The Morning After the Morning Before
by elfin



Erik wakes when he feels his bedmate slip from between the sheets, and opens his eyes to appreciate the sight of Charles walking naked across the bedroom.  He hears the door close across the corridor and a minute later the toilet flush.  The view on his return journey is even better.  It’s the first chance he’s had to really appreciate the perfect proportions, naturally slim body and beautiful cock, and he drinks his fill.  There's no shame or embarrassment when Charles realises he's being watched; he's easy on the eyes and he knows it.  There's something in his face though, some kind of discomfort and when he climbs gingerly back into bed.  Erik leans over to steal what is a strangely chaste kiss, given everything they did in the early hours of the morning.

"Are you alright?"

"Slightly sore," he admits, and it's not surprising.

Erik pushes on his shoulder.  "Lie on your front."

Charles regards him suspiciously, hesitating to obey.  As if Erik can make him do anything he doesn’t want to.

That he can’t hurt him, that he would be stopped if he went too far, is part of the reason he’s allowed all this to happen in the first place.  It isn't the loss of physical control he needs to worry about.  Looking at Charles this morning, the deep vein of feelings he briefly tapped into last night is starting to swell.  He's never imagined he could be so undone by someone, let alone an arrogant post-grad Playboy mutant with money to burn. 

"Trust me."  Erik recalls saying the same thing a couple of hours earlier, and what it led to, and he's sure it hasn't slipped Charles' mind either.  He tries again.  "I know how you're feeling.  I can help."  He doesn't mean to turn Charles' favourite phrase back on him, but if it gets the job done...

Charles nods, so much trust in his eyes now it hurts to see it.  This thing between them isn't something to ever be broken or betrayed, Erik's signing up to something he can't just walk away from and if he's being honest, it's terrifying.  But at the same time, it's intoxicating, temptation beyond anything he's ever known and he can't just pretend he doesn't want this with the very core of his being.

Charles settles on his front, arms crossed under his head.  Erik kisses his shoulder before pulling the sheets away from his legs and moving down, parting his knees, settling between them.

Erik...

There's an edge to his name as it’s spoken into his mind, not so much a warning, more a reminder of the trust Erik asked for, the trust he's been granted.

He raises his head to touch his lips to the small of Charles' back, runs the tip of his tongue over the swell of his buttocks, dips into the cleft between his cheeks, parting them with gentle fingers as he reaches the red pucker of his anus.  Wetting his tongue, he dips inside with ease.  The ring of muscle is still slightly relaxed from the night's activities and he penetrates easily, not going too deep, just enough to produce a rumble of sound from Charles' throat. 

Good God!

And he takes it from the surprise in the words rather than the blaspheme itself that no one has done this for Charles before.  He doesn't stop to speak, but he tries to radiate his own feelings like he did before so Charles can feel them without having to look.  He isn't one hundred percent sure what he's sending, but it feels as if something inside of him is close to exploding and consuming him, something incredible with Charles at its heart.  And it must be what Charles feels from him, because he reaches one arm down from under his head, fingers outstretched, and Erik grabs his hand and holds it tight, knitting their fingers together as he pushes his tongue deeper inside his lover's body.

Another groan vibrates through Charles, his hand flexing, hips shifting presumably to accommodate an erection trapped between his stomach and the mattress.  Erik too has to shift positions, holding Charles open with one hand, wondering if he can make him come just with this. 

Yes.  He smiles at the presumption.  And I can make you come too.  If you'll permit me.

Arousal courses through him and he presses forward his express permission.  Then he feels it, in his head; Charles' heat, the not-quite-enough pressure of his own tongue, the soreness of Charles' ass, the excruciating intimacy of what he's doing, the excitement of having another man holding him open and exposed, the rub of two cocks against the bed sheets and the memory of them docking in the kitchen.

He presses deeper, lips against Charles' hole, nose buried between his cheeks, when another image bursts into his mind.  It's like a command he's incapable of ignoring.  He pulls out swiftly without knowing why or what he’s doing and climbs Charles' body, still clutching his hand, kicking his legs further apart and screwing every inch of his cock into him, pushing in him bluntly, not stopping until his balls are crushed against his buttocks and he's flush against Charles' back. 

He can't think straight.  His head's full of both of them, of arousal and ecstasy and he can't tell what's him and what's Charles.  Not that he wants to; it's so complete that nothing else in the world matters.  He pushes his hips back and drives into Charles' welcoming body; once, twice, three times, hard and fast and almost brutal until Charles' orgasm explodes in his head and his own shatters him.  He flies apart, everything goes black and physically he collapses onto Charles' back, lodged deep inside him, spilling into both his body and his mind.

