[identity profile] kiyala.livejournal.com posting in [community profile] shannys_corner
Title: what is mine
Author: [livejournal.com profile] kiyala
Word Count: 1,388
Fandom: X-Men: First Class (movieverse)
Pairing: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Rating: NC-17
Warning: explicit sex
Notes: No spoilers for the movie
Written for [livejournal.com profile] 1stclass_kink, originally found here.
The two are chilling in a bar, and Charles, who's had a few more beers than he should've, is flirting outrageously with pretty much everyone. He thinks Erik is staring at the floor because he's bored, but then he notices all the metal fixtures in the room are melting...
Bonus! for rough claiming!sex when Erik's finally had enough and drags them back to his rooms

It’s been a long day of tracking down their fellow mutants, and they need a break. And a drink. Charles leads the way to the bar—spend enough years in university, he tells Erik, and you develop a keen sense for the nearest source of alcohol—and they find a table in the corner with one beer each, ready to relax for the rest of the day.

Or so the plan had gone.

Charles orders one drink after another, and Erik says nothing, thinking that perhaps his friend deserves the break after constantly pushing his mind to its limits. Except somehow, Charles moves from their secluded table to the centre of the bar, drifting from one person to another—from one attractive woman to another—waxing poetic about genetic mutations, too drunk to be bothered by the way they stare uncomprehendingly at him.

It’s okay if nobody understands, he tells the brunette that he is currently sidled up to, not many people understand the beauty of genetic mutations. Not many people are willing to learn—not like his good friend Erik, there, sitting quietly at their table with his nearly-empty glass of beer.

“Another drink for my friend there,” he tells the bartender, slapping a note down on the counter. Wouldn’t do to leave Erik to get bored, with the way he’s staring at the floor as if it’s more interesting than the people around him, all the different variations of the same species.

“Now, Erik, he listens. He learns. He’s a good friend.”

“That’s cute,” the girl says, smiling at him. He grins back, leaning towards her just slightly before something catches his eye.

The lights in the bar are all attached to the walls with metal fixtures, and the light seems to shift for a moment, as if they’re actually moving. Charles looks closer, and straightens with alarm when he realises that the metal posts are bending, as if they’re turning to liquid. The jukebox against the wall is glistening, as if it, too, is turning molten.

Charles turns, looking over his shoulder to Erik, whose gaze hasn’t moved from that one spot on the floor. He doesn’t look up, and Charles considers pushing into his mind just gently, to understand what’s going on, but he stops himself. He’s sure, somewhere beneath the quickly fading haze of alcohol, exactly what this is about.

“I’m terribly sorry,” Charles says, turning back to the girl beside him. “I just remembered that I have a meeting to go to.”

He walks away, past Erik, towards the door. Erik stands, following one step behind, and they don’t speak until they’re in the hotel room that the CIA is paying for.

“Care to explain what that was?” Erik asks, the moment the door is shut behind him. He takes two long strides forward as Charles turns, backing him up against the wall, and glowers.

Charles quickly sobers under the intensity of that gaze. He looks away, muttering, “I was just…”

“Just what?” Erik’s thoughts are too loud to ignore at this proximity, with this much anger. Charles’ mind fills with images of the previous night, of languid kisses and warm hands on bare skin.

“Erik. They don’t compare—”

“Then stop trying to make a comparison,” Erik snaps. “You’re mine, damn it.”

With Erik’s mind so open, a stray thought escapes; you’re all that I have. It’s raw, but not vulnerable. Erik is angry, and Charles can feel it without trying.

“I’m sorry,” Charles takes half a step forward and presses his lips to Erik’s. It’s a gentle kiss, right up until the moment that Erik takes control of it.

You have me, he tells Erik. You’ll always have me.

