XMFC; Pace is the Trick (Charles/Erik, NC-17)
Title: Pace is the Trick
Author:
significantowl
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1685.
Disclaimer: Characters are property of Marvel, I'm just playing with them.
Summary: For this prompt at xmen-firstkink:
Charles and Erik are stuck in a small enclosed space together, (air duct? broom closet? locker? etc.) "Bad guys" have just entered their general vicinity and Erik clamps a hand down over Charles' mouth. It's not safe to move/let alone breathe, (the "bad guys" are just settling in), and with Charles' back pressed tight against his front, Erik's body can't help but react.
First time. Painfully slow, desperate, lots of neck biting, telepathy, and Erik's hand never leaves Charles' mouth.
Pace is the Trick
bysignificantowl
No movement, Erik thinks, directing his thoughts to Charles as best he knows how. None. Not a word. Not a sound.
Of course. The darkness inside the air duct and the angle at which they're pressed together don't allow Erik to see Charles' expression, only the sweep of his hair over his forehead, and below that, the peak of his nose. But Erik can imagine the raised eyebrow, perfectly clearly; Charles is amused.
I do believe we can afford to relax a bit, Charles continues. If the men out there do happen to hear us, I promise you, they will never remember it.
Erik has one arm crossing Charles' chest, hand splayed over his heart, pressing him close. One hand over his mouth. Charles is wearing wearing a crisp Oxford shirt; the air is stale and warm inside this narrow steel cylinder, and Erik can feel Charles' heat burning through his clothes.
No. You know they have a telepath. She'll be checking them for signs of tampering later.
She won't find any.
I have no doubt that you're as good as you think you are, Erik thinks. Thrillingly enough, that's the truth, and the touch of arrogance in Charles' mental voice pleases him. Charles is strong, Charles is powerful, it's something to be proud of. But no. No physical trace of our surveillance today, that's what you said to me. No mental trace, I'm saying to you.
He'd known very well that "no physical trace" was Charles' delicate way of saying, "Don't kill anyone, Erik." But if he chose to accede to Charles' request, Erik had decided he would do so to the letter; it would be a simple matter to expand this air duct by a few inches, for example, but he would make no such modifications.
Charles' back is tight against Erik's chest, his feet planted in the small space between Erik's own. His hip is snug along Erik's upper thigh, and the swell of his ass fits neatly against Erik's groin. Erik's cock is hanging left, the base and a few inches flush to Charles' curved rear, the rest free. It likes pressure; it always has. It's filling. Rising.
But there’s only so far to go. Charles asked for this, whether he realized it or not, when he asked Erik for limits; let him oh-so-politely revise that request now, if he wishes. Erik can't even arch his back in this small space, and he’s caught, cock straining at an awkward angle, pressing against his trousers, pressing against Charles, blood beating hard and wild. Charles has about an inch of leeway between himself and the metal grille at the front of the duct, but Erik has no such options. All he can do is turn his head ever so slightly, ever so slowly, so that the sharp exhale he can't hold back is at buried in the fall of hair above Charles' temple.
Charles shifts forward on his feet. One inch.
Erik's cock springs up. There's no way Charles missed that twitch against his ass, and Erik waits to see which thought Charles will project - Perhaps you could arrange a little breathing room for us, Erik? or Trust me, I can take the information we're waiting for from their minds and we can leave now, with none the wiser - but neither comes. Instead Charles rocks back on his heels, then forward on his toes, small, deliciously rhythmic shifts of pressure that make Erik's fingers curl into Charles' chest.
And there's Charles' breath, puffing into Erik's hand, soundless and hard.
Something electric and raw shoots up Erik's spine. He suddenly wants more than anything to draw another breath just like the first - let it be on Charles to keep to the rules, let him stay silent again if he can. Erik flattens his fingers against Charles' chest and sweeps slowly with his thumb until he finds Charles' nipple, then rubs over it once, twice, keeping perfect pace with the steady, unceasing rocking of Charles' hips.
Charles' body jerks. And - fuck. Erik needs to grip his own cock, is what he needs to do. Not that the pressure isn't pleasing, shit, but if he could just dress himself straight up, he'd fit so neatly between Charles' cheeks, so fucking perfectly, and he could rock forward onto his own toes and grind.
