guides him into his mouth. He's a little awkward as he tries a few things to figure out what Charles might like and what might be most comfortable for him, but he takes his time and savors the experience. Every little reaction Charles makes, he files away in his head somewhere treasured moments go. There he puts every hitch of breath and every tremble as he picks up a pace and tries to take in more of Charles's length.
It's absolutely bizarre to see himself through Erik's eyes, all pink and pale and utterly unattractive to Charles but apparently quite so to Erik. He is arrested between a desire to cover himself and spread himself open even more shamelessly as he already is, possibly their joint thoughts.
Erik's hesitation doesn't go unnoticed either, and Charles is quick to assure him that he doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to do, already suggesting alternatives when Erik is pulling his underwear away and he freezes for a moment with a completely empty mind as Erik's lips press against the inside of his thigh, suddenly anticipation and ridiculous heat flooding his brain.
Oh, lord. Charles has had a few blowjobs in his life. Enough that he feels like he should know how this feels. Enough to know how it feels to others, too. But there is something utterly decadent about the idea of Erik's lips wrapped around his eagerly twisting cock.
His hands are in the sheets, twisting in them as he pulls in a ragged breath after another, trying his best not to move too much. With the rushed exhale comes a moan, chest deep and raw.
Then Charles decides to share. Every feeling, every pleasure, every skin-heating detail about Erik's mouth on his cock, the gentle rub of his tongue and the slick heat that is wrapped around him to such exquisite enjoyment. He shares it all with Erik.
There are a few things that Erik feels are learning curves, that he gets over pretty quickly. The slurping noises he makes embarrass him, and the little bit of mess he's making with his saliva. The fact that he keeps trying and can't quite get all of Charles, and the whole... figuring out how to properly breathe. It makes him suddenly appreciate all his other partners a little more, though right now he pushes them out of his memory for the pursuit of the one spread out so eagerly in front of him.
And then, when Charles opens his mind to all those thoughts that come flooding into Erik's senses, he stops for a second in the overwhelming barrage. He gets the phantom feeling of... well, what he supposes autofellatio feels like, and at once the pleasure uncoils deep in the pit of his stomach. He's not embarrassed about the noises anymore, or the inexperience, or anything. He wraps his lips tight around Charles and hollows his cheeks, lets out a deep, vibrating moan against Charles's cock.
He gets the distinct feeling that sex with a telepath is probably incomparable to sex with anyone else, particularly if one is close enough to share from his point of view. And quite honestly Erik thinks he looks a bit silly, but that's not for him to judge or care about. It makes him feel better to know just how Charles feels, know he's not putting on a show or trying to impress anyone. Erik wants to please him, wants Charles to become completely arrested when he finishes, wants him to see stars, wants him to dig his hands so deep into Erik's scalp he thinks he might leave a bald patch, and wants so badly to see Charles dissolve into a puddle of uselessness after. He wants to see, he wants to be Charles's whole undoing.
Charles has never done this before, looping their minds like an endless kaleidoscope, reflecting every bit and piece back and forth until he doesn't know whether Erik is sucking him off or if he's sucking himself. He feels Erik's pleasure that drums out of his own pleasure, and it reflects back onto Erik, and bounces back from him, coloured by his thoughts and feelings. And not only the physical reactions that are quite enough to floor him but also the emotional backslash from Erik's desire be the centre of Charles' universe at least for this moment in time. And he is, he is the single thing that Charles can think about, what his whole universe focuses on, all of his thoughts, all of his feelings, Erik. Just Erik. His mouth, his thoughts, his emotions.
It's intense from the first second and Charles doesn't know how he's going to last for more than two seconds of it. The time they spend like this could only be two seconds, it could be two years, it could be an eternity in a blink of an eye. He doesn't know because he loses all sense of time, all sense of space and consciousness. He sinks in deeper into the sensation and Erik like his hands sink in deeper into his hair.
It might have been the least practised blowjob he's ever gotten but it doesn't matter. It's the best sex he's ever had. Completely open and honest, raw to the bone, ever touch of Erik's tongue to the length of his cock pulling out a ragged moan out of him, every little bit of velvety friction teasing him with exquisite pleasure.
