Written for the Chatango Secret Santa 2012 exchange! My victim was the lovely wallhaditcoming.
With thanks to afrocurl for making sure that I am coherent.
This fic is the sequel to You Won't Need a Hero. If you haven't read it, I suggest you read that one before this one.
Part 2 of The Antiheroes series.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Some Kind of Neurosis
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Magneto executes Charles Xavier on a Sunday in front of no less than thirty witnesses, all of which who are too late to do a single thing as he pulls the hapless office worker apart from the inside out using the iron in his blood, leaving behind something unrecognizable.
He makes his escape just as the police are beginning to arrive and goes back home, where the real Charles Xavier waits for him, edgy and nervous but folding beautifully when Erik pins him down and fucks the life out of him, growling in his ear, "No turning back ever, now."
Charles squeezes his eyes shut as he clenches around Erik's cock. "I know."
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The night breeze is hot, welling up off pavement still warm from being baked in the sweltering heat all day even though it's been hours since sundown. It hardly seems to matter, as the city itself is lit up in a million different ways, so bright that it's no use even trying to look for stars.
Erik edges his way along the narrow ledge of a building, concentration split evenly between keeping his balance—easy enough—and listening to the tinny voice in his ear bud prattle on—getting harder by the second.
"—and I'm just saying that it's not exactly, well, normal," Charles says, and Erik wonders if Charles is actually a superhuman after all and possesses the ability of not ever needing to breathe, "because honestly, Erik—"
"What did I tell you," Erik growls, cutting him off as he carefully makes his way around the corner of the building. Why architects feel the need to get all fancy with the corners has always escaped him. Gargoyles have been outdated for a few hundred years now, Jesus Christ.
Charles huffs out a sigh so that the feed crackles with static loudly. "Only use Magneto when you're out."
"Good," Erik says pleasantly, putting one foot on the gargoyle's head to boost himself up, "now implement that and try again."
He can practically hear Charles' eyes roll. He's actually sort of surprised by how mouthy Charles has turned out to be. Back in the office, Charles had normally never been able to string out more than five words together in front of him, but now it seems that the gloves are off and Charles has a lot of things to say—about everything.
"—saying, honestly, Magneto," Charles is continuing, making sure to put extra emphasis on Erik's super villain name, "if we're being realistic, running around as a grown man in a cat suit robbing banks and calling yourself a super villain has to be a sign of some kind of neurosis. Or something."
Erik huffs out a breath of his own, considerably quieter and shorter than the one Charles had given, and barely resists rolling his own eyes as well. He lets his silence speak for itself as he concentrates on climbing up towards the next ledge of the building, and alright, architects are slowly redeeming themselves in his eyes because of the way they get all fancy on building corners. These gargoyle mouths make good hand- and footholds.
"I'm not asking you to tell me anything," Charles blurts out at last just as Erik has hoisted himself up onto the next ledge, "but Er—Magneto, you're not alone anymore."
Erik snorts as he uses his power to feel out the steel infrastructure of the building. Here is as good a spot as any. "Let's take a look in the mirror, shall we?" he says silkily, tendrils of his power sinking deeper into the inner workings of the building. "I'm running around in a cat suit robbing banks and calling myself a super villain, but you've allowed me to stage your death so that you can never again live a normal life, despite the fact that you're young and had a stable job, not to mention a sister. But here you are, allowing a man with 'some kind of neurosis' to fuck your brains out. What does that say about you, Charles?"
The sounds of Charles sputtering is distinctly cut off by the sounds of Erik adjusting the building's infrastructure, but he allows himself a sharp grin at what he can make out from Charles over the sound of metal shrieking and concrete crumbling. He hasn't moved it enough to cause the building to come down right away, but it's enough for it to be highly unstable and cause just the right amount of panic.
"You wouldn't have let me leave you even if I hadn't agreed to allow you to stage my death," Charles gets out at last, the first intelligible statement he's able to convey.
