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“Are you sure about this?”
“Yes. So very sure, Erik.”
He looks away, teeth grit.
“Do it, then.”
Charles touches his arm, but a moment later it's wrenched away from him, trussed up behind him by a coil of chain.
Charles' laughs are little puffs of air and he wiggles against the restraints. His cheeks are flushed in the most mesmerizing way and he's, impossibly, smiling.
“Tighter,” he says. “I could slip them this way. And do my feet, too.” The chain shushes as it slides around his ankles, winding in and out between them. Charles tips his head back and sighs along with them.
After a moment, he opens his eyes to look at him and his smile softens.
“Erik,” he says. “Come here for a moment.” Erik has to remember how to untense his body, but eventually he takes a few shuffling steps forward, into Charles' space. Charles leans in to him, sighing a breath out across his chest. Eventually Erik manages to bring his arm up and wrap them around him.
“It'll be alright,” he says, gently. “You wanted this, too, remember?” Erik's arms tighten around him and Charles sighs, tilts his head back.
“Erik, look at me,” he says. Erik frowns at a space over his head. “Erik, please?” After a long moment, he complies. Charles holds his gaze until slowly, inch by inch, muscle by muscle he feels him relax against him.
“That's better,” he says, voice warm. He presses a little closer, can't stop a wicked little grin from forming, when his thigh slides between Erik's legs.
“I think,” he says, “that you're a little more eager then you let on my friend,” and he wiggles against him. Erik grimaces.
“Stop it,” he hisses. Charles laughs and presses a kiss to his pectoral.
“What are you worried about, then? Is it my telepathy? Because I told you, it will be suppressed.” Erik gives him a scathing look.
“You know it isn't that,” he says sharply. Charles nuzzles the swatch of hair streaking up his chest.
“Then tell me, my friend. I won't start this until you do.” Erik strokes a hand up his back and sighs.
“In a few moments you'll be forgetting me,” he says quietly. Charles looks up at him silently. Erik drops a kiss into his hair, inhaling the scent of his musk and the brand of shampoo he uses. “I just, would like a few moments to say goodbye.”
“I'll be back before you know it,” Charles says quietly into his neck. Erik nods, just a little, stroking his hair.
“I know.” They stand like that for a moment longer. Eventually Charles draws back out from the circle of his arms and looks up at him.
“What's the word, again,” he asks, a tiny smile hovering at the corner of his mouth.
“Queen's gambit,” Erik answers dryly. The smile grows and Charles takes a few more steps away until his back meets the unyielding wall.
“You're ready?” Erik closes his eyes, just for a moment.
“Yes,” he says.
“Then I'll see you, soon.” Erik nods sends a whispered soon onto the wind and stretches out a hand, as if he's reaching for him. Charles sighs and his eyes flutter closed as his arms rise up over his head.
He wakes with a light shiver, blinking in the dim light. He has a slight headache and something- something isn't right. There's a man watching him from a few feet away and there's a strangely persistent breeze.
He looks down at himself. He's naked. And he can't-- he can't move his arms. Or his legs for that matter.
“What--” It's gotta be a prank, one of his grad students--
But the man who's watching him from mere feet away doesn't look familiar, doesn't really look like a student. He has a heavy black turtleneck wrapped around him and loose black slacks, arms folded across his chest and he looks more like a professor then anything.
But what would another professor want with him naked? He frowns, and tries very hard not to think of the obvious.
“Who are you,” he asks, not quite a demand, not yet. “What is this?” The man stares at him, unfolds his arm from his chest and, well, for lack of a better word, slinks over to him. He's very long and thin. The turtle neck doesn't leave much to the imagination, even if Charles is sincerely wishing he had something half so modest right about now.
“Who are you,” he repeats, and the man is now close enough for Charles to be looking up into his eyes. They're steel grey and fixed on him. His expression is hooded, but his gaze swoops over his form, his legs, torso, pays special attention to his face. Charles tugs nervously on the bonds and his eyes snap up to them.
