sabinelagrande | Fic: Road Rash

Title: Road Rash
Summary: It's the guy he never slept with thing.
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Word Count: 2226
Rating/Contents: NC-17, angst
Pairing: Charles/Erik, Charles/OMC
Policies: Read my archiving, feedback, and warnings policies here.
A/N: Things that are a remix of every story in the fandom: this one.

There's something bothering Charles.

Let's be honest- Erik is bothering Charles.

Not sleeping with Erik is bothering Charles.

It's just that- well, "oversexed" is a word that has been used in anger against Charles before. It's mostly men, on the road, for the simple fact that they're easier to deal with; there's nothing quite like slowly seducing a beautiful woman, but there's also nothing like a back-alley blowjob from a very attractive man, and one is much, much faster than the other.

And it's not like Erik's a monk or anything. There are nights where he slips off with pretty girls, mornings when he staggers back to the room. Still and yet, that doesn't mean that Erik wouldn't mind if he knew that Charles wanted him. He's not so much concerned with Erik retaliating physically, because he could stop that if it came down to it; what he's worried about is Erik leaving entirely out of disgust or fear.

But then, a week later, Erik comes back to the room reeking of Brut and covered in beard burn, and after that Charles is just plain annoyed. If it's men that Erik wants, there's a perfectly good one stewing right across the room; he wouldn't even have to buy him a drink.

Except that's not it, not entirely. Charles's interest in Erik isn't strictly sexual- how could it be, when Erik is so smart, so powerful, such a good companion. Erik isn't a convenience; Erik is perfect for him.

And perfectly uninterested.

--

Charles meets a guy in a bar and forgets his name almost immediately. He could find it again, has done a dozen times, but Charles has had enough drinks that there's something appealing about not knowing, the luxury of letting it slide out of his head. A drink or two, some careful conversation and a little mental peeking on Charles's part, and they're headed into the bathroom in the back, the door locked firmly behind them.

The guy has a little thing of Vaseline, and he pushes it into Charles's hands, turning around and unbuckling his belt, letting his pants fall around his ankles. It's messy, but Charles finds it very hard to care about that as he's pressing his fingers inside, getting him nice and slick before very slowly driving into him.

"Oh god, Erik," he groans, and his eyes go wide just as soon as he realizes what he's just said.

He's just about to snatch it back, tweak the memory in his partner's head so that he doesn't get the absolute shit beaten out of him; before he can, the guy throws his head back and moans, "Fuck me hard, Anthony," and Charles sighs in relief. He gives it to him as hard as he can; he's painfully aware that he'll never be Anthony, not without a level of mental manipulation he's just not comfortable with, but he can at least give him this, let him shut his eyes and fill in the blanks.

When it's over, they part easily, straightening their clothes. "Hey," the guy says, as he turns to go. "Good luck with Erik, man."

Charles looks away, studiously examining the wall. "I certainly hope Anthony comes around."

When Charles looks back, he's smiling sadly. "Your lips to God's ears."

Charles doesn't watch as he goes.

--

Three days later, and Charles is at it again, another bar, another town; he's half drunk and halfway through a conversation with some other nameless gentleman, and all of a sudden he realizes how miserable he is.

"I'm sorry, terrible headache," he says, standing up, the man's hand sliding off his knee. "Let me get that for you," he says, setting enough money for their drinks on the bar.

When Charles makes it back to the hotel room, Erik is sitting up in bed reading a book, something heavy he bought in a secondhand shop three towns ago; he marks his place and sets it aside. "You're home early," he says, and as much as Charles would like him to be hot with jealousy, it's merely an observation.

Something in Charles that's barely been holding snaps. He tears his jacket off, throws it at the chair, pulls off his shirt and throws that too. He blindly kicks off his shoes as he stomps off towards the bed; then he's climbing onto it, climbing onto Erik, ending this once and for all.

Except that when he leans down, intending to kiss the hell out of Erik, he ends up with Erik's fingers on his lips. holding him back. "I'm not going to be your whore, Charles," Erik says, quietly but firmly.

Charles sits back on his haunches, sighing in frustration. "That's not what this is," he replies. "You must know-"

"Some of us aren't psychic," Erik tells him, and there's something gentle about it that Charles hates. "You're drunk. Go to sleep."

Charles is so incredibly fucking annoyed that he takes a pillow and sleeps in the bathtub, unwilling to even look at Erik's stupid face, suddenly sick of everything Erik, right down to the way he breathes.

He wakes up in the morning with a nasty crick in his neck; he's not hung over, not physically, but he wishes he were, so that he could blame his royal fuck up on too much liquor and not himself.

Erik is packing when Charles finally emerges, a pair of socks in his hands. "How did you sleep?" he asks, and there's nothing mocking about his tone.

"Quite well, thank you," Charles says, faking chipper.

"Listen," Erik says, putting his clothes away and not looking at Charles. "I didn't mean-"

"Let's forget about it, shall we?" he suggests, smiling widely to cover his discomfort.

"Of course," Erik says slowly, and Charles knows that it's not over, not by a long shot.

--

It's another week before it comes up again, just like Charles knew it would. This time, Charles is the one waiting in the hotel room; he tells himself that he's not sitting up until Erik gets back, but maybe he is, more than a little. It's been a while, more than he usually goes without at least making an effort to pick someone up; he doesn't care to examine what that means.