"No," Erik agrees calmly as he feels out some steel cable and rips it out of the side of the building like string. Still balancing on his ledge, he starts to coil it, his movements quick and practiced. He can already hear sirens headed this way.
"You can at least pretend to be sorry about it," Charles grumbles petulantly in his ear.
"I will never be sorry," Erik states matter-of-factly, "for the fact that you are mine."
Charles heaves out another long-suffering sigh, but Erik knows that's probably only to hide the fact that he's blushing madly.
Erik chuckles, low and self-assured, another smirk slipping briefly across his face at the shaky intake of breath Charles gives at the sound. He loops the end of his coil into a lasso, giving it a few experimental whirls overhead, and then tosses it across the street. He uses his power to guide the cable all the way across the wide gap, and make sure that it's secured on the other building's roof across the way. He takes the other end of the cable and drives it back into the concrete of the building it came from, pulling the wire taut between the two buildings.
Charles swallows audibly. "Police are nearly there."
Erik glances up the street. "I see them." Several patrol cars are screaming this way, lights flashing loudly as they weave through the busy traffic. Below him, people are pouring out of the building, peering up at it in fear, but none of them notice the thin cable stretching high above them.
Fools.
"If you're going to do this, get moving." Charles says tersely.
"I don't need to have you monitoring things," Erik says conversationally as he basically glides out across the wire. Eventually he hopes to be able to do this without needing any sort of metal beneath him and rely entirely on magnetic fields to lift him, but for now he uses the wire as a sort of focal point. "I've managed just fine on my own for quite awhile."
"No, let me," Charles says, suddenly urgent as Erik touches down onto the roof of the building. "I—if you don't—I can't—I have nothing else," he finishes wearily, his voice heavy in Erik's ear, "if you don't give me something to do, I think I'll go mad."
"You already are mad, Charles," Erik tells him gently, crossing over to the building's rooftop access door and easily snapping the lock. "But I'm not going to cut you off. You monitoring me allows me to monitor you."
"I'm not going to run," Charles says bleakly, "I swore, didn't I? It's not like I have anywhere to go."
"No," Erik affirms in a low rumble, because he's made sure of that, "you don't."
Charles sucks in another shaky breath and Erik chuckles again. He already knows exactly how to push Charles' buttons—to either piss him off or turn him on.
People are easy, once figured out.
"You're not getting cold feet on me, are you, Charles?" Erik murmurs as he steps inside. He feels out the circuitry of the security measures of the place.
Bank security systems have always been fairly straightforward to him.
"No," Charles says, and although his voice is slightly shaky, Erik knows better. Charles is fairly stubborn, and as it stands anyway, Erik's done enough manipulating that he has him all but firmly under his thumb. It's immensely gratifying. "I told you. I'm yours."
"Mine," Erik agrees as he stalks down the hallway. He shorts out the alarm, but leaves the cameras. He wants them to know it was him—he has his mask on, and it's not like they wouldn't already be able to guess. "Are you looking at the building?"
"Pulling it up now." Charles answers. "There are two security guards stationed in the lower levels."
"That's where the vault is," Erik acknowledges calmly, "but they'll easily be taken care of." He hears a small rustle, as if Charles has shivered.
Robbing a bank while half of the city's police force is literally right next door might not be the wisest idea in the world, but Erik's counting on the infrastructure he ruptured to keep them plenty busy while he carries out his heist right underneath their noses. It will also have the added effect of pissing off the police chief by once again being thwarted by Magneto, which always has adds a highly amusing factor to his inevitable success.
He makes his way down to the lower levels of the bank. Charles keeps him updated on everything going on outside, and everything seems to be going according to plan—the cops are all preoccupied with getting the building evacuated and blocking off the streets. There's a lot of clacking going on as far as Charles' keyboard is concerned but Erik's not worried. If it's keeping Charles busy, then it's fine.
He runs into the first security guard in the stairwell leading down to the vault, which isn't a surprise. The man barely has enough time to yell before Erik rips the hand railing off the wall and brains him with it, downing him instantly with a splatter of blood.