“I think you'll find they're very secure,” he says. His voice is deep, American accent colored with a hint of something else. German, maybe?
Charles' mind is shying away from what the man is actually saying. Even still, his stomach does a slow roll under his skin.
“Who are you,” he repeats, now a little more forcefully. The man's gaze levels back on his own.
“I'm not important, Charles,” he says. “You are.” Charles frowns.
“How do you know--” but the man is leaning over him, one arm braced against the wall right next to Charles' ear.
“In answer to your other question. What this is,” he begins, enunciating each word clearly, but quietly, pitched low for his ears only.
“You asked for this, Charles,” he tells him, drawling it out, obviously in no hurry. Charles swallows around a suddenly dry throat. “You begged me to fuck you. You wanted to be tied up so you couldn't fight while I took you,” and Charles is suddenly afraid to look away from that intense gaze, to let him out of his sight for even a second. He can't help but try to pull away, can't help but think there's something very wrong with this man. The bonds hold him secure.
“I'm sorry, but you have the wrong person. We've never met,” Charles says and he thinks wonderingly that he almost sounds apologetic. Perhaps Raven has a point that he's too forgiving. Something in the man's expression breaks.
“You're going to let me fuck you like you begged for,” he says, and the tone of his voice is deceptively steady, at odds with the rest of him. The man reaches out and touches Charles' face with a now shaking hand. He looks wild and unhinged, like he's been pulled to a breaking point, stretched taut. As if he's falling and he can't get his feet under him.
“I'm sorry,” Charles says, again, into his desperation and around the fine tremblings in his own limbs. “I don't think I can do that.” The man strokes his cheek.
“Yes you can,” he disagrees and takes a step back, fingers pressed tight to the flesh of his cheek. Charles feels his arms give a jerk and his legs are forced out from under him, though he doesn't fall, he doesn't--
The chains are moving on their own. Charles hadn't noticed before, but they're not attached to anything at all besides his bare flesh.
“My god,” he breathes, before he can think better of it. “That's phenomenal.” He almost immediately wonders what the hell he was thinking. The man stares at him in quiet shock.
“Yes,” he says, slowly. “I've always thought so.” And then Charles can feel the chains around his ankles snake up around his legs, tightening until they're biting into his flesh. They drag him ever forward, following the man as he backs up until they're in the middle of the room. He struggles against it, against that pull, but it does nothing. He can't budge an inch the way he wants to. By the time they stop he's out of breath from his unfruitful twisting.
“You don't have to do this,” he pants. “You can let me go and we can forget this ever happened.” The man shakes his head, slowly.
“You asked for this,” he repeats and Charles shakes his head forcefully.
“No, my friend, you have no idea what you're talking about. Please, I can help you. Things don't have to be like this for you.” The man starts at something he says, though what Charles isn't quite sure, and then his eyes go impossibly darker with lust.
“Be quiet,” he says, sounding distracted. He trails a hand down his chest, sliding his thumb over a nipple. Charles freezes. The man bends down, bends over and then he's latching his mouth over the tiny nub. Charles shouts and renews his struggles in earnest.
“Stop it,” he hisses. “Stop it, damn you I said stop it.” but he feels something press into his back, cold and unyielding. It brings him closer to the man's mouth, holds him there and Charles can't stop himself from crying out. The man closes his eyes and traces a hand up his side, stroking his flank. He sucks in, and his teeth graze over the flesh of his nipple. Charles squirms and he can't stop it; his dick gives a little jump in the cool air. The man sighs out a breath over his over-sensitive skin. He backs up just a little, just enough to glide further up his body, leaving a trail of damp kisses in his wake.
It feels-- it feels good and Charles grits his teeth against it, closes his eyes, but he's being touched like the man knows what he's looking for. As if he knows every tell and spot, down to the way he rubs circles in the hollows of Charles' hips while his teeth graze his neck. He feels like he could die from shame as his body reacts, growing hard between his legs. He wishes desperately for the man not to notice; his eyes almost roll back in his head when he presses his hand to his erection, rocking his palm into it.