And Charles comes with a hoarse cry. He doesn't realise to warn Erik. But Erik must have known. His hands tighten in Erik's hair, his body tensing up like a string, pulled taut, scrambling, stuttering. He blacks out completely for a moment with his release.
The endless feedback loop helps Erik to improve, letting him know what's working and what isn't. And lets him know that it's mostly working, that his mouth is thankfully adequate and his tongue starting to learn how to please him. He doesn't stop when he feels the oncoming orgasm, and though he's never felt another man finish, he can feel the signs quite clearly. He half continues on because his own mental facilities don't want him to stop; the sheer force of Charles's shared release rushes through Erik and nearly pulls him over the edge too.
He pulls off before it can, mouth making a wet pop, hair flustered and cheeks and lips pink and eyes glassy. Erik presses another too-hot kiss to Charles's thigh before he comes up, breath ragged and voice hoarse. His tongue swipes out to lick off the last bit of come on the side of his mouth, and then he smothers Charles with a long kiss, giving him a taste of himself.
In the meantime, he takes Charles's hand and guides it downward to his cock, still hiding behind the thin cloth of his briefs, a little bit of a wet spot from the pre-come threatening to end their session. He wants to take the day off, stay in bed and spend all day getting to discover Charles's body as if he's uncharted land teeming with rich abundances and treasures. And after that, who's to say that's not exactly what Erik's thinking he is?
All he knows is that he wants that experience again. He wants to be the reason Charles unravels. He wants to see all his shivers, wants to see his body shake uncontrollably with pleasure. He wants to have that responsibility, and to have that privilege for the foreseeable future. He threads his fingers through Charles's hair and kisses his jaw and thinks only the world of him.
Erik will climb up to cloudy blue eyes and a look of utter bewilderment on Charles' face. He's never had that much of a feedback before. It makes him more than a little loopy as he wraps his free arm around Erik's shoulders and lets him sweep him off of his feet and into that kiss. Charles can taste himself on Erik's mouth and makes him groan deep within his throat.
He's pliant for a while, satisfied, completed. His fingers happily sliding under the elastic band of Erik's briefs and then over his erection, sucking in a short breath through his nose at the velvety feel of his skin. Charles' hand is probably the most annoyingly teasing thing in the history of Erik's sex life. He doesn't go right for the strokes, but instead feels his way around, exploring.
It gives him time to calm his own breathing from frenzied gulps to something a little quick but doable. It gives him time to grasp at the ends of his own mind and bring himself to heel. It gives him time to push Erik onto his back and urge him quietly to undress his briefs. Once he has - and Charles has no doubt that he will - he breaks the kiss and leans up on one elbow and gives Erik a curious look, studying his body from face to his toes, admiring, trying to memorise every sharp angle, every nook and cranny, every beautiful sculpted detail of Erik's body.
"There's a metal container in my bag," he tells Erik with the first real strokes he gives him, practically petting his cock as he turns to look at Erik's face, from the tip to the base as the length snuggles against taut abs. "A round one with Vaseline inside. I'd like you to get it for me," he says softly as he leans in to kiss Erik's jaw.
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But Erik's mind is close to shutting off and when they're alone he slumps onto the bed. Charles lifts up their bags from the floor, positioning them neatly on top of the table (to prevent any possible bedbugs from crawling in) and folds Erik's jacket on top of his. Then he moves to the bed, leaning over Erik to help him out of his clothes. Let's get you comfortable, he murmurs into his mind while listening to the idle prattle of Erik's thoughts about him. They make him smile happily while he divests Erik out of his clothes, careful not to stir him too much, gently suggesting at times to his beautiful mind which limb could be moving to help Charles on the task.