"Erik?" Charles asks intently.
"We've been over this, Charles," Erik answers calmly, stepping over the body. He bends and swipes the man's key card on his way, continuing down the stairs.
Charles snorts. "Apologies for being concerned, Magneto."
"You don't have to worry about me," Erik assures him matter-of-factly. He reaches the bottom of the stairs and swipes the card key against the mechanism on the wall, unlocking the door. He could potentially take care of it with his power, but why sit there and toy with it when he killed a man with easy access? Really.
"I can't help it," Charles admits as Erik steps into the outer room of the vault, "you're all I have."
"Ah," Erik answers idly as he makes short work of the second security guard, ripping the man's gun out of his hands and shooting him with it, "seeing as I made sure of that, you shouldn't worry. I'll take care of you."
"Yes," comes Charles' voice faintly through the earpiece.
Erik steps around his second kill of the evening towards the large vault door. It's closed and locked tightly, but Erik lifts his hands, accessing his power. It just requires the right amount of pressure, applied in the right amount of places…
He figures out the mechanisms of the lock and the door opens with a loud hiss after he trips the lock, swinging open wide. He steps forward into the vault, eyeing the neat rows of drawers lining the walls. They're all locked shut as well, but a wave of his hand has them clicking as they unlock and the drawers slide open, leaving their contents on display.
Erik's only interested in one drawer in particular, scanning along the careful labels until he finds the one he's looking for. Inside is a single slip of paper, rather dull and anticlimactic compared to the contents of some of the drawers, but Erik picks it up, skimming the carefully typed words. Satisfied, he folds it in half and tucks it away safely with a smirk. He's gotten what he's came for.
He leaves the rest of the compartments wide open—something else that is sure to irk the police—and steps back out of the vault.
"Stop right there!"
"Wait," Charles says in his ear, "is that—"
"Behold the mighty Shaman!" The Shaman is standing in the doorway to the stairwell, pointing dramatically at Erik. "I have come here to thwart your evil deeds, Magneto!"
"Jesus Christ," Charles mumbles, "his lines are awful."
Erik doesn't move, watching him warily. He's wondering how exactly the fucker even found him—
"I arrived at the scene of your crime across the street only minutes ago," the Shaman says, "and I noticed a cable running between the two buildings. It was only a matter of guesswork to put two and two together!"
Damn it, the cable. He'd left it in plain sight. Normally it wouldn't matter, because it'd take the cops ages to notice something like that while more concerned with getting everyone out of the building, but the Shaman has doggedly been on his trail for months now. It's nearly obsession.
"Thought you could outsmart me? Think again!" The Shaman takes a step into the room, still pointing at him. "It all ends here, Magneto! For I have come with divine purpose—vengeance!"
Erik stares at him. He usually has a silence-only policy, but with this guy he just can't help himself. "Vengeance for what?"
The Shaman's eyes narrow. "Charles Xavier."
Charles chokes.
Erik raises an eyebrow. "Is dead."
"Exactly, you fiend! You kidnapped him and then murdered him like the cold, remorseless criminal that you are. I have always been your sworn enemy, but this! This crime is beyond the realm of unacceptable!"
"Oh my god," Charles says.
"I've killed other people before," Erik says, nonplussed, "why suddenly—"
"I loved him!" The Shaman proclaims, loudly enough for his voice to echo around them. It's all very theatrical.
"WHAT?" Charles shrieks, and Erik has to hide a wince because Jesus, that was loud.
"Our time together was tragically short, because of you," the Shaman continues, and good lord, are those tears threatening to fall from his eyes, "but I know in my heart that we had an instant connection."
"Is he insane," Charles is still screeching into Erik's ear, "we knew each other for five minutes max—he nearly killed me—"
"But because of you, he has been stolen away from me," the Shaman continues, his voice dropping down low and Erik nearly wants to look around for the goddamn filming crew or something, "so hear me now, Magneto—I will avenge him so that his soul may rest in peace."
