Summary: Erik has to ward off the advances of a drunken, handsy Charles, even though he doesn't really want to resist. Takes place during the infamous "First Class" road trip. Title comes from the Dresden Dolls' "My Alcoholic Friends."
Trying Hard Not To Be Ashamed
It doesn't take long for Erik to realize that Charles Xavier is a cheap drunk. They're on their mutant-finding road trip, stopped in a small town in the Midwest, Erik pleasantly soused at a hole-in-the-wall tavern and Charles slightly more inebriated next to him. In spite of Erik's half-hearted protests - Charles is paying for their drinks, after all - Charles seems to believe he can match Erik glass for glass, so Erik watches, bemused, as Charles becomes more and more deranged as the night drags on.
"See, metal manipulation is so ... it's so groovy, Erik. You can do so much with it. You have to have one of the grooviest mutations ever."
"I see," Erik says, trying to ignore how adorable and mussed Charles looks, the way his high accent slurs, his lopsided smile as he stares far too pointedly at Erik's profile. Then, suddenly, he can't ignore the fact that Charles is kind of pawing at his arm. "Charles ..."
"You're groovy," Charles insists. "I like that. I like groovy people, Erik." He swipes at Erik's slicked back hair and grins blearily. "And you're so pretty ..."
Erik calmly ducks out of the way and catches Charles' hand neatly in one of his. "I think you've had enough," he replies, nodding shortly at the collection of glasses sitting in front of the other man. In response, Charles burps and then giggles. "Come on," Erik insists, standing up and stretching his long legs. "Pay and then let's leave."
Charles smiles at him flirtily but obediently gets his wallet out, tossing some cash on the counter. "Where are we going?" he asks.
"Back to the hotel, so you can sleep this off," Erik responds.
Charles laughs outright. "I'm totally fine, Erik," he insists, and then he very nearly sinks to his knees as he stands wobbily. Erik lets Charles lean against him for a moment while the shorter man collects his bearings. "Mmm, Erik, you smell good," Charles tells him, and Erik sighs exasperatedly. Then Charles starts mouthing playfully - and mostly missing contact - along his collarbone, and Erik jumps backwards with a start. He sneaks a surreptitious glance around the tavern, and nobody seems to have noticed. Nonetheless, he glares down at Charles, who doesn't seem to realize the potential danger, and is now trying to wrap his arms around Erik's neck. Erik bats at Charles' hands with his own, eventually wrapping his fingers around them. "Your hands are so warm, Erik."
"It's time to go, Charles," Erik announces. He tugs at the other man's arm, but Charles seems resolute to stay put, for some reason. "Charles, really," Erik sighs, because he's not good at this whole being responsible for someone else thing, nor at having to put up boundaries to, for instance, keep someone from molesting him when really, he wouldn't mind pinning Charles to one of the mattresses in the two-bed room the CIA is paying for them to stay in and letting Charles touch his fill. Had Charles been sober, it would have been another story; on the other hand, as far as Erik knew, sober Charles had no sexual inclinations towards him at all.
Another tug at Charles' arm proves useless, and Erik is starting to get desperate. "Come on, Charles," he says, and he might be begging. Then it happens: 'Make me,' comes Charles' smug, mental rejoinder, and their gazes meet, and Erik's expression changes, the challenge now apparent in his gaze.
Charles seems to sense this, even through his veil of intoxication, "Erik, what ..." he begins, and then: "Erik, put me down! Put me down!"
"You won't come willingly, so this is what we're going to do now." Charles is heavier than he looks, but Erik manages to get him adjusted comfortably enough over his shoulder, Charles' arms splayed downwards, the backs of his knees hooked securely under Erik's arm. Erik steers them slowly yet steadily out of the tavern and up the street towards their motel room, and Charles burbles a little. "You've done this to yourself," Erik informs him and he sighs.
Once they arrive, Erik looks around quickly before using his mutation to unlock the door. Once they're safely inside, he deposits Charles on one of the beds and sighs with relief, absently rubbing the shoulder where Charles' warm weight no longer sits. "Bed, I think, Charles," he says to the other man, hoping that Charles won't make this any more awkward by needing help getting undressed.
Fortunately, Charles is still cognizant enough for this. He kicks off his loafers and shrugs out of his sweater, and then stops, transfixed as Erik toes off his own shoes. He's tugging his turtleneck up and off when he realizes, self-consciously, that Charles is drinking him in. He coughs and finds himself shifting away while he removes his pants, leaving his underwear on. When he turns back around, Charles seems to have reluctantly returned to removing his own clothing, the show clearly over.
Charles continues to watch Erik as he crosses the room, roughly tugging down the thin blankets on his own bed, preparing to sink into them and sleep off the increasing discomfort of the evening. "I'm cold," Erik hears Charles announce, and he looks over, and Charles grins at him. "But I'll bet with some body heat, I'll warm up in no time." In response, Erik balls up one of his own blankets and tosses it at Charles. "Oh, honestly," Charles protests, and Erik hears him shuffle. When he looks up again, Charles is standing next to his mattress, frowning down at him. "Erik, are you not attracted to me?" he demands, and Erik blinks a lot before trusting himself to answer.
"I ... Charles, I don't think this is a good idea."