He thinks it's curious how similar and how different at the same time their thoughts are. He offers his own without even thinking about it. It's fair and it's rare that he can share. Because to him Erik is like learning to breathe again, like a child realising what his legs are made for and the joy of running until his legs are sore. Being accepted even outside his own mind is a gift that he doesn't know how to unravel without losing his mind in it. And there are days when he wants nothing else but to soar, to open more locks between those two halves of a brain and connect them in ways that none have been before. What would it be like if awareness and action could happen at the same time, his mind whispers. A temptation and sweet surrender to knowing it's safe, it's safe to explore. Erik is the air in his lungs after breathing under ground for so many years. And sometimes he wants to suck in more, and more, and more, until his head is dizzy with too much oxygen. He thinks he'll end up breathing into a paper bag with Erik eventually but still it will be worth it.
The covers go down around Erik and Charles tucks him in, safe and sound, discreetly he doesn't look even if Erik has a beautiful body, he just helps him undress and gathers the clothes away before pulling the sheets on him. And lastly a few fingers lingers on Erik's temple, sliding into his hair before slipping away.
Good night, Erik.
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He smiles, visibly, getting little bits of things that Charles thinks as a sort of soothing lullaby. Like the sound of seagulls or a tropical rain, it doesn't quite make him feel like he's sleeping in his own bed at home, but it does help move the sleep process along. His brain shoots back the thought that he doesn't mind if Charles takes a look, even as his filters try to awaken to move the thought directly into his mind's trash can.
Still, he trusts Charles. More than anything, he trusts Charles. It's hard not to, when the way they met was Charles saving Erik's life. It's hard not to, when Charles says he's seen all of Erik's past and his darkest thoughts and said, I accept you. And when Charles knows all of those thoughts are real, and what Erik might do with them, and Charles disregards him and tells him that yes, he's still here. They're still friends. And Charles respects and likes Erik just as much as he did before; it's hard to distrust someone like that.
The last thought he has before falling asleep is how Charles's fingers feel in his hair, and he wakes up in the middle of the night with a phantom feeling lingering at his temple.
Erik checks his watch to find that it's 4 AM, and he's overheated, sweaty, and suddenly very awake. He turns to look at Charles sleeping peacefully beside him, and his heart does a funny stir as he imagines reaching out to smooth out Charles's fingers from their curled position. He furrows his brows and peels himself out of bed to get some fresh air, go look at the still-asleep town around them.
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He doesn't fall asleep right away. But instead watches the peaceful way Erik's chest rises and falls. At the very edges of his consciousness, just before he falls asleep he feels like he comes to some kind of an understanding and somewhere inside him a bone deep longing drums to life. But he falls asleep and the thought is lost, erased by sleep and his brain trying to sort through what is important and what is not worth saving.
He sleeps soundly, turned towards Erik, curled around his core. He stirs when Erik springs up from the bed, the mattress shaking upon losing Erik's weight on it. Blue eyes crack open for a moment, checking on Erik, then fall close again. Charles dozes for a minute or two, then realises that he can't fall asleep again. Erik's thoughts buzz just at the edges of his understanding. He rolls up, sitting on the edge of the bed for a moment, disoriented, half lidded eyes glancing around in confusion.
Charles is absolutely not a morning person. He tends to be grumpy before he gets his cup of coffee, groggy and out of it. Waking up at 4 AM isn't any different, quite the contrary. His hair sticks up wildly from one side, oh the other it sticks to his face. He stumbles across the hotel room and rubs his face sleepily as he slips to the balcony with Erik.
"Is it time to wake up?" he asks, while leaning on the door frame, arms around his middle against the morning chill.
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No, they don't need more complication. And Erik doesn't need to have to tell himself twice to get over himself, to let something be. His heart is usually so well-tamed, hiding in a cage plastered over with hatred, with disgust, with rejection. After the war, he'd still been Jewish. He'd been poor. And there was very little sympathy for him in the land of opportunity. So he was just like a house abandoned and overgrown with vines. But nothing tried to break through like Charles has. And nothing's been so hard to chase back out as Charles.
Charles is blue in the dim twilight, hair a mess from the pillow, sleep-worn and tired-looking. And a familiar feeling flits around in Erik's stomach and dries up his throat, until he commands it to stop. The cool air dares Erik to be brave, but he walks towards the hotel room. In case anyone is awake. In case anyone is awake right this second and looking out their window, right at them, making up some sort of narrative that is painfully untrue.