"Jesus Christ," Charles says, somewhat more composed now that he's done making Erik go deaf.
Erik is neither impressed nor amused by any part of this situation, so he decides to make it quick. "You want to know what I did to him before I slaughtered him?" he asks silkily, stalking forward slowly.
The Shaman's eyes grow comically wide. Someone get this man an Oscar.
Or a reality check.
"I took him. Repeatedly." Erik says softly, letting each word sink in. "And he loved. Every. Single. Second."
Charles gives a sharp intake of breath. "Erik."
Erik doesn't even bother to correct him, letting a smirk settle onto his face. "Charles," he purrs.
"No," the Shaman says, shock giving way to a thundery expression, "you're lying!" He punctuates the word with a clap of his hands, and Erik dives to the side as the superhero sets off an explosion.
Erik rips the vault door clear off the wall to shield himself from the blast, half-aware of Charles shouting at him through the feed, panicked, though it's coming through garbled because of all the interference. The explosion has barely died down when Erik feels his impromptu shield being ripped away from him and the Shaman gives a snarl as he flings the vault door back across the room with his bare hands.
Erik rolls to his feet, barely dodging a punch aimed his way that surely would have crushed his skull. He tries to get a grip on that stupid helmet with his powers but they slide off like water on glass—whatever the idiotic thing is made out of, it's not a material he can control.
The Shaman lunges at him again, and Erik gets out of the way. He's not about to let the superhero get his hands on him, not when the Shaman can cause explosions and lift vault doors like it's nothing. They circle each other like wolves for a moment, and Erik thinks about making a dash for the stairwell now that it's directly behind him, but that would put the Shaman at his back and increase his disadvantage even more. He needs something to keep the Shaman busy so that he can make his escape.
"Erik, Erik, say something," Charles is saying desperately into his ear, "are you alright, please—"
"I'm fine," Erik says coolly, and even though this is certainly not the time a part of him is deeply intrigued by the sound of Charles practically begging. He likes it.
"God," Charles rasps out, "get away from that psychopath, Erik."
The Shaman must have overheard Erik's answer because he draws himself up to his full height. He's sort of average—not short, but not exactly towering, either, so the effect is somewhat lost. "Not for long, worthless scum!" He claps his hands together.
A searing wall of heat blows Erik off his feet, straight into the stairwell. He hits the ground hard just as an alarm starts going off and the sprinkler system turns on, dousing everything—ah. The fire alarm. Of course.
It's also perfect. He scrambles up to his feet just in time to see the Shaman advancing towards him. "If I were you, I'd worry more about the contents of that vault, don't you think?" Erik nods back towards the open doorway behind the superhero. "Not really doing a good service to the citizens, are you?"
The Shaman lets out an ugly curse that would have all the newspapers in an uproar if they knew, whirling around instinctively back towards the vault to assess the damage done by their fight and now the water. Erik takes the opportunity to slam the door to the stairwell shut, fusing the lock mechanism in a matter of seconds, before he starts sprinting up the stairs. It won't hold someone like the Shaman back for long, but it'll give him the crucial few seconds—
He's already up two flights of stairs when he hears the door blow open again, the Shaman's shouts lost in the noise of the explosion and the sound of the alarm and Charles doing his own shouting in Erik's ear. The superhero is in hot pursuit but the damage is done and Erik has the head start that he needed, sprinting up the last few flights of stairs until he reaches the door to the main lobby, bursting through it.
He gives this door the same treatment, soldering the lock shut before taking off, vaulting over the bank's front desk and running across the expansive, fancy lobby. He feels out the metal door handle on the front doors to the bank and tugs, shattering the glass with a loud crash and jumping through the jagged remains, out onto the street.
Cop cars are everywhere, lights still flashing, but all of the police are still concentrated on the building across the street. Erik can hear more sirens approaching, though—the fire department is on its way. Before anyone can take notice, he slips away, ducking down an alley and fading into the night.
"Clean escape," he reports to Charles, keeping up a nice jog even though so far there are no signs of pursuit. He allows himself a satisfied smirk.