He becomes slowly aware of himself again, bit by bit.  His pulse rate slowing, his heartbeat easing, breaths getting shallower.  Then he's suddenly aware of Charles and of what he's done.  He slides from his back with too much haste, pulling his cock free too quickly, causing Charles to wince with the sharp pain of it.  He thinks maybe he's broken Charles fingers with the grip they were exerting on one another but as he tries to pull his hand away, he finds it still held tight.  He's lying so that it's trapped under his chest, one leg still lying over Charles', foot against his shin. 

He opens his eyes and finds Charles' bright blue gaze staring right at him, an inch between them. There are tears on his cheeks and Erik's horrified to think that he's done the one thing he believed he couldn't; caused Charles physical pain.

"I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to... I don't know...."

"You didn't do anything you didn't want to do, and you did everything I wanted you to do.  I'm the one who should be apologising; that deep, with so much overwhelming emotion, so many fantasies all crowding in... I couldn't stop it.  I wanted you to fuck me and you wanted to... so it happened."

And Charles is still in his head.  It's a feeling like his soul is slowly being cleaned of everything that's soiled it, that he's bathing in this thing between he and Charles and eventually it'll be all there is, all that matters.  He looks into Charles' eyes and sees the wonder and amazement shining back at him; the same need, the same desires.

"I could lose myself in you."

"If you're speaking literally, then you couldn't, because I wouldn't let it happen.  It may be overwhelming but I do have better control than you might think."  Then the expression on Erik's face must become obvious, because Charles smiles and Erik doesn't resist the urge to reach across the gap between them, tangle in his fingers in the mop of dark hair and pull him into a tender but deep kiss.

Metaphorically of course...

Metaphorically, Erik thinks he might be falling in love.  He doesn't say it, but then he doesn't have to.

#

The only way either of them is getting out of bed is if one of them gets up while the other's still asleep.  Erik knows this, but he watches Charles for a long time.  Exhausted and sore, he's wiped out while Erik feels more awake, more alive than he's felt in a long, long time.  He knows if he stays like this for too long, Charles will be woken by his thoughts, by his wakefulness, so he drops a kiss to soft, messy hair and slides out of bed.

He’s well aware that there's no way the kids didn’t hear anything last night.  As he walks through the ridiculously huge house down to the kitchen where it all started, just a few hours and a lifetime ago, he can see small signs of the power he and Charles can apparently exert even when they're not trying.  Doorknobs have elongated like teardrops, candlesticks are entwined like tree branches, carpet rods have twisted, causing ripples in the flooring that he instinctively knows Charles is going to want fixed immediately.  He sets things right as best he can as he goes, finding that despite being as far from rage right now as he can remember ever being it's easy to command the metal using serenity alone. 

There might also be a freaky shit-eating grin on his face too, something he can't be certain about until he encounters Hank coming out of the kitchen.  They practically walk into each other and Hank takes a step back and around him, looking anywhere but at him, muttering, "good morning," in reply to Erik's cheerful greeting but otherwise seeming like he wants to be anywhere but in Erik's company.  The moment Erik steps into the kitchen, Hank bolts away down the corridor as if the Devil is at his back.

It's a confusing moment until he sees the state he and Charles left the kitchen in.  They had, after all, been in a hurry.  Charles' pyjama top is on the table, bottoms on the floor along with Erik's robe.  The remains of their mojitos and the dirty utensils are spilled over the table top and the Lino.  It looks like the scene of a minor orgy, mostly because it is the scene of a minor orgy.

He uses his powers to throw the majority of the dirty stuff into the sink and picks up the clothing, folding it into one of the chairs.  What he really wants is coffee, and to get out before Charles ambles down to make breakfast.  As he waits for the strong stuff to brew he wonders, not for the first time, about the house, about the Xavier family and Charles' upbringing.  He understands all too well that money doesn't necessarily mean happiness and although Charles' childhood was undoubtedly, infinitely better than his, he also knows Charles wasn't necessarily happy as a kid.  Not until Raven turned up anyway.  Were there maids and servants once, or had did Charles bring himself up, using knowledge he found in the minds of distant adults?

As soon as the coffee's made, Erik relocates to the lounge where he can sit, drink and think in peace.  The first thing he thinks is that Hank needs to get over himself; he and Charles are just two guys having sex.  Nothing unusual there, except that they probably make quite the enviable couple, quite the hot sight. 

A brief touch of warmth in his head makes him smile; Charles effectively saying good morning, thanking him for the compliment and checking up on him no doubt, checking that he hasn't made a run for it without wanting to seem like he's prying.  He tries to reassure Charles that he isn't going anywhere, not certain how hard he has to think it for Charles to hear him at this distance.  There's no response and he makes a mental note to ask his lover about it; he likes the intimacy of having Charles at the edges of his mind, of knowing he can be heard if he wants to be.  Before last night he would have seen it as an unwelcome imposition, an invasion of his privacy.  Now it's something he thinks he might actually want.