He pauses as he reaches out to take Charles by the arm, to usher him back inside. Erik's hands have cooled and Charles is warm to the touch; his hands turn as his fingertips against Charles's skin turn to his knuckles, such a subtle gesture that changes his meaning from 'move back' to 'stay.' It's an accident.
Erik pulls his hand away.
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He blinks his eyes open, a frown appearing on his brows as he reaches up and rubs a hand over his face, trying to focus.
Something is... different.
He watches Erik walk back in, his awareness slowly returning to him. It's taking leaps and bounds, alarm obvious on his gaze, in the way his breath is short, unguarded. It's hard to adjust suddenly to the mixed messages Erik is giving him. The touch is reassuring for a brief second or two and Charles feels a relief flood him only to be yanked away as Erik pulls away.
Without thinking, Charles reaches for that hand, takes it in his own and pulls it close as he melts back against the door frame. "Erik," he whispers softly. "What's wrong?"
Why it feels like there's a giant hole in his stomach where cold wind is blowing in? He doesn't know.
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His imagines being back on the balcony, and when Charles shows up at the door, pulling him outside, into his arms, smoothing down all the flyaways in his hair. He imagines what it might have been like if they'd been slightly drunk and dancing and laughing along to nickel tunes from the jukebox. And maybe if the waitress had looked at them and thought, how cute they are together.
Erik stands in front of Charles, and places a hand on the small of his back. They're standing two inches apart and he imagines what it might be like to bridge that gap and to steal a kiss, and maybe Charles would get angry and his cheeks would turn red and that'd be the end of that conversation. He'd storm off, and Erik would know, and they could move forward.
But Erik doesn't do that; he lets go, he drops his fingers, he keeps his distance.
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His gaze focuses on Erik's chest when he follows that first mental image, a hint of colour rising to his cheeks as he realises just how ridiculous his hair looks like and he reaches up to smooth it down as Erik has them dancing the bar.
Suddenly there's a different sort of hole in his stomach as Erik's hand finds its way to his back and Charles' breath catches in his throat, blue eyes cast up, wide, surprised. There's colour to his cheeks now, burning hot, but not with anger. He gives a soft gasp at the imagined kiss and reaches up to touch his own mouth with his fingertips, as if he could feel the heat of Erik's mouth there.
It is Charles who bridges that distance between them, all two inches of it. Pushing to the tips of his toes and his hand finding purchase on Erik's chest to steady himself as he presses their mouths together. It's not much of a kiss with how abrupt it is and how much Charles needs to reach with the height difference between them. But it probably will get his point cross.
And if that's not enough, Erik can listen to his shared thoughts that are nothing but sensations, warmth, rushing heart rate, elation that drums up from the tips of his toes and travels through him with a rush.
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He doesn't know whose thoughts are whose, but as their emotions tangle together, so does he tangle his hand into Charles's hair, and grip him tightly on the hip. He envelops Charles's body whole in his arms, and just holds him that way contentedly against his body.
"I've wanted to do that," he murmurs against Charles's lips. He's wanted it for awhile, but he's always told himself no. He told himself no until he couldn't anymore. But Erik's always been like that, in full control until everything was a complete and utter wreck. This is no different except that this is the only thing that's gone well, that's objectively been a good turn of events for him. And Erik can't change that way of living; it's just his nature to burn a bridge he's still on and refuse to look back. So his heart does victorious flips in his chest, that Charles doesn't sour to think of him, and all his mouth can say is: "Thank you."
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What Erik feels, he feels and what he feels, Erik feels. It's a mess. It's a beautiful chaos that Charles doesn't even try to sort out. He only reaches up to wrap his arms around Erik's neck and melts against his front, while opening up to the most dizzying kiss of his whole adult life.
"Y-you know how to..." seduce a telepath, he thinks the rest of the thought to Erik because he's too busy to press his mouth onto Erik's again. Just to feel the zap of excitement that runs through him at the first contact.