"Are you out of your bloody mind?" Charles hisses, sounding like he's torn between anger and relief.
"I'm going to cut the connection and take the long way back," Erik informs him calmly. There's no reason to not stay cautious, and in any event it'll give Charles plenty of time to stew. "I'll see you soon."
"Erik—"
Erik flicks the earpiece off. He can feel the slip of paper he'd stolen still tucked safely away, still dry despite the fact that he'd been soaked by the sprinklers, and he's done enough to piss off the combined police and fire departments, as well as the saintly Shaman himself. All in all, not bad for one night's work.
He won't take too long to get home, though. That's where the real prize waits, and Erik's always been a firm believer in rewarding himself for a job well done.
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It's still an ungodly early hour when he finally slips back inside his base, sauntering in casually. It's quiet, and the only light comes from the bright glow of one of the large computer screens along the wall in front of his console.
Charles is in the lone chair, leaned forward against the controls, his eyes shut as he sleeps. He must have attempted to wait up for him, Erik thinks as he stalks silently over to him, coming to a stop behind him. Charles is frowning slightly in his sleep, one cheek mashed up against the keyboard. He looks delicate and pale in the glow of the screen.
The only thing he's wearing is one of Erik's crisp white button-ups, only half of the buttons done.
Erik steps back into the deeper shadows of his base, placing his stolen slip of paper carefully in a safe of his own, impenetrable save for his own powers. That's a matter that can be looked into later. He peels his cat suit down, stepping out of the clingy material and leaving it in a pile on the floor to be collected eventually.
He pads back over to Charles, who still sleeps—dangerous, to be so unaware of his surroundings. Erik will have to teach him.
Erik takes his mask off, weighing it in his hand for a moment. He'd made it himself out of a thin, lightweight metal that feels more comforting to him on his face than any kind of fabric. It's a small matter, now, to direct the metal to fill in the eyeholes, turning the mask into a blindfold.
"Charles," he murmurs in his ear as he leans over him, slipping the blindfold over the sleeping man's eyes, "I'm back."
"Erik?" Charles asks sleepily, sitting up. "What—"
Erik lets the metal flow, fusing the ends of the blindfold together and letting it mold to Charles' face. It's not tight enough to hurt, but Charles certainly won't be able to get it off on his own. Perfect.
"Stand up."
Charles' breath catches but he obeys, climbing up from where he'd been curled in the chair. He stumbles a little, clumsy in his barely-awake state, but Erik catches him with two large hands on Charles' sturdy shoulders.
"If I were an enemy," Erik says idly as he steers Charles away from the console into a little bit more open space, "you'd already be dead."
"Pretty poor base you have, if you think your enemies can break in here," Charles answers, more awake now.
Erik makes a small considering noise as he lets go of Charles. Charles stays still where he is, standing in the middle of the floor. Erik circles him slowly, his eyes trailing up and down Charles' lithe body. The shirt leaves little to Erik's imagination, as it's not very long on Charles and leaves his thighs and ass fully exposed and on display. "Maybe I'll kill you anyway."
Charles swallows, throat working beautifully, but his voice remains confident. "You want me too much to kill me."
Erik comes to a stop in front of him again. He can see Charles' cock already standing up, lifting the front of his shirt. "Eager, are we?" He lifts a hand, silently calling over one of the numerous chunks of metal he always keeps on hand.
"Erik." Charles swallows again, his back straight and stiff. "Please."
"Take your shirt off," Erik says in a low voice, and when Charles' fingers fly up to the buttons and begin fumbling with them, he adds warningly, "slowly."
Charles can't help the small, desperate sound that slips out but his fingers slow obediently, and Erik watches with hooded eyes as he carefully undoes each button one by one. In midair, Erik's chunk of metal divides neatly in two, swirling as he flattens out each piece into sheets.
Charles shrugs one shoulder at a time out of the shirt, and then finally the fabric is sliding down off of him entirely to pile limply on the floor. Erik takes a moment to appreciate him, standing stark naked save for the blindfold covering his eyes. Charles is tense, waiting, but he does not move.