“Yes,” he breathes into his ear and then the chains still wrapped tight around his legs begin to bend. The man takes his hand away from his cock and Charles nearly sobs in relief even as he's being forced to his knees. The man sinks to the ground with him, cradling him, still sucking wet kisses up and down his flesh.
Charles' eyes are squeezed shut so tight he's seeing stars by the time his knees hit the ground and the chains back off, just a little, enough that they're no longer cutting off circulation. They tingle as blood rushes back into them and he lists to one side a bit. The man steadies him.
“I don't want this. I want you to stop,” Charles says quietly into his ear, on the off chance that this time his assaulter will listen. He doesn't.
“I think,” he says, instead. “That it's time we lay a few ground rules.” Charles says nothing. Erik carefully takes his chin in his hand and turns his head so they're looking at each other once again.
“For one,” he starts, quietly, eyes burning. “I want you to know that if you don't cooperate this will take much longer. Do you understand?” Charles tugs halfheartedly at one of the chains wrapping his arms. It doesn't budge. He nods.
“Good,” the man says, holding their gazes steady. “If you don't listen, I will find a way to make you listen and obey. Understood?”
Charles nods. He thinks he must be very pale. He feels light-headed.
“Good. I want you to know that I won't hurt you beyond what I think you can take, but I have many ways to persuade you to do what I want.” Charles barks a tiny, humorless laugh.
”And what exactly is beyond what I can take, my friend,” he asks, “Because this hurts very much.”
The man frowns.
“Charles, you're entirely too wrapped up in seeing the good in people,” he says irritably and it almost sounds like an old admonishment. It doesn't help that Raven would agree and Charles can't stop the little hysterical laugh that bubbles out of him at the thought. “That's another rule. Stop trying to appeal to my better side. For the purposes of this experiment I don't have one and I will prove it to you if you try. Understood?” Charles swallows, chokes on the laughter that is getting perilously close to something else, something much more shameful, and nods. Even though he really doesn't know what this man is talking about, he nods.
“Good,” and he leans in to kiss him.
His breath tastes like sweet coffee, bitter and musky. His lips are warm and coaxing, he pushes past Charles' defenses inch by torturous inch. The hand at his jaw grips tighter, pressing into the hollows of his cheeks, forcing his mouth open. He'll wind up injuring his cheeks if he tries to bite down. The grip itself is just this side of painful.
The taste of him intensifies, tongue stroking his own until he isn't sure anymore if he's not stroking back. He licks the inside of his cheeks where they're pressed inwards, tickles the roof of his mouth when he glides over it. It's too much sensation and when he pulls back, letting go of him Charles sways forward, dizzy. The man holds him by the shoulders, rubbing circles into the muscles with his thumbs.
Charles' vision goes blurry, wobbling and wet and no, please no. He doesn't want to cry in front of this man. He takes a shaky breath, but it's no good and he feels a fat tear slide free. The man's ministrations pause, face going unreadable, but almost painfully intense. He leans in and carefully kisses the trail it followed, tongue licking out and catching the drop.
Charles closes his eyes and grits his teeth, uses every muscle in his body not to try and jerk away.
“Why won't you just do it,” he bursts out around his teeth. “Do it and get it over with, I can't stand this-- this--” he closes his eyes, frustrated and angry with himself when that just makes more tears drop. The man tastes them all, tongue hot against his already feverish skin. He doesn't reply.
“You said, you said you wanted to f-fuck me, didn't you? You wanted to take me while I couldn't move,” he stumbles over the worlds tumbling out of his mouth. He's babbling but he doubts it matters. His eyes are still squeezed shut, so he can't see him, but it's probably arousing him. “Why aren't you doing it, why aren't you,” he swallows convulsively, chokes in an impulsive decision.