Grasping Erik's outer thighs, Charles twists his hips. It's clear he's heard Erik's thought and is trying to help, but it's not going to work. The tip of Erik's cock is jutting against his waistband; he's heavy, hard, and trapped. But the side-to-side motion Charles is using is good, new and shocking and good, and this time Erik doesn't let out his breath into Charles' hair, but lower, into the shell of his ear.
By the way Charles drops his head back against Erik's shoulder, Erik assumes Charles doesn't mind.
When Charles takes them back to that slow, slow rocking, it's equally good, knee-tremblingly so: the way Charles' weight rolls along Erik's cock by infinitesimal degrees, from base to tip and back down again, the way his hands brace Erik in place.... As it goes on and on all Erik can do is strain forward, seeking more, and when his breaths become pants, muffle them in Charles' neck.
No. It's not all he can do. If his hand can reach Charles' chest, it can slide lower. Erik's aware this thought isn't entirely his own, but he doesn't much care, because the idea of gripping Charles feels good down deep. Having Charles in his hand, thick and hard, finding out just how he'll fill it; Erik's fingers flex in anticipation. He'll have to go slowly. There's silence in the room beyond the duct, and Erik will not have the quick rustle of his hand over Charles' clothing betray them. Charles sucks in a breath - Erik can feel his chest rising, expanding - and Erik smiles, suddenly determined to go slower still.
Wanting to please Charles, and wanting to drive him mad - the two do not have to be mutually exclusive.
With his fingertips Erik can brush at Charles' skin through the plackets of his shirt, in the gaps between the buttons, and Erik does, enjoying each soft, smooth touch. When he reaches Charles' waist, Erik pauses, fingers barely dipping below the band of his trousers. He's not certain for a moment whether he'll continue straight down, or whether it would be better to palm Charles from outside his clothes, then perhaps find out just how quietly his powers can undo a zipper. Riding out Erik's indecision, experiencing it physically and mentally proves to be a bit much for Charles; he bites down on his lip beneath the hand Erik still holds over his mouth, and a small flare of pain goes off inside their minds. Erik suspects he may have drawn blood.
Zipper it is, then. Erik mouths at Charles' neck, vaguely meaning it to be soothing, but somehow the simple motion of parting his lips, of letting even this small portion of himself seek and take sets off something in Erik's brain, and suddenly he's biting at Charles' skin and shoving his hips into Charles' ass as hard as the cramped quarters will allow.
It's a matter of pride that he still manages to open Charles' trousers with the barest whisper of metal, not loud enough to cause the slightest echo off the walls of this chamber. And then he has Charles in his hand, hot and thick, and fuck Erik wishes he could look down and take in that sight, but there's simply not enough light - a flash of paleness, that's all he can glimpse. On the first slow pull of Charles’ cock, the groan that fills his mind is deafening, and when he draws back the foreskin - Charles is wet there already, at the tip - Charles' mouth falls open beneath Erik's hand.
I imagine you think that's going to speed me up, Erik thinks, the first truly pointed thought he's sent Charles' way since this started. I imagine you think I'll start jacking you as hard as I can. But he's not going to, he's not going to change a thing. Charles' slow, relentless rocking back against Erik has got Erik to the point where he knows he's going to come, he knows it's going to be good, and he can ride that fucking edge all day. There's no hurry at all.
We may be here that long. These men, waiting to make their report - waiting for the phone call - who knows when it will come -
All day, Erik thinks, loving the thought of keeping Charles wanting just as long as he possibly can. All day long - He closes his fist over the tip of Charles' cock, and Charles, following suit, pushes back against him, a suspended moment of pressure for them both. Blood pounds heavy between Erik's legs, Charles' cock pulses and swells in his hand, and he can't say who breaks the moment, if it's his need or Charles' that takes hold, that drives them both to move -
Erik has Charles' come all over his hand, and the way Charles spasms, the way his body jolts back against Erik's, hard and uncontrolled, is more than enough to ensure that he has it inside his own trousers a few moments later.
Physical traces, Charles thinks dreamily, relaxing back against him, languid and heavy. I suppose they're allowed after all.
Mental ones as well, Erik replies, and wonders how anyone could ever forget something like this, the warmth and weight of Charles in their mind.
Erik removes his hand from Charles' mouth, and runs his fingers up to Charles' hairline, pushing back sweat-soaked strands. There's a contented hum at the edges of his mind, and buoyed by it, and by the knowledge of just how well they can understand each other, despite every difference that might lie between them, Erik lowers his head to perform another act he had never quite imagined before today. Beneath Charles' jaw, on his bitten and abused skin, Erik presses something soft and delicate: a true first kiss.
