All's fair in love and war... Unless you're Charles
It wasn't fair.
He felt like one of the children, thinking in terms like this, but it was true.
It simply wasn't fair.
With a dangerous gleam in his eye, the man moved closer to him. Charles felt desperate, trapped, like Erik was doing something far more dangerous that existing in his personal space.
He was sure that his heart was beating fast enough to power an electrical appliance. A refrigerator perhaps... Maybe a car if he changed his metaphor to a gasoline based one. Hmm...
Gah! This was no time for frivolous thoughts. The telepath gave his dark head a shake. His heart was beating fast enough to be uncomfortable, that was the absolute fact.
"Something the matter?"
If Charles were in charge of evolution, he didn't think that it would have occurred to him to create a voice like that. Smooth, but rough, with slight guttural traces, like everything Erik said had something wild about it.
Truly, it was ridiculous to hear him talk about the weather or chores; that voice of his made the most mundane things sound exciting. Thrilling. Sinful. Charles definitely wouldn't have thought to make a man sound that way.
The uncomfortable professor cleared his throat.
"No, no, nothing. Having a bit of a tic. Neck spasm."
Now his voice, by contrast, was small and weak. Rabitty. But also stodgy sounding like the mahogany lined walls of his step-father's home. He could talk about the most wondrous things – today, a boy flew, using only his voice! – and still, it would be horribly dull. Nothing in his voice could raise the hackles on the back of some else's neck or speed the pump of blood through their heart.
"Don't neglect yourself, Charles. Here, let me have a look."
Erik stepped back from where he had been reaching past the professor up to a leather-bound book on the tall shelf behind him. Dust swirled through the library air, carrying the smell of old paper and ink.
Stronger than this though, was the smell of Erik, the mansion's rose soap on his skin mixed with the crisp scent that was always with him, like laundered sheets snapping in the wind on the lawn. It was heaven. It was hell. When calloused fingers brushed against the back of Charles' neck, probing, everything was only intensified.
Involuntarily, Charles sucked in a sharp breath. The fingers paused, lingering at the spot and began an even, firm stroke.
"Here?"
"Yes. It's fine though, really. I'm fine."
"Hmm… I don't know that I trust your definition of fine. This knot's the size of a .3 caliber bullet."
He snorted. Trust Erik to bring up bullets in the same breath as concern.
The edge of the other man's short clipped fingernail brushed the professor's sensitive skin and suddenly, amusement was the furthest thing from his mind. From his throat escaped the strangest sound. It was low but also breathy. And thoroughly mortifying.
Cheeks ablaze, he stepped back from Erik. "You'll just have to trust me. I'm completely fine." He looked wildly around, not meeting those God damned, dream haunting eyes.
"Are you sure of that?"
Charles had never heard that voice sound so silky. He was reminded of a sleek panther he'd seen one summer at the zoo.
And now Erik seemed much closer as well. He could practically feel the heat rolling off of him and his scent overwhelmed that of the library. Charles took an involuntary step back, beginning to panic. The other mutant moved with him.
Frantic, Charles reached out to his mind, but found nothing helpful there. Erik was a block of calm determination. What was he determined about though?
Erik? It's alright, really. He called out, searching for a mental response. He received none.
His back brushed up against something hard, and Charles realized he'd moved straight back into the bookcase. Erik stopped with barely inches separating them.
"Methinks the lady doth protest too much, Professor. Now stay still."
Then he closed the gap, stepping a little to the side as he came forward, so that his shoulder rested in the middle of Charles' chest. His face was right alongside his, but tilted, so that he had a better view of the back of the professor's neck. Erik's arms wrapped around him, like an embrace, and his fingers skimmed up and down in the space between his end of his hair and the top of his collar.
Charles' treacherous throat uttered another one of those accursed sounds.
"See," whispered the German voice, "I'm not even touching the same spot. It's spreading."
"Spreading? There wasn't anything there to begin with," the professor protested weakly.
The long fingers continued their caress, uncaring, while Charles' mind raced. What on Earth was Erik doing?
Didn't he realize that this was a pretty sexually charged position? Even if (here, the professor's stomach lurched) he didn't mean for it to be?