“I'll suck your cock,” he opens his mouth, makes the face all his partners told him is slutty, enticing, speaks around it. “I'll suck it, I'll beg like you said.
Just stop, stop being so--” tender.
“Charles, open your eyes. Look at me.”
After a shaky breath he forces himself to comply. The thumbs circling his arms start up, again. The man looks somewhere caught between mesmerized and pained.
“I'm not going to rush this,” he says, and now it's his turn to sound apologetic. Charles sobs. The man lets go of one arm to touch his cheek, swipes under each of his eyes. “Try to stop crying. Don't tempt the monster,” and he sounds almost like he's breaking up with him, letting him down nice and easy. Charles hangs his head and tries to force the hitching in his chest to stop.
“I thought you said it would be faster if I did as you asked,” he tells the ground.
“Faster is relative, Charles,” regret, a certain almost-reluctance.
Charles freezes for a long moment and then frustration breaks and a hot roll of anger crashes through him. He raises his head and glares.
“That's not fair,” he hisses. “You bastard, I told you I'll do what you asked. Why do you want more from me?” The man pushes a lock of hair from his face. Charles jerks his head away and tries not to bite.
“Because you're beautiful.”
Then he's standing, sliding to his feet, leaving Charles to fume. He starts to strip, hooking his large slender hands under the waist of the turtleneck and lifting it over his head. It catches on his jaw before being tugged free. He toes off his shoes. The pants are next. He unbuckles them and the fall to the floor with a final clunk. He steps out, one lean, muscled leg then the other. He seems to pause, then he's sliding off his underwear, tossing them on the pile just behind him. He takes a few steps forward, using his momentum to bring his feet into reach and tugs off his socks.
Charles stops looking at anything that's above the man's knees as all the anger drains out of him, leaving him with nothing but the sick feeling in his gut. He comes to a stop in front of him and the man's fingers tangle in his hair, forcing his head up. Charles squeezes his eyes shut as something hot and hard presses against his cheek.
His cock, his mind whispers at him and he slams down tight on the thought. Above him the man's grip in his hair tighten just to the point of being painful.
“Open them,” he says. “Your eyes.” Charles does so, but immediately looks away.
“Look,” he man continues calmly, unperturbed by his recalcitrance. Charles' eyes remain cast to one side.
“Look,” he repeats, more insistently and he punctuates it with a little shake of Charles' head. “Look,” and his hand flattens and he strokes the mussed hair back into place almost apologetically. Charles' eyes flicker up, then back down.. The musky scent of his cock is heady and it's leaving him short of breath, he can't seem to suck in enough air. His throat feels tight and constricted.
The man takes his chin in his hand, tilting his head up. He swipes his thumb across Charles' cheekbone, hypnotically and Charles is looking into those steel eyes, again. They're almost familiar now.
“You're hyperventilating,” the man tells him. “Breathe with me, Charles. Can you do that? In,” he takes a deep breath, “out,” exhales. “In, out,” he continues and Charles' breath shudders in and out of him, great heaving things. He tries to concentrate on the face that's swimming before him, to ignore the press of long, hard flesh throbbing against his other cheek. He can't quite keep in sync with him, but he tries. He feels a little less like passing out.
“Good, good boy,” he tells him. “Now I want you to lick me.” Charles chokes on his hard-earned breath, eyes slamming shut once more. “It's alright. Open your mouth. You did it a minute ago, you can do it, again. Come on Charles. Breathe and open your mouth. You can do it. That's it, steady, yes. Just like that.”
The air is cool on his lips, on his tongue. It at once soothes his fever and makes it worse. The man continues to stroke his hair and Charles lets his tongue peek out, just a little, just enough to taste the salt slick of his skin and then he snaps it back in, mouth slamming shut and breathing heavily out his nose. The man sighs.
“No,” he says, then he bends over, cranes Charles' head back with the grip in his hair, brings their faces together. The relief of pressure from his cock is welcome, until he slides his tongue out and drags it up and up, his jaw, past his cheeks and digs deep into his ear. “Like this,” his voice warm and intimate. Charles feels his stomach turn.