"Why not?" Charles looks very petulant, and Erik has to resist the urge to smile. "I'm practically throwing myself at you; when you were carrying me, my cock was rubbing against you for ten minutes." He reaches down, and Erik worries that he's going to tug his underwear down, but he merely points at his crotch. "I'm still ready now, Erik," he husks.
Erik's mouth is dry. He closes his eyes and reopens them, and Charles is still there, looking peaked and a little bit hurt. "Charles, no. You should go to bed. This is already going to be awkward when you're sober tomorrow morning."
"I'm sober enough now," Charles slurs angrily, and his eyes narrow. He sinks into a squatting position on Erik's bed, and Erik stiffens. "I have loved you from the moment I felt you in the water that night," Charles tells him, his voice low and angry. "I have watched you dance around me for weeks, waiting for you to make the first move, because I know that when you've been with other people, you like to be in control." Erik doesn't mention how this has to be a blatant disregard for Charles' promise that he never reads the minds of people he knows, but Erik is too gobsmacked by Charles' breathy confession to point this out.
Suddenly, Charles is frighteningly close, his lean frame bent, his face hovering inches from Erik's. "I would do anything if you but asked," he hisses, and Erik swallows hard. "I would kiss you, I would let you fuck me up the ass; I would suck your dick ..." He watches how Erik's expression shutters and his own face shifts to accommodate a growing smile. "Oh, so that's what you want," Charles breathes. "Do you want me to suck you off, Erik?" He begins to duck his head, but Erik stops him, one hand clamping over Charles' mouth, the other cradling the back of his skull.
"Stop, Charles. Just, stop." Erik keeps his hands in place, and Charles doesn't struggle, merely blinks big, sad, blue eyes at him. "Your inhibitions are down," Erik continues. "I don't want anything to happen that you don't really want. You may think you want it now, but you can't be sure, and we still have to work together on this trip. I'd rather not have anything like this hanging over us."
Something about Erik's speech seems to take. Reluctantly, Charles nods, and Erik lets go of his head. They're silent for a moment, and then Charles frowns at him shyly. "Can I ... sleep with you? Not ... not like that," he says quickly when Erik balks. "Just, in your bed? I am still rather cold."
Erik considers. "Okay," he says at last. Charles smiles and walks around to the other side of the mattress, crawling under the covers. As an afterthought, Erik collects the blanket he'd tossed onto Charles' own bed earlier, and situates it across Charles' prone frame. "Better?" he asks, and risks running a hand over Charles' mop of brown hair.
"Yes." Charles' voice is soft now, repentant, sleepy. "Thank you, Erik."
"You're welcome." With a flick of his wrist, Erik shuts off the lamp between their beds and burrows down himself, Charles' back pressed against his with a pleasing amount of pressure. The other man is warm, and Erik has to admit that he doesn't mind sharing the bed. "Goodnight," he tells Charles, and Charles agrees, and then he's snoring lightly scant minutes later, and Erik uses the sound and the feel of Charles' deep, even breathing to lull himself to sleep.
Erik isn't sure what time it is when he wakes up again, thanks to thick shades shuttering the windows, blocking the potential sunlight from getting in. His throat dry, he licks his lips and yawns, starting to stretch, and that's when he realizes that he's not alone; that in fact, there is something large and warm obstructing the movement of his legs.
"Charles," he mumbles, and then he opens his eyes fully and props himself on his elbows. Sheepishly, the smaller man glances up at him; one hand is on Erik's morning wood, the other sliding up his thigh. "What are you doing?" Erik asks him softly.
Charles thinks a moment before responding. "Trying to wake you up with a blowjob so I can prove that I still want to pleasure you whilst sober, and also to attempt to minimize the embarrassment I feel after disclosing so much to you during my drunken ramblings last night," he says at last.
Erik's mouth quirks. He shakes his head and beckons Charles with a finger. "Come here," he says, and Charles releases his half-hearted erection and crawls up the bed, settling into Erik's proffered embrace. He worries his lower lip, and Erik can see that his expression is unsure. "Charles, Charles," he murmurs, and Charles ducks his head.
"You must think I'm awful."
Erik chuckles. "I think you're adorable," he says honestly. At this, Charles looks up at him again, his face hopeful. On impulse, Erik plants a kiss on his pliant lips, and Charles smiles. "Just wanted to make sure you remembered anything we did," he adds.
Charles beams at him. "I don't think I could ever forget you, Erik," he says. He cocks his head. "I'm not usually so ... awkward at this," he confesses, fidgeting. "But I do remember what I said to you last night. I do feel that way still, Erik." He pauses. "Do you? Did I misunderstand?"
Erik kisses him again; this time, it lasts for quite some time, Charles' tongue lapping against his. "You understood perfectly," Erik tells him when it ends, though Charles is still close, relaxing into the crook of his arm. "I want this too, Charles."
"Good." Charles breathes a sigh of relief. "God, I had a lot of gall last night, didn't I?" he laughs. "I mean, the pick-up lines are usually pretty awful, I suppose, but I don't often have to try so hard. I, you're different, Erik."
"I think this is a unique situation," Erik tells him. They kiss again, and then Charles is flush beneath him, right where he wants to be. "Just do me a favor," he adds. "Don't make me carry you out of a bar again. You weigh more than a dying sun."
"Deal," Charles breathes, and then they spend the day in bed, getting to know each other better.