The lounge door opens and, startled, he looks up to see Raven standing in the doorway, blue and naked.  He smiles at her, pleasantly surprised.

"I thought as you and Charles aren’t making an effort to hide who you are, why should I?"

He nods his approval. "Good girl."

She rocks her hips as she walks towards him.  "It's a shame though.  I was hoping you and I..."

He holds up a hand to stop her progress.  "I'm sorry, Raven.  You're a very attractive woman when you let yourself be yourself.  But your brother...."

Her shoulders sag slightly, but she takes it well enough.  "You can't blame a girl for trying.  I thought perhaps if it was just casual....  But it isn't, is it?"  He shakes his head.  "If you hurt him..."

"I won't."

"Be sure you don't or I will hurt you."

He thinks she's probably serious.

#

He's not avoiding Charles because he doesn't want to speak to him.  He's avoiding Charles because he isn't sure they can keep their hands off each other.  He doesn't know his schedule, but Moira seems to when she arrives mid-morning so he follows her to the bunker where Charles and Hank are working with Alex, but hangs back.  Charles probably knows he's there, and he tries to project the unusual peace within him even though he doesn't know if Charles can feel him or not.  He doesn't want the man to think this is anything but temporary while he gets his head together.

Moira gives Charles a morning peck on the cheek and Erik's jealousy flares suddenly.  Then he knows for sure that Charles can read him loud and clear, because he's suddenly surrounded by reassurance and warmth.  He backs off, leaves them to it, goes for a walk around the grounds.  None of this fits into the plans he's made over the years.  What he's feeling now for Charles is so far removed from the limit of what he's always believed himself capable of feeling that he can almost convince himself it’s not him.  Except that he knows it is.  Charles as a man is incapable of doing this purposely to another human being, Erik's certain of it.  He simply wouldn't use his power in such a way.  Besides, if he was going to mind-fuck someone into wanting him so badly, why the he'll would he chose someone like Erik?  Someone so badly damaged it’s akin to embracing a ticking time bomb.

Still, that's not how he's feeling this morning.  This morning, he's... happy.

He stops to realign the satellite dish with a single outstretched hand and a serene mind, then worries briefly what the dish is monitoring and puts it back as close as he can remember to its original position.

He's on his way back towards the house, an hour or so later, when he feels a pull.  He can't establish any emotion or motivation behind it and he starts to panic slightly, breaking into a run, following blind instinct until he finds himself standing in a study in front of a large mahogany desk, pulse racing, heart hammering. 

The door slams shut behind him and he turns, ready to fight, only to be pushed up against the wall with Charles trying to climb him like a tree snake.  He settles instantly, Charles at once apologising and calming his mind and he lets him, welcomes him in as he parts his lips and sucks on his tongue. 

I've wanted you from the moment I woke up.

He grins.  "I didn't want to distract you from their training."

"Fuck their training."  The sheer breathless need in Charles' tone, as well as his words, goes straight to Erik's cock.  He gets his hands underneath Charles' ass and lifts him, tilting his own hips forward to allow him to get his legs wrapped around his waist, ankles hooked together.  He's heavy for a short man but Erik thinks he can hold him.  He if can't, they're both going crashing to the carpeted floor. 

You won't let us fall, Charles assures him.  I have complete trust and faith in you.  Even as he's saying it, his fingers are digging between them and Erik assists without the use of his hands, lowering their zippers, letting Charles take out their cocks, feeling the shocking sensation of silken steel as they collide, held together in Charles' grip as he jerks them off together, his face buried in Erik's neck, teeth bared against his skin. 

ErikErikErik...

"God, Charles....  Oh God."  It’s all he can come up with, all he can say as he’s brought quickly to the edge of orgasm. 

I'm close, Erik, so close...

Charles' words in his mind send him over and he feels Charles' climax hit at the same time, sees his head tip back and hears him yelling, almost certain it's not just in his mind.

It's not, evidently, because ten seconds later, as Charles is sliding through his arms to the floor, there's a hammering on the wooden door and Sean's shouting to someone else that he heard Professor Xavier screaming.

There's a moment then, when everything seems to stop, and in the next it's all gone quiet, Sean's gone away and he and Charles are sitting on the carpet facing one another, cocks out, sticky and laughing.

"What just happened?"

"Sorry, my fault."

Erik can somehow feel his embarrassment at the noise he made, it's palpable, and it explains why Charles stopped everything for a second to catch his breath before sending the kids away assured that he was safe and sound on the other side of the door.  Feeling a surge of something strong and powerful, Erik wraps a hand around the back of Charles' neck and pulls him forward into an open, wet kiss.  They're in desperate need of a shower, but Charles doesn't seem to care so he can't possibly.  When he finally releases him, Charles sits back and for whatever reason, Erik notices his shirt for the first time.