The man straightens, forces his head back down until that heated scent is engulfing him, again. He feels his lashes catch against the soft skin. The man resumes stroking his hair.
He turns his head in the man's grip, takes a deep breath and runs his tongue underneath in one long, stuttering swipe.
“More.”
Charles swallows around the taste on his tongue, opens his lips and mouths at it, presses his tongue against the throbbing vein underneath.
“Good, once more.”
He takes the head into his mouth and sucks, just a little. Tiny tugs of breath. The skin is impossibly soft, velvety. He can almost forget what it is he's doing. If he tries hard enough, can almost pull himself back enough to relax into it, can replace it with countless other instances of flushed bodies, hard angles wrapped in soft flesh and endless expanses of uninterrupted skin.
And then he sucks a smear of pre-come onto his tongue and before he even has a chance to gag, the man shudders and pushes away from him. Bitterness floods his tongue as he pulls free of his lips with an obscene 'pop'.
“Enough,” he says and there's tightness in the words, something almost pained and it shocks Charles awake. “Enough,” and Charles sways, racked to the bones with arousal and self-disgust. The man leaves him that way, hand tickling against his ear in a caress as it untangles from his hair. Charles’ cock pulses hot between his legs, betraying him and he hunches over and around it as best he can. It's nowhere near enough; still painfully exposed. He stays that way for a long moment, not knowing nor caring where the man has gone. Dimly he wonders if he's in shock.
He starts, cries out when he feels a hand lay itself against his shoulder blade. The man rubs circles across his back, touch firm and too perfect. Charles starts to shake, fine tremors that run up and down his limbs, centered in his gut. The man presses a kiss to the back of his neck and his voice is a low rumble, vibrating in time to Charles’ trembling. He's humming, trying to soothe Charles and the idea is so laughable, so completely ridiculous as the bonds holding arms above his head begin to tug downwards. The floor slides up to meet him as his hands split to either side.
He's rearranged by that insistent press of metal until his ass is pointing into the air, one arm mostly slack about his head and the other pulled straight beneath him. He turns his head until he can catch fresh air, sees a blurry blob sitting a few inches from his vision. He blinks until he can see it.
Vaseline. Those fine tremors grow in force and Charles buries his face in the crook of his arm.
“Charles,” the voice says low and soft, interrupting the strains of his melody. “We're almost done. You'll be alright soon.” Charles whimpers and he hears the lid of the Vaseline unscrew. The hand at his back slips down, down caressing over the hump of his bottom. It slides between his cheeks, touching virginal skin. Charles' entire body tenses when he pulls fattened flesh to the side, thumb wet and warm with slick, rubbing circles around his newly exposed hole.
“Relax, Charles,” and he can hear the frown in his voice, the reproval. “You're going to break for me, but it doesn't have to hurt.” Charles shakes his head, twice, jittery, half-aborted twitches. The man sighs behind him and then that thumb stops its circling and presses, forced past tense muscle. Charles howls into the crook of his elbow.
“You see? It hurts, doesn't it? This is what your stubbornness will get you, Charles, my too bright Charles.” The thumb hooks into his flesh, tugging, gentle until he feels his ass gape just a little, just enough--
Another slick finger slides in and on the heels of it, working carefully around his thumb, another.
“There, easy, better, you're opening well for me,” he says from somewhere behind him and his thumb slides out.
He can feel every knot and jut of his fingers, everywhere they taper thin and flare wide, the stranger's touch tender, the fingers fucking into him almost reverent. His other hand is stroking lightly up and down his back again, soothing, no longer needing to hold him open. It sends goose pimples pebbling up and down Charles' arms and he shivers, biting his lip to keep from crying out. The man crooks a finger, rubbing, searching, probing and Charles squeezes his eyes shut because the man's close, he's so close and if he just moves another millimeter in--
“Ah-a-a-aah,” Charles stutters and can't help the way his hips snap back, feels a wash of shame roll hot through him. “Please,” he hears himself beg. “Please,” and he doesn't know what he's even asking for anymore. The man's hand strokes low on the small of his back, thumb dipping into the crease between his ass.