He pulls back eventually, blue eyes wide as he stares at Erik. "I don't even know where to begin," he says hoarsely, but the smile that blooms on his lips is almost painfully sincere and happy. It would only make sense that Charles who is so smooth and capable of charm usually would be wordless in the face of something so obvious and so right.
"Except... please don't stop," he says with a small chuckle, his chest rising rapidly with his quick breath.
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It's a long second of thought and it slams into him and takes the wind out of his lungs.
And then, when Charles flashes him that smile, it shatters Erik's heart to know he almost told himself, forget this. And then it tapes his heart back together with the thought, this is yours. Be careful with it.
"Never," he says, pressing kisses to the underside of Charles's jaw as he draws Charles back so they can sit on the bed as the sun creeps up over the horizon. He tumbles into it instead, having misjudged the distance, and pulls Charles on top of him, laughing into his neck of his clumsy good luck. Two minutes in and he's already wondering how they've ever lived a friendship unromantically. How could they both have been so blind?
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Tomorrow he'll be arrested with worry because definitely he has an awful track record with anything romantic and Erik's heart has been broken enough times that Charles never wants to be the one to give him more heartache. Tomorrow he'll be terrified and excited at the same time.
Today he's intoxicated, drunk on Erik's laughter that he hears already in his mind before they stumble onto the bed and Charles crawls on top of him, pushing himself up to look at Erik with warm blue eyes, leaning down to kiss his laughing mouth and feel his chest swell up almost painfully with the overflowing affection that he doesn't even want try containing.
He presses his arms onto the mattress on both sides of Erik's head, threads his fingers through his hair and presses soft kisses to his mouth and jaw. Usually these things lead straight to physical satisfaction with Charles because little else is on the table, but he hasn't even gotten to that point yet. He's just full of wonderment and affection, so much so that he doesn't know what to say.
Congrats Erik, you've rendered him wordless.
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It's not that he doesn't want Charles in that way, because he does. If he's not aware of it quite yet, then his body will make sure he is aware of it soon, as he keeps trying to suck the sweet taste off of Charles's lips, and flattened under the weight of his full body blanketed by his sunny attitude and natural perfume. Erik takes a deep breath against Charles's neck, and lying under him alternates lapping the hollow under his throat and sucking a blooming bruise.
He tries not to leave any telltale marks, lest he get too carried away.
All this but he's restless with his hands, fingertips dragging along Charles's back and combing into his hair, palm flat against his shoulderblades but then curled around his thigh, or softly resting on the back of his knees. He tries to find the sensitive parts of Charles's back, to find what kind of touches his body responds to, to discover the things he never thought Charles would let him discover. He wants to explore, forget about being trapped all day in a car and stay here instead, kissing a map of Charles's body. He knows that's not feasible; he'll take what he can get.
He can always request that Charles stop time.
But, since Erik was always the practical one, he looks up at Charles's chin and nuzzles into his collar a moment, putting a little stopper on anything too strongly physical. "Should we put this off until tonight?" he asks. "I can drive fast. You can point the cops away. We'll get to our next stopping point with time to spare."
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He pushes up, both hands planted on the mattress on both sides of Erik's head. If there were a name to the kind of rushed exhales he lets out, it would probably be heat. He's wanted people before, felt the swell of a soft female body underneath him and flushed with desire. But this is different. Erik is different.
One day Charles will realise that Erik will always be the exception for him.
He takes a deep inhale to shake off the cloud of pure lust from his head, cheeks puffing out as he exhales, this time slower.
"Are you... actually serious?" he asks, brows arching and those blue eyes begging Erik to admit he was just joking. His gaze steals away, following his hand that is smoothing down along Erik's chest, feeling the firm muscle under his touch and he quakes with the raw inhales he pulls into his lungs. "If... If that is what you want, yes. Sure." He licks his lips and looks up at Erik's face again, his expression melting into a gentle smile. "I'm very liable to say yes to anything you happen to want right now."