Charles was one second from throwing himself from Erik's horrible, terrible, attractive, salivation-worthy arms and making apologies for it later, when a most shocking epiphany came upon him.
What if Erik did realize this was a compromising position? What if he did mean for it to be?
The already uncomfortable pace of his heart doubled. Charles hardly dared to believe it.
Erik was not an innocent, not by any stretch of the imagination, but there were certain ways in which he was inexperienced. Sex was one of them. (Not because the telepath had been looking – just because he'd seen all of Erik's mind when he was drowning.)
Charles forced his mind to let go of the limitations he'd been mentally imposing on himself when he thought about his friend and rapidly ran through their time together. When he looked back, without telling himself all of the little things that he used to temper his pulse-pounding recollections with logic like, "This incident meant nothing," or "Of course our thighs touched, we were next to each other at dinner," he found a startling pattern.
Long looks, unnecessary touching, strangely worded sentences, and unfinished thoughts. Classic signs of attraction.
All along, he'd thought it was only he who felt this way. But maybe he was wrong. It was worth it to him to find out.
After all, now that he'd dropped his blinders, Charles realized he was standing in a textbook example of "Seduction in the Library."
It was a little bit dangerous, with his back against the wall.
A little bit silly, with dust winking up into his nose, and the feel of teenage desperation.
A little bit naïve, with Erik's smooth fingers pausing, unsure.
A little bit (okay, lot a bit) sexy, with the other mutant all up against him.
It was so many things, but mostly, it was Erik.
Erik trying to tell him something that he had long wanted to hear.
The professor decided that as the more experienced participant, it was his duty to hasten this along.
"You know, I think you're right. It is spreading."
The man turned his head quickly, making eye contact with Charles. Worry painted his features.
"Really? To where?"
Charles reached behind him and entangled his hand with the German's. Slowly, he guided their joined digits around his neck and across his face. The brush of Erik's skin against his sensitive facial nerves was almost enough to undo him. Their palms slid across the light stubble on his cheek and came to rest at his mouth.
"To here," the professor whispered, the hot air escaping from his lips warming the tips of Erik's fingers.
Surprise flickered on the other man's face, but it was instantly replaced by a look that the professor couldn't exactly describe. Like he was hungry, but also afraid to eat. Charles began to doubt his boldness. He should let Erik be in control.
He dropped their hands, letting the moment go. "It'll be alright though. What book were you lo- ummmph!"
Before Charles could move away, Erik arrested him with an undeniable statement of intent.
It was issued from his mouth, but not with words.
A kiss.
The telepath was overwhelmed by senses, both his own and not.
Beautiful.
Wonderful. A little rough. The outline of Erik's teeth against his lips. The smell of linen blowing in the wind.
A scent like peppermint and freshly clipped grass. Sandalwood. A mouth that he actually wanted.
Tripping onto a convenient couch. Both of them doing too much, but still, not enough. They pressed closer together.
Strange. Unsure. Too good. The desire to rip off that ridiculous sweater that pretended to be demure when it was nothing of the sort.
Charles hand tangled into that unruffled hair, marking it. They were clumsy. Inelegant. It was perfect.
When he could no longer go without oxygen, the professor pulled back a little, taking in air through his wet, parted lips. He looked down at Erik, who'd ended up on the cushions below him.
"You have very interesting methods of cure, sir."
"I cannot be held liable for the things that your voice cajoles me to do. Is that another mutation of yours?"
Green eyes, pupils larger than normal, gazed up at him, putting a flush to his cheeks. Impatient, the long hands firmly pulled his head back down and their lips joined again.
And suddenly, when they touched, Charles, a minor Casanova, found that he was on equal footing experience-wise, with the Sir Galahad-like Erik Lehnsherr.
Because, you see, never before had he been in love.
Hello! This is the sexy one-shot to go with my story, Ebb and Flow, in celebration of reaching 200 reviews! Whoot whoot! Slash party up in here.
Hopefully you've enjoyed what I've brought for the party. I know I've been loving your contributions. :)
Tell me what you think!