Author:
significantowlPairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 1685.
Disclaimer: Characters are property of Marvel, I'm just playing with them.
Summary: For this prompt at xmen-firstkink:
Charles and Erik are stuck in a small enclosed space together, (air duct? broom closet? locker? etc.) "Bad guys" have just entered their general vicinity and Erik clamps a hand down over Charles' mouth. It's not safe to move/let alone breathe, (the "bad guys" are just settling in), and with Charles' back pressed tight against his front, Erik's body can't help but react.
First time. Painfully slow, desperate, lots of neck biting, telepathy, and Erik's hand never leaves Charles' mouth.
Pace is the Trick
by
significantowlNo movement, Erik thinks, directing his thoughts to Charles as best he knows how. None. Not a word. Not a sound.
Of course. The darkness inside the air duct and the angle at which they're pressed together don't allow Erik to see Charles' expression, only the sweep of his hair over his forehead, and below that, the peak of his nose. But Erik can imagine the raised eyebrow, perfectly clearly; Charles is amused.
I do believe we can afford to relax a bit, Charles continues. If the men out there do happen to hear us, I promise you, they will never remember it.
Erik has one arm crossing Charles' chest, hand splayed over his heart, pressing him close. One hand over his mouth. Charles is wearing wearing a crisp Oxford shirt; the air is stale and warm inside this narrow steel cylinder, and Erik can feel Charles' heat burning through his clothes.
No. You know they have a telepath. She'll be checking them for signs of tampering later.
She won't find any.
I have no doubt that you're as good as you think you are, Erik thinks. Thrillingly enough, that's the truth, and the touch of arrogance in Charles' mental voice pleases him. Charles is strong, Charles is powerful, it's something to be proud of. But no. No physical trace of our surveillance today, that's what you said to me. No mental trace, I'm saying to you.
He'd known very well that "no physical trace" was Charles' delicate way of saying, "Don't kill anyone, Erik." But if he chose to accede to Charles' request, Erik had decided he would do so to the letter; it would be a simple matter to expand this air duct by a few inches, for example, but he would make no such modifications.
Charles' back is tight against Erik's chest, his feet planted in the small space between Erik's own. His hip is snug along Erik's upper thigh, and the swell of his ass fits neatly against Erik's groin. Erik's cock is hanging left, the base and a few inches flush to Charles' curved rear, the rest free. It likes pressure; it always has. It's filling. Rising.
But there’s only so far to go. Charles asked for this, whether he realized it or not, when he asked Erik for limits; let him oh-so-politely revise that request now, if he wishes. Erik can't even arch his back in this small space, and he’s caught, cock straining at an awkward angle, pressing against his trousers, pressing against Charles, blood beating hard and wild. Charles has about an inch of leeway between himself and the metal grille at the front of the duct, but Erik has no such options. All he can do is turn his head ever so slightly, ever so slowly, so that the sharp exhale he can't hold back is at buried in the fall of hair above Charles' temple.
Charles shifts forward on his feet. One inch.
Erik's cock springs up. There's no way Charles missed that twitch against his ass, and Erik waits to see which thought Charles will project - Perhaps you could arrange a little breathing room for us, Erik? or Trust me, I can take the information we're waiting for from their minds and we can leave now, with none the wiser - but neither comes. Instead Charles rocks back on his heels, then forward on his toes, small, deliciously rhythmic shifts of pressure that make Erik's fingers curl into Charles' chest.
And there's Charles' breath, puffing into Erik's hand, soundless and hard.
Something electric and raw shoots up Erik's spine. He suddenly wants more than anything to draw another breath just like the first - let it be on Charles to keep to the rules, let him stay silent again if he can. Erik flattens his fingers against Charles' chest and sweeps slowly with his thumb until he finds Charles' nipple, then rubs over it once, twice, keeping perfect pace with the steady, unceasing rocking of Charles' hips.
Charles' body jerks. And - fuck. Erik needs to grip his own cock, is what he needs to do. Not that the pressure isn't pleasing, shit, but if he could just dress himself straight up, he'd fit so neatly between Charles' cheeks, so fucking perfectly, and he could rock forward onto his own toes and grind.
Grasping Erik's outer thighs, Charles twists his hips. It's clear he's heard Erik's thought and is trying to help, but it's not going to work. The tip of Erik's cock is jutting against his waistband; he's heavy, hard, and trapped. But the side-to-side motion Charles is using is good, new and shocking and good, and this time Erik doesn't let out his breath into Charles' hair, but lower, into the shell of his ear.