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"It's up to you," he adds, with the loud thought that he'll want Charles just as much in twelve hours as he does now. More, because he'll have spent the whole car ride thinking about how Charles's mouth tastes and wondering how the rest of him might be, how the rest of his body responds to Erik's ministrations and to his curious kisses and deft tongue. Then there's the non-physical; he'll think about how fulfilled he feels to be truly understood, how lucky he is that Charles has the same feelings for Erik, how on the open road with no one driving on either side of them he can clutch Charles's hand to his heart.
Right now instead, he lifts Charles's hand to his mouth, dotting his palm and his fingers and the bones of his wrist. Whatever he doesn't get with his mouth he gets with his stubble, little hairs to tickle Charles as long as he doesn't get up to shave. He thinks things like, I hope it doesn't bother him I'm a little unshaven, and he still has bedhead, it's so cute, and oh were his eyes always this beautiful?
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Let's stay for a second longer, he thinks at Erik, promising that they'll get a move on in a little bit in a side thought.
Charles has never thought about how to be close to a man like this. He has no idea how to even start. He'll need to do some research during the day. There are bound to be a few minds he can get some ideas from.
It really feels like they're searching each other again. Charles is curious to see how every part of Erik feels under his lips, how he likes to be touched, how he reacts to it. How is it different from the usual him? He wants to know everything.
But he also feels the amusement to the answering thoughts in Erik's mind. His cheeks heat up at the compliment about his eyes and he assures Erik quietly that he doesn't mind the stubble at all even if he's already getting a bit of a beard burn on the lower part of his face. Erik isn't alone in needing a shave. Charles' hand looks so small when it's put beside Erik's and Charles feels a bit of a quirk at the bottom of his stomach at the realisation even as he chuckles a little shyly at all those kisses that fall on his fingers and wrist.
He reaches between them and buttons open his pyjama top, then brings Erik's hand under the labels of it, pressing it against his heart so Erik can feel how hard it beats while Charles is burying his face on Erik's neck and peppering his skin with kisses, sucking soft pecks onto his skin all the way down to the crook of his neck, tasting salt on his skin and shuddering at the thought of it.
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He snakes his hand underneath Charles's pajama top, smoothing over the expanse of his chest, easing the next-highest button out of its buttonhole, and then brings his hand down to undo the rest of them. He attempts to lift Charles's arms to thread them out of his sleeves, leaning back and eyes fluttering when Charles gets to a particular spot on his neck. Experimentally, he flicks a nipple with his thumb, wondering if that does anything for Charles. It's never really done anything for Erik, but it's curiouser yet that his nipples are standing full attention, swollen and red and begging to be touched.
In fact, Erik's whole skin is lit with fire brimming below and blood simmering right beneath the surface. His skin waits for Charles to come around with his hands, soft with bookwork and studying but rougher than the soft and generally shier ones to which Erik is accustomed. He doesn't know why he thought this would be different; meeting Charles and becoming friends with Charles was one of the most intense experiences of his life. Knowing Charles is like unlocking secrets to which Erik never even knew he had questions. It makes him appreciate more the scenery around him, because seeing through Charles's view makes him think everything is just a little bit better. Why would this be the exception by being any less than exceptional?
Rid of his shirt, Erik now slides a hand down Charles's back to act as a support, and he suggestively nudges him with the other as if to politely ask if they could switch positions for a little while.
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But he doesn't.
And the thought is chased away with Erik's thumb brushing over his nipple, making him gasp. Not necessarily at the sensation, but the jolt that it sends through him. Excitement, sharp pleasure. He retaliates without thinking, moving slightly lower to be able to lap his tongue over one hard nub on Erik's chest. Honestly touching his own nipples has never done much to Charles either and the women he's bedded haven't felt like the need to touch him in that particular place. It's a new thing. New and fascinating and he's watching Erik while he moves his red mouth across that piece of his chest.
Charles knows already that this isn't going to be the only time they touch each other like this. It couldn't be. An unusual thought for him, almost unheard of. He doesn't bother exploring much when he brings someone to his bed, he already knows what they want and how they want it. Because he's divested that information out of them already. But somehow that doesn't feel right with Erik. (Exception #2.) He wants to know through discovery and hold those bits and pieces of information like gems that only he could ever touch. What a foolish and romantic notion, yet it is on the forefront of his mind...