“Ssh, it's alright,” he says, so low it barely registers. He kisses him on the cheek of his ass and then the other, right beside where he's working his fingers in and out of him. “I've got you, it's alright.” Charles shakes his head and burrows deeper into his arm. His fingers are too much, making him feel too hot and he keeps-- he keeps stroking that spot and it's too--
A third finger slides into him and he backs off. The unbearable pleasure fades to the dull ache of being stretched once more. His digits squirm like long, heated snakes inside him, pulling him taut like taffy.
When the fingers finally, finally slide out he feels his hole gaping still, swollen but open. The man presses an open-mouthed kiss to it. Charles is panting into his arm, each breath hitching on a moan and the kiss makes him shout, aborted, biting it back until it catches, shuddering, in his throat.
“Good,” the man says, lips forming the words like they hadn't just been touching something dirty and too-intimate. His hands caress his flank, his upper thigh, smearing him in grease that Charles tries not to think too hard about. The man pulls back, leaving him shivering in the cold air. There's the sound of something tinkling, like a hand full of change and then he scatters something over his back. They plunk plunk plunk, each a single, cold point, rolling for a second before he feels them straighten and freeze.
One rolls into his vision. Bullet casings. Charles blinks in sluggish confusion.
“Roll over,” he hears the man tell him. Charles slowly slides an arm out, expecting resistance, some new game, but there is none. Slowly, cautiously he gets his hands under him.
All at once all the cool points on his body press down on him, his arms pull out from under him and he crashes back into the ground.
“On your back,” the man says, firmly. The pressure relents. Arms trembling, Charles tries, again, and once more his arms are pulled out from under him, the casings pressing into his back pinning him flat.
“On your back, Charles. Or do you want me to take with your ass in the air like a dog?”
“This isn't fair,” Charles hisses. “You're not being fair.”
He tries, again, this time laying flat, but the casings continue to remain an unyielding pressure. Charles squirms in their grip, turns his head. When he catches the look on the man's face he goes cold and his struggles slow. There's need written naked and undisguised on his face. His body is tense, like a poised snake.
“On your back,” he repeats when he notices him looking and Charles slowly, hesitantly resumes his struggles. He's pushes down twice more before the man leans forward and brushes the casings from him. They hit the ground like metallic rain and he grips him by the arm, forces him onto his side, onto his back. He presses a kiss to his jaw, body heavy on his lower limbs. He kisses his neck. His shoulder, the hollow above his collar bone, all of which does nothing to distract him when the man slots his hand between his thighs.
“I'm going to take what I want from you now,” he says. Charles whimpers. “You'll spread your legs for me.”
Charles shakes his head. He can't, there's no way. The man smooths his hair out of his face. The other hand continues to stroke soothingly between his inner thighs. Charles has to fight not to clamp down.
“If I have to force you, I'm afraid I'll have to make it hurt,” he tells him, voice steady but not without a certain gentleness. The bindings pulse around Charles' wrists in warning.
Charles shudders and nearly bites a hole in his lip, but he nods and slowly, so slowly, his legs part. The man lets his hand dip farther and farther up as he shifts, and Charles can't help that he stops in the middle of it. The man waits for him, hand stilling until he manages to fight himself enough to break them open a little farther, then continues upwards until his hand is cupping his balls. Charles emits a high-pitched noise through his nose, lip still clasped firmly between his teeth. The man watches him, considering.
“I wouldn't mind if you bled, Charles,” he says evenly as he shifts to hover over the top of him. He settles himself between his split legs, and then he dips his hips and slides forward. Charles' entire body spasms, back arching in the restraints. He does bite through his lip, then and his body strains, fighting, trying to get away but the man prepped him well and he's slick and so easy.