“I’ll make sure of it,” Erik growls, kissing his way down Charles’ neck before biting down hard. He has Charles pressed against the wall with no room to move, and while they both know that Charles can turn the tables with a single thought, he doesn’t. He simply allows Erik to suck a mark onto his neck, spreading his legs when one of Erik’s knees nudges in between them.

“Mark my words,” Erik’s voice is husky and he holds Charles’ gaze. “By the time I’m done with you, you’re never going to forget who you belong to.”

They kiss again, Erik nipping at Charles’ lips, tongue delving into his mouth to slide against Charles’ own. He feels Charles’ quiet hum of pleasure, which then turns to a moan when Erik reaches between them, fingers cupping around his growing erection, stroking him through his trousers. His strokes become more firm, and Charles breaks the kiss, pressing his head back against the wall as he pants. His cheeks are flushed, his lips swollen and red, and it’s a beautiful sight.

Taking hold of Charles by the front of his shirt, Erik drags him to the bedroom, pushing him down onto the bed and straddling him. Charles’ hands come up to settle on Erik’s sides, but Erik pins them to the bed, teeth scraping along Charles’ jaw and eliciting the sweetest moan. Their kiss is bruising as Erik undresses them both, not caring where their clothes fall, and he wraps his fingers around Charles’ cock, stroking gently.

“Yes,” Charles gasps, propping himself up by the elbows, head falling back as he surrenders to the pleasure. “Erik.”

“This is nothing,” Erik murmurs, a promise, as he reaches for the condoms and lube left on the bedside table from the previous night. He slides his fingers down the length of Charles’ erection, rubbing his balls and dragging across his perineum, and Charles arches off the bed, his breath hitching.

With his free hand, Erik pours the lube over his fingers, gently pressing one into Charles, teasing with just the tip.

“Erik,” Charles’ voice is already shaking, and Erik’s cock twitches at the thought of just how much more broken he’ll be at the end of this. He presses the finger in further, waiting for Charles to relax before adding another. It’s slow and gentle, and Erik loves this, loves that Charles’ face is so open, so easy to read, the same way Erik sometimes feels around him.

Then he has three fingers inside Charles, and the pace changes. Charles is more relaxed around him now, and the way Erik thrusts his fingers into him is anything but gentle. He curls them, stroking deeper into Charles, searching for his prostate. He knows he’s found it when Charles’ back arches with a shout, the tip of his cock dribbling precome.

Erik licks his lips, pulling his fingers out slowly before rolling a condom on, covering himself with more lube before entering him, pressing in bit by bit until he’s in to the hilt.

“Charles,” he pants, mind reeling from the tight heat the surrounds him.

Please, Charles’ voice says in Erik’s mind. He doesn’t know what Charles is asking for, specifically, and he doubts that even Charles does. It doesn’t matter. He rolls his hips, thrusting gently at first, and then harder as Charles moans encouragingly.

Erik bends over Charles, the desire to kiss him senseless only strengthened by the way Charles presses his head back against the mattress, exposing his neck, his mouth hanging open as he pants. Charles wraps himself around Erik, his legs, his arm, his mind, and for this brief moment, nothing else in the world matters.

He fucks Charles hard, determined to make sure Charles will still feel it the morning after, that he’ll still be thinking about the next time they’re in a bar filled with pretty girls. His grip on Charles’ hips is bruising and they’re both sweating, panting against each other’s mouths. Erik reaches between their bodies, to where Charles’ cock is trapped between them, dripping all over their stomachs, and begins to stroke.

“Erik!” Charles is close, Erik can feel the way he tenses, and then with one final, well-placed thrust, he’s coming with a loud moan.

Erik grunts as Charles’ body tightens around him, thrusting relentlessly until he follows suit, his moan muffled against Charles’ neck.

“Mine,” he realises he’s panting the word. “You’re mine.”

Charles smiles, his body still trembling from the aftershocks, and places his hand against Erik’s cheek. He doesn’t say anything, but from the way Erik turns his face into the touch, he doesn’t need to.

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February 2012


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