Charles laughs at the mild suggestion that they flip around and he makes it easy for Erik by rolling them over with a hand behind Erik's neck. Suddenly crowded by Erik's larger body, Charles exhales in a rush, then reaches up to wrap his arms around Erik's neck, pulling him down for a kiss.
I'm not going to break, dear one, he murmurs into Erik's mind.
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Erik moves down Charles's body, leaving heated kisses all down his torso, dotting his ribcage and peppering his stomach. He has a beautiful body and beautiful skin, pale in contrast to his dark hair. And his skin is so soft underneath Erik's hands, and the rise and fall of his chest with his breathing; these little things from down here are a breathtaking new vantage point.
He guides Charles's hand into his hair and groans at the feeling of those fingers carding into his locks, so easily could they squeeze together and grip them by the root.
Erik finds his courage soon thereafter, and digs his fingers into the waistband of Charles's pajama pants, moving them slowly as if peeling them off of him, presses the heel of his palm to cup around his cock still covered by his undershorts. It's all the resolve he needs, as he lays his mouth indiscriminately down on its trail across Charles's body, right where he swells against the cloth. He nudges Charles's legs apart to better accommodate him, and looks up with his eyes hungry and asking. Is this okay?
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But that thought is broken as well when Erik starts moving down along his body. Charles is flushed with heat, his pale skin tinted with rosy hue and eyes following the descend with eager trepidation, both a little afraid and so excited. Erik's mouth is hot and soft and leaves little kernels of heat on his skin. His fingers curl in Erik's hair, combing through it gently at first, but when Erik's mind flashes a suggestion of tightening the hold, he does, without a single beat of hesitation, gripping right at the roots.
At least until Erik pulls off his pyjama bottoms and cups his erection through his underwear. Charles lets out a hollow groan and arches up against that palm, his fingers gone slack and uninspired. Erik's eyes are met with darkening blue eyes, sharp and raw. Charles' thighs spreading on their own volition once he kicks the pyjamas out of the way.
"Please," he whispers, his fingers tugging sharply at Erik's hair. He's not even sure what he's asking, but whatever it is, he's completely ready for it. Whatever Erik wants to do.
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He slides the underwear off of Charles in a smooth motion, but has to get up from his position to do so. Still, none of this is all that foreign to him, until he reaches down to give Charles a few short tugs and smiles down at him and his body all glowing and pink just for Erik. He kisses Charles on the inside of his thighs, reverent but curt, delaying little time before focusing attention on his cock instead.
Erik quickly realizes, slinging one of Charles's legs over his shoulder, that he has no idea what it's like to be on this end of a blowjob.
Grasping Charles firmly at the base, Erik finds his resolve and guides him into his mouth. He's a little awkward as he tries a few things to figure out what Charles might like and what might be most comfortable for him, but he takes his time and savors the experience. Every little reaction Charles makes, he files away in his head somewhere treasured moments go. There he puts every hitch of breath and every tremble as he picks up a pace and tries to take in more of Charles's length.
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Erik's hesitation doesn't go unnoticed either, and Charles is quick to assure him that he doesn't have to do anything he doesn't want to do, already suggesting alternatives when Erik is pulling his underwear away and he freezes for a moment with a completely empty mind as Erik's lips press against the inside of his thigh, suddenly anticipation and ridiculous heat flooding his brain.
Oh, lord. Charles has had a few blowjobs in his life. Enough that he feels like he should know how this feels. Enough to know how it feels to others, too. But there is something utterly decadent about the idea of Erik's lips wrapped around his eagerly twisting cock.
His hands are in the sheets, twisting in them as he pulls in a ragged breath after another, trying his best not to move too much. With the rushed exhale comes a moan, chest deep and raw.
Then Charles decides to share. Every feeling, every pleasure, every skin-heating detail about Erik's mouth on his cock, the gentle rub of his tongue and the slick heat that is wrapped around him to such exquisite enjoyment. He shares it all with Erik.