"Arms out in front of you," Erik says, and it's a struggle to keep his voice even. He's just as hard as Charles is now.
Charles lifts his arms, holding them out in front of himself parallel to the ground, and Erik could nearly get off on Charles' blind trust and obedience alone. "What are you—oh," Charles' voice catches as Erik directs each sheet of metal to wind around his forearms.
Erik eyes his work critically. Charles now wears long, fitted cuffs that are smooth and sleek against his skin, fused shut seamlessly just like the blindfold. He still has movement in his wrists and elbows, but beyond that Erik's metal covers both of his forearms entirely.
"A good look for you, Charles," he says silkily, and Charles shivers. Erik tugs experimentally on the cuffs with his powers. Charles instinctively tenses and then goes immediately limp when Erik lets out a growl, allowing Erik to reposition his arms, pulling them back behind his body. Erik pauses, considering, and then fuses the cuffs together, locking Charles into place.
"Erik," Charles says shakily, and Erik drinks in the sight of his heavy arousal—he has a whole-body flush that runs from his cheeks and neck down his chest, and his cock is already wet and leaking. He can feel Charles shifting against the metal, testing the strength of Erik's hold.
Erik pulls down sharply on the cuffs, and Charles gives a muffled gasp as he's forced down to his knees. Erik glides up to him, sinking both his hands into Charles' lush hair and turning his head so that Charles' cheek brushes against his cock, leaving a smear of precum.
"Only I get to see you like this," Erik growls, pressing the head of his cock against Charles' lips, "you are mine. Suck me."
Charles parts his lips with a moan and Erik slides forward into the wet heat of his mouth, groaning as Charles swallows him inch by inch. Charles laves his tongue as much as he can against the underside of Erik's cock until his mouth is too full, his red lips stretched wide in a wet, round circle around Erik's length.
"You look perfect like this, Charles," Erik whispers, and it's true; bound and blinded by metal, gagged by Erik's cock—Charles is the picture of perfection. Erik rolls his hips forward, slowly at first before steadily picking up speed as he begins to fuck Charles' face.
He keeps his grip tightly in Charles' hair now, thrusting forward into Charles' mouth. Charles moans around him, the vibrations nearly making Erik's toes curl as a moment later Charles begins to suck hard, taking Erik's cock so deeply that Erik feels himself hit the back of Charles' throat.
Erik keeps up his brutal pace, and he can feel a building curl of heat rising inside him as he approaches climax. He's long since lost his bid on silence, filling the air with breathy groans and the wet noises of his cock sliding in and out of Charles' mouth. Just as he feels himself tipping over the edge he pulls all the way out, coming with a shout and splattering all across Charles' face, painting his skin and the metal of the blindfold with sticky white.
Some of Erik's come lands in Charles' open mouth when Charles lets out a breathless gasp as he follows Erik's orgasm, coming untouched at Erik's feet. For a moment all either of them can do is breathe, panting harshly as they come back down from their mutual high.
Erik's hands are still fisted in Charles' hair, and he slowly brings one down to tilt Charles' chin up, so that Charles would be looking up at him if it weren't for the blindfold. Erik likes the sight of his come across Charles' face. It's like a marking or a brand—another sign that Charles is his.
Charles licks his lips slowly, licking the come away from the edges of his mouth and Erik is mesmerized by the sight. "The Shaman can't have me," he says, voice hoarse, "I'm yours."
Erik lets out a low rumble at the superhero's name, a white-hot flash of rage at the thought of anyone besides himself looking at Charles, let alone touching him, having him. Charles leans forward, tilting his chin down to rest his forehead against Erik's thigh, staying on his knees even though they must be aching by now.
Erik calms, dragging his fingers slowly through Charles' hair. "I'll take the blindfold off eventually," he tells him, "but the cuffs stay."
Charles lets out a breath, and Erik feels him flexing his arms against the metal. "I know."