By the way Charles drops his head back against Erik's shoulder, Erik assumes Charles doesn't mind.
When Charles takes them back to that slow, slow rocking, it's equally good, knee-tremblingly so: the way Charles' weight rolls along Erik's cock by infinitesimal degrees, from base to tip and back down again, the way his hands brace Erik in place.... As it goes on and on all Erik can do is strain forward, seeking more, and when his breaths become pants, muffle them in Charles' neck.
No. It's not all he can do. If his hand can reach Charles' chest, it can slide lower. Erik's aware this thought isn't entirely his own, but he doesn't much care, because the idea of gripping Charles feels good down deep. Having Charles in his hand, thick and hard, finding out just how he'll fill it; Erik's fingers flex in anticipation. He'll have to go slowly. There's silence in the room beyond the duct, and Erik will not have the quick rustle of his hand over Charles' clothing betray them. Charles sucks in a breath - Erik can feel his chest rising, expanding - and Erik smiles, suddenly determined to go slower still.
Wanting to please Charles, and wanting to drive him mad - the two do not have to be mutually exclusive.
With his fingertips Erik can brush at Charles' skin through the plackets of his shirt, in the gaps between the buttons, and Erik does, enjoying each soft, smooth touch. When he reaches Charles' waist, Erik pauses, fingers barely dipping below the band of his trousers. He's not certain for a moment whether he'll continue straight down, or whether it would be better to palm Charles from outside his clothes, then perhaps find out just how quietly his powers can undo a zipper. Riding out Erik's indecision, experiencing it physically and mentally proves to be a bit much for Charles; he bites down on his lip beneath the hand Erik still holds over his mouth, and a small flare of pain goes off inside their minds. Erik suspects he may have drawn blood.
Zipper it is, then. Erik mouths at Charles' neck, vaguely meaning it to be soothing, but somehow the simple motion of parting his lips, of letting even this small portion of himself seek and take sets off something in Erik's brain, and suddenly he's biting at Charles' skin and shoving his hips into Charles' ass as hard as the cramped quarters will allow.
It's a matter of pride that he still manages to open Charles' trousers with the barest whisper of metal, not loud enough to cause the slightest echo off the walls of this chamber. And then he has Charles in his hand, hot and thick, and fuck Erik wishes he could look down and take in that sight, but there's simply not enough light - a flash of paleness, that's all he can glimpse. On the first slow pull of Charles’ cock, the groan that fills his mind is deafening, and when he draws back the foreskin - Charles is wet there already, at the tip - Charles' mouth falls open beneath Erik's hand.
I imagine you think that's going to speed me up, Erik thinks, the first truly pointed thought he's sent Charles' way since this started. I imagine you think I'll start jacking you as hard as I can. But he's not going to, he's not going to change a thing. Charles' slow, relentless rocking back against Erik has got Erik to the point where he knows he's going to come, he knows it's going to be good, and he can ride that fucking edge all day. There's no hurry at all.
We may be here that long. These men, waiting to make their report - waiting for the phone call - who knows when it will come -
All day, Erik thinks, loving the thought of keeping Charles wanting just as long as he possibly can. All day long - He closes his fist over the tip of Charles' cock, and Charles, following suit, pushes back against him, a suspended moment of pressure for them both. Blood pounds heavy between Erik's legs, Charles' cock pulses and swells in his hand, and he can't say who breaks the moment, if it's his need or Charles' that takes hold, that drives them both to move -
Erik has Charles' come all over his hand, and the way Charles spasms, the way his body jolts back against Erik's, hard and uncontrolled, is more than enough to ensure that he has it inside his own trousers a few moments later.
Physical traces, Charles thinks dreamily, relaxing back against him, languid and heavy. I suppose they're allowed after all.
Mental ones as well, Erik replies, and wonders how anyone could ever forget something like this, the warmth and weight of Charles in their mind.
Erik removes his hand from Charles' mouth, and runs his fingers up to Charles' hairline, pushing back sweat-soaked strands. There's a contented hum at the edges of his mind, and buoyed by it, and by the knowledge of just how well they can understand each other, despite every difference that might lie between them, Erik lowers his head to perform another act he had never quite imagined before today. Beneath Charles' jaw, on his bitten and abused skin, Erik presses something soft and delicate: a true first kiss.