It should hurt, it should wipe his mind from the pain, but he's going so carefully, rocking little thrusts of his hips, working himself deeper inside at an achingly slow pace. He leans down and swipes his tongue over the gash in Charles' lip.
Charles' mind blanks out. He feels everything, warmth, pleasure, friction, but his mind shies away from it. He slides away from everything happening, draws deep within himself.
The man slaps him in the face.
It's an open handed swat, stinging against his cheek and it shocks him back to what's being done to him.
“You can't leave me, Charles,” the man says as he kisses the reddened mark. Charles bring a hand up to touch it in shock, barely registering that the restraints have gone slack.
“Why,” he asks plaintively, some part of him reduced to a child's pleas. Some of the tension in the man's face lessens and he leans down to press a sloppy kiss to his forehead.
“Have to be here,” he pants. He's moaning, grunting with each roll of his hips. Charles shakes his head, smearing the man's lips across his head. “Have to be here.” His lips slide messily, skittering across his face, pressing semi-dry kisses all over him.
“Come for me,” he groans into his cheek and Charles freezes.
No.
“No,” he groans and starts to beg. “No, no, please. Please Erik, don't. I can't do it. I can't, please. Please don't make me.”
“Charles,” he chokes, eyes going wide, hips thrown in their rhythm, then with a great surge he ducks his head and smashes their lips together. It's a long moment without air for Charles.
“Please,” he repeats when he finally pulls back. The man's breath heaves in his chest and he doesn't meet his eyes for a long moment, head bowed hanging between his arms. Slowly his hips stutter back to a start, like a train regaining steam. Charles' hands fist at his sides.
“Come for me,” the man repeats, voice even except where it's strained at the edges. “You're hard, Charles, weeping.” He looks up and locks eyes with him, intense steel and watery blue.
“Do it,” he whispers.
“No,” Charles moans. “No, nonononono.” and he's sobbing in earnest now, great heaving things that rack his whole body. The man shifts, his metal coming up and around his arm, taking the brunt of his weight as he slips a hand between their bodies. His touch is painful in its intensity and Charles feels his toes curl reflexively as he tries to squirm out of his grip, but all it does is make the man's job easier, pleasure that crashes through his senses. He rocks him through it, crashing like a wave inside him and it's all too much, this man, his cruel tenderness, everything, and he comes wailing, fingernails biting crescents into the man's shoulders.
The man sighs and drapes himself over him, sullied hand snaking up and into his hair turning it into a sticky mess. He kisses him, kisses his tears away, again, bodies still undulating, aftershocks going through Charles' like pain. He comes like that, deep inside him, his mouth, his ass, cradling him.
“Charles,” a strained whisper and he stays clutching him throughout his orgasm. It makes it hard for Charles to suck in enough air as his chest hitches around the tears still clogging his throat.
Finally he relaxes around him, burying his head in the crook of his shoulder. Their bodies smear against each other, sticky and warm. The man is collapsed on top of him and the restraints are slack around his wrists, but Charles can't move, to paralyzed to twitch beyond dragging breath into his lungs, mind a dull rushing blank.
No, the rushing is real. Charles blinks sluggishly as a damp square of cloth hovers into his vision, held up by a metal clip. The man stirs atop him and Charles whimpers and twitches as he pulls out of sensitive skin, softened cock stretching him one last time. A line of something wet slides out with it. He turns his head away when the man presses the wet, cool cloth against his over-heated flesh and a kiss to his forehead and closes his eyes.
Charles is pliant under him, almost sweet. His bruised lips hang open and tiny little sounds escape past them on every breath, ones he doesn't seem to know he's making. He can't help it when he brushes his own lips to Charles' forehead, chest aching. He slides the wet cloth between his legs, catches the dribble of his own come. He wipes away the evidence of what he did, what's he done to Charles, cleans his belly and his cock, the soft curls it's nestled in.