"Have you seriously been wearing that all day?"  It's the same blue as his eyes, at least a half size too big like most of his clothes, top two buttons undone.  Seeing him sitting there on the floor on his ass looking even younger than his years, hair a mess, expression joyful, panting softly from the exertion, Erik just wants to consume him somehow, gather him close and keep him there.  To let Charles loose on the world seems dangerous and unfair.  "You're so fucking beautiful," he breathes, finding himself more than capable of saying it out loud today, and Charles looks at him as if he wants to say something in retaliation.  He doesn't though, biting back the words just in time, although Erik's got an idea of what they were.

"You should get back to your students," he murmurs, arm still bridging the gap between them, hand still caressing the back of Charles' neck.  He could take Charles back to bed, make love to him in increasingly inventive ways, and ignore everyone and everything.  Shaw's still there, in his thoughts, his continued existence a taunt, his death a necessity.  But his goal has lost its urgency, relegated to the back of his mind while Charles is everywhere, becoming everything. 

Charles, who hasn't made the slightest move to get up or even move away.

He tightens his hand for just a moment, squeezes gently and releases him.  "Go, Charles.  They need you just as much as I do."

"But I need you more than I need them."  It's a simple, frank admission and a spark of joy ignites inside him as Charles doesn't get to his feet, but shifts and rises to his knees to shuffle across the carpet until he's straddling Erik's thighs.  He puts his arms around Erik's neck, a breathtakingly innocent gesture, and leans down to kiss him in a far-from-innocent way.  Wrapping his arms tight around him, he pushes his tongue further into Charles' mouth. 

When they finally break apart, Charles drops his forehead to Erik's and takes a deep, steadying breath.  He’s finally realising that Charles is as off-balance from this as he is.

Long fingers comb through Erik's short hair and Charles closing his eyes when Erik tries to see up into his soul.  "I don't think I would make it if you left," he murmurs, almost too quiet to be heard, but Erik hears him.

"I'm not leaving, I won't leave.  We might have differing ideals, Charles, and we might have different solutions for things but I...."  He can't bring himself to say it.  "I won't leave."  He strokes his hands over Charles' back, down over his sides, muscles taut.  He's clinging, he knows, but he can't seem to let go.

So they stay together like that for a long time, until Erik can breathe a little easier and he finds it within himself to loosen his grip.  Charles stands up carefully and drops a hand to Erik to pull him up.

"Later?"

Erik nods.  "Later."

It's a few minutes after Charles has gone that Erik feels capable of leaving too, and of finding something more productive to do than sitting around thinking inappropriately adult thoughts loud enough to disturb Charles while he's tutoring the kids.

#

The rest of the day passes uneventfully.  Erik checks with Randal back at the CIA but there's no update on the Russians or on Shaw, so he takes a swim in the pool, goes for a run around the track and even tries his hand at a rusted basketball hoop he finds at the end of a court next to the overgrown football pitch, twisting it into varying shapes and forms until it shatters and sends rust chips flying everywhere.

Finally he takes a martini out to the front steps of the mansion to watch the sunset, letting Charles know where he is and that he's open to the idea of some company having spent the majority of the day alone.  He's made a decision too, a big one, something he needs and isn't going to be afraid to ask for.

He glances up as Charles comes to sit on the step beside him with a crystal tumbler of whisky in his hands and they enjoy the sunset together, in silence, watching the changing light fade away into darkness.  He can feel him at the edge of his thoughts, not probing, just touching like a brief caress before he moves away.  Erik reaches out and wraps his fingers gently around Charles' wrist.

"I want you to stay."

Charles turns to look at him with some surprise.  "I wasn't going anywhere."

"I mean in here," Erik taps two fingers to the side of his head. 

He's understandably confused.  "You want me in your head?"

"Is that so strange?"

"Frankly, yes.  In my experience people hate the idea that someone else can read their thoughts.  And you of all people..."

"I didn't mean..."  He releases Charles' wrist.  "I want...."  What does he want?  He thought he knew, thought he'd worked this out.  Someone with him at all times?  Isn't that the very last thing...?

Like this?

The words are nothing more than a whisper but they are crystal clear.  He can feel a light sheen of pressure over the surface of his mind, it’s not uncomfortable, it just is.  It’s something he thinks he can live with.

I can't read your thoughts, but if you think something deliberately in my direction, I'll hear you as if you're speaking directly into my ear.

He lets a couple of painful, violent memories pass through his mind, things that Charles will have no choice but to respond to if he sees them, careful not to react strongly to them himself, and Charles' regard doesn't change.  Then he concentrates on the place where he thinks Charles spoke to him from and thinks, 'you're the best thing to ever happen to me.'

Charles blushes, cheeks going red in the dim light from the house. 

The feeling is mutual my friend.

Erik smiles.  “Friend?  Last night it was lover.”

If you prefer lover...

'I do.'

“Then lover it is.”

fin
elfin