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And then, when Charles opens his mind to all those thoughts that come flooding into Erik's senses, he stops for a second in the overwhelming barrage. He gets the phantom feeling of... well, what he supposes autofellatio feels like, and at once the pleasure uncoils deep in the pit of his stomach. He's not embarrassed about the noises anymore, or the inexperience, or anything. He wraps his lips tight around Charles and hollows his cheeks, lets out a deep, vibrating moan against Charles's cock.
He gets the distinct feeling that sex with a telepath is probably incomparable to sex with anyone else, particularly if one is close enough to share from his point of view. And quite honestly Erik thinks he looks a bit silly, but that's not for him to judge or care about. It makes him feel better to know just how Charles feels, know he's not putting on a show or trying to impress anyone. Erik wants to please him, wants Charles to become completely arrested when he finishes, wants him to see stars, wants him to dig his hands so deep into Erik's scalp he thinks he might leave a bald patch, and wants so badly to see Charles dissolve into a puddle of uselessness after. He wants to see, he wants to be Charles's whole undoing.
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It's intense from the first second and Charles doesn't know how he's going to last for more than two seconds of it. The time they spend like this could only be two seconds, it could be two years, it could be an eternity in a blink of an eye. He doesn't know because he loses all sense of time, all sense of space and consciousness. He sinks in deeper into the sensation and Erik like his hands sink in deeper into his hair.
It might have been the least practised blowjob he's ever gotten but it doesn't matter. It's the best sex he's ever had. Completely open and honest, raw to the bone, ever touch of Erik's tongue to the length of his cock pulling out a ragged moan out of him, every little bit of velvety friction teasing him with exquisite pleasure.
And Charles comes with a hoarse cry. He doesn't realise to warn Erik. But Erik must have known. His hands tighten in Erik's hair, his body tensing up like a string, pulled taut, scrambling, stuttering. He blacks out completely for a moment with his release.
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He pulls off before it can, mouth making a wet pop, hair flustered and cheeks and lips pink and eyes glassy. Erik presses another too-hot kiss to Charles's thigh before he comes up, breath ragged and voice hoarse. His tongue swipes out to lick off the last bit of come on the side of his mouth, and then he smothers Charles with a long kiss, giving him a taste of himself.
In the meantime, he takes Charles's hand and guides it downward to his cock, still hiding behind the thin cloth of his briefs, a little bit of a wet spot from the pre-come threatening to end their session. He wants to take the day off, stay in bed and spend all day getting to discover Charles's body as if he's uncharted land teeming with rich abundances and treasures. And after that, who's to say that's not exactly what Erik's thinking he is?
All he knows is that he wants that experience again. He wants to be the reason Charles unravels. He wants to see all his shivers, wants to see his body shake uncontrollably with pleasure. He wants to have that responsibility, and to have that privilege for the foreseeable future. He threads his fingers through Charles's hair and kisses his jaw and thinks only the world of him.
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He's pliant for a while, satisfied, completed. His fingers happily sliding under the elastic band of Erik's briefs and then over his erection, sucking in a short breath through his nose at the velvety feel of his skin. Charles' hand is probably the most annoyingly teasing thing in the history of Erik's sex life. He doesn't go right for the strokes, but instead feels his way around, exploring.
It gives him time to calm his own breathing from frenzied gulps to something a little quick but doable. It gives him time to grasp at the ends of his own mind and bring himself to heel. It gives him time to push Erik onto his back and urge him quietly to undress his briefs. Once he has - and Charles has no doubt that he will - he breaks the kiss and leans up on one elbow and gives Erik a curious look, studying his body from face to his toes, admiring, trying to memorise every sharp angle, every nook and cranny, every beautiful sculpted detail of Erik's body.
"There's a metal container in my bag," he tells Erik with the first real strokes he gives him, practically petting his cock as he turns to look at Erik's face, from the tip to the base as the length snuggles against taut abs. "A round one with Vaseline inside. I'd like you to get it for me," he says softly as he leans in to kiss Erik's jaw.
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god I need to take these icons to photoshop.....
new icons new icons!
maybe something that isn't this clunky. Seriously, I just need to find the time and inclination
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