He pauses when it comes time to wipe Charles' face. His eyes are shut, still leaking new fluid into the tear tracks and mucus mapped across his skin. Erik can't bring himself to do it, the sight is too--
He heaves a breath and gives himself his own cursory swipe, instead. Tosses the cloth over his shoulder, and slots his arms under Charles' back and the crook of his legs.
Charles seizes up, muscles tensing hard, and Erik carries him over to the bed on the other side of the room, lays him out on his side where the covers are already pulled back.
“Relax,” he says quietly, crawling in after him, sliding an arm under and around his skinny waist and pulling the covers up over them both.
“Relax,” he repeats, and, “I love you,” and Charles just struggles to breathe.
Erik sighs against his neck, presses one last kiss there. He supposes it's time.
“Queen's gambit,” he murmurs against the soft skin and wonders at the pang of reluctance and regret that rolls through him.
For a moment nothing changes. Charles' breathing remains labored, squeaking in and out of him, muscles still painfully tense. It's almost been a full minute. Erik feels a slow roll of horror.
What if he's failed? What if the lock didn't release, what if he's stuck unknowing, forever? He opens his mouth to hiss the words, again.
Erik, the word is hushed in his mind, weak, but instantly relief washes through him. Erik. Erik swears and crushes him against him. Charles makes a choked noise and rolls over, wrapping his arms around his neck and burying his face in the hollow where they meet. He isn't crying anymore, just clinging to him like he's a life preserver. Erik presses a hand to his scalp, tangles his fingers in his hair and whispers meaningless, soothing nonsense into his ear.
Eventually he calms and the tight ache in Erik's chest relaxes enough that he can speak around it.
“Are you alright,” he murmurs, rustling his hair. Silence, Charles breathes with him, and then--
He's suffused in the blanket of Charles' thoughts. They wash over him like an endless tide, there's the shakiness, the lingering effects of adrenaline and terror but in their wake he feels like he's floating and yet grounded so firmly into himself he can't move under it. Peace. Erik takes a shuddering breath.
“Charles,” he whispers when it folds up back into Charles' mind and he's left cramped up in his own head, again.
You took care of me. And it's a benediction, a curse and forgiveness, though as close as Charles is now Erik can feel how little Charles believes he needs to be forgiven.
“I hurt you,” Erik says. Charles shifts in his grip.
Yes, and it's a quiet sigh, like butterfly wings or the tinkle of chains. Erik swallows and tucks his nose into Charles’ hair. I wanted this as much as you did, Erik.
“I can't help but feel you got the raw end of the deal,” he answers and he means it to sound glib, but it gets lost somewhere in the aftermath and rings too harshly sincere. Charles shakes his head, wiping sticky lines on Erik's skin.
No, no, and he feels another tangle of that peace caressing his thoughts. I needed this, needed you.
Erik snorts but lets it go, lets the rhythm of Charles' labored breathing lull him. Charles has, perhaps drifted off to sleep a bit, judging by the tone of the thoughts he's leaking, can't help leaking
because you broke him apart
when Erik has a thought.
“You called my name,” he says and Charles squirms, blinks owlishly.
Yes, he says, faintly, I did, didn't I? I think. . . the pace of his thoughts are slow like honey and molasses. Yes, I think my block was coming undone.
“Ah,” Erik says and nuzzles him, his beautiful, brave Charles who's given him a gift he'd never have taken on his own. He feels a twitch against his mind, a question.
Can I? Charles asks, hesitant, hand shifting to rest against the side of Erik’s face.
“After what you've given me, tonight, anything,” he answers and Charles sighs, sinks his hand into his hair at the same time as he sinks his mind into Erik’s. Charles feels like a sleepy child against his thoughts, all soft edges and contentment, radiating safe as if it wasn't Erik who gave him the nightmares to begin with. Erik is inexplicably blinking back tears.
They bury themselves like that, in each other, physically and mentally, and drift off to sleep.