Charles has just stepped out of the shower when Erik comes in, smelling of smoke and cheap beer from the dingy bar they met the last mutant in, an interesting woman who could turn invisible and wanted nothing at all to do with them. Another girl caught Erik's eye; Charles didn't expect to see him back so early.

"No luck?" Charles asks, feeling a little mean, but even as he's saying it Erik is striding forward. Charles suddenly knows what's coming, without even looking into Erik's mind, but Erik is faster than him; before Charles can react, Erik crushes their mouths together, kissing him hungrily. Charles wants nothing more than to give in, let Erik kiss his objections away, but that's just not going to work. He needs more now, more than a quick fuck and a morning of denial.

Charles finally musters the strength to push him away. "And now I'm supposed to roll over for you just because you've suddenly decided-"

Erik takes his hands away, stepping back. "Never mind, then."

"Goddammit," Charles says, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead; when did he get so bad at this? "I shouldn't have-"

"No, I shouldn't have," Erik says coldly. He picks up his coat and the room key and just walks out, leaving Charles standing there, half hard and a little heartbroken.

Charles goes to sleep alone, but Erik is back and awake when he gets up. The silence that envelops the room is uncomfortable, to say the very least; they move past each other without touching, gathering toothbrushes and clothing, getting ready for another day.

"I don't think you're a whore," Charles says finally, when he can't stand it for another minute.

"I'm sorry I treated you like one," Erik says, cringing. "Charles, I-" He sighs in frustration. "We can't be involved, you and I, not like you are with all those men."

Charles has been dreading those words; at least now that they're out there, he can deal with the damage. "Well, then, I suppose-"

Erik catches him by the arm. "Because I wouldn't share you."

Charles throws up his hands. "Who said you needed to share? If you'd just realize, then we could-"

"Realize what, Charles?" Erik demands. "Use your words."

"Realize how much I care for you," he says. "Isn't it obvious?"

Erik snorts. "The way you chase after other people makes it less than manifest."

"I wouldn't need to if I had you," Charles says.

"If you so much as flirt with someone else, this is over," Erik warns, pulling Charles towards him.

"I'll be on my best behavior," Charles says sincerely.

"You'd better," Erik says, leaning in to kiss him. Charles's arms go around him immediately, bringing him in close and closer; now that he has him, he's never going to let him go.

"How much longer do we have the room?" Erik asks, when he can bear to part with him.

"Two hours," Charles says.

"It'll do," Erik replies, pushing Charles towards the bed. Charles ends up on his back, reaching a hand up and pulling Erik on top of him. He doesn't waste any time in pulling off Erik's shirt, their limbs tangling in their haste to get each other naked as quickly as possible. Charles wants to touch him everywhere, just has to feel every inch of his skin, memorize him. Erik leans down, taking his mouth again, and Charles gives as good as he gets, kissing him wildly.

They break away, panting. "I need you in me," Charles says breathlessly; for a terrifying moment he thinks he's gone too far, said the wrong thing, because Erik gets up immediately. But no, he's headed for his shaving kit, looking for something.

"If we could get some metal containers for your things-" Charles wonders aloud.

"You have no idea how much I wish I'd thought of that before now," Erik says, digging around until he finds the lotion, coming back with it. Charles spreads his legs in invitation, in relief that this is actually, finally happening and not going completely to pieces around them; Erik gets in between them, kissing Charles as he fumbles the bottle open, smearing the lotion over his fingers..His hands are gentle as he opens Charles up, and Charles is caught between wanting him to hurry it the hell up and wanting it to never stop.

Erik takes his fingers away and carefully pushes into him, and there is nothing in Charles's life that has ever felt better, in ways that have nothing to do with the spread of his body as he accepts Erik inside of him. He clutches at Erik's back, urging him down so that he can kiss him, needing to touch, connect.everywhere he can.

Erik pulls back and presses their foreheads together, looking Charles dead in the eyes, pinning him there; Charles can't look away, entranced by him, the dark, hungry look that's all over his face.

"No one's going to take you away from me," Erik says quietly, moving deeper inside of him, and Charles can only lean up and kiss him. He isn't going to last at all, not as long as he wants to. Two hours isn't going to be enough, not by a long shot, nor two weeks, nor two years. Forever isn't quite enough for him to be with Erik, writhing under him or walking beside him or however he can get him.

Erik slips a hand between them, wrapping his hand around Charles's cock, and Charles throws his head back, moaning as he comes, not exactly Erik's name but something like it; Erik bites his lip and shuts his eyes tight, pushing in harder, deeper, before he slams all the way home.

A moment, a lifetime later, Erik is still braced over him, still inside him, looking at Charles half in satisfaction and half in disbelief; he's dripping sweat onto Charles, but Charles doesn't even care. Charles is smiling like an idiot, and it doesn't matter, not when Erik mirrors his expression, bending to kiss him again.

Charles winces as Erik pulls out of him, but it's been completely worth it; his knees wobble slightly as Erik gives him a hand up, pulling him close again, kissing him like he can't get enough of it- and Charles hopes very much that he never does.

This entry was automagically crossposted from http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/350065.html.

comments over there.