Charles and Andrew wandered drunk around the mansion for several hours—giggling and sipping Andrew's famous martinis—before they found themselves outside. Realizing their proximity to his pool, Charles suggested lounging by the water. Unbeknownst to Charles or Andrew, Erik had followed behind them all night; making sure the dangerously drunk Charles stayed out of harm's way. After several minutes of garbled conversation Andrew convinced Charles to shed everything except his undergarments, and soon the two were splashing around in the pool. Erik sat in the darkest corner of the trees watching Charles' gleaming body as it moved around the pool. The telepath's muscles were strained against his skin; he looked absolutely fantastic. Erik was so mesmerized by the sight in front of him that he hardly noticed when sleep overtook him.
Erik had always known he was in love with Charles; ever since the moment the younger man had saved him from drowning in the ocean. Even knowing that Charles was still only nineteen at the time, and he was twenty three, he couldn't help himself. For weeks he had lusted after Charles' beautiful brown locks and innocently doe-like eyes. But, no matter how much Erik wanted—needed—Charles, he had never let himself overtake the brilliant professor. Rather, he spent his nights silently jerking himself to the image of Charles wriggling beneath his sweat-soaked body. He eyes Charles every time they were in the same room, and tried to hide his growing erections every time they played their games of chess. Erik knew that eventually he would find himself overcome with Charles, but for now—as long as the telepath kept his promise and never read the metal benders mind—everything would remain friendly.
Erik woke up with an uncomfortable crick in his back, and soreness in his neck; but he jumped up, realizing he had lost Charles. His mind was whirling—where were the two men? He didn't want to call out to Charles, knowing his spying would be discovered, but the poor man could be in trouble. Erik began to run around the grounds, and finding nothing, started his way through the mansion.
Charles knew he was drunk, and knew he shouldn't swim, but he didn't want to disappoint Andrew. No matter how many times he apologized, he knew that he would always feel guilty for leaving his only friend after a few stray thoughts. The stray thoughts had scared and haunted Charles at the time… but they were only thoughts, not like what that other boy had done to him. He shuddered violently—he had never told another living soul about what had happened to him, and he never would. The splitting pain, and the degrading embarrassment he suffered for years after, always managed to make him blush with anger and weakness. How could he have let someone use him that way? Admittedly, at the time Charles had been unaware of his ability to control other's actions with his mind… but still. Suddenly, Charles came back to the present and realized Andrew was asking him to come out of the pool. Charles, again not wanting to upset Andrew, followed him from the pool and back to the mansion; not even speaking up when they dripped chlorine water all along the hallway carpets.
Charles brought Andrew to his study; not wanting to wake any of the sleeping students by going to the sleeping wing of the house. He lit a fire, and soon he and Andrew were sitting on the rug in front of the fire—drying themselves in the warmth. Soon the younger man began to doze, unaware of the eyes on his almost naked body. Charles, who had pledged to not read the minds of his friends unless they permitted him, did not wish to intrude into Andrew's thoughts. This was the biggest mistake he had made in all of his life.
As his eyes were fluttering closed Charles suddenly felt a weight on his back. His eyes flashed open and he came to the horrid realization that he was being lifted off of the ground, and then, with no warning, he found himself sprawled over the edge of his desk. He began to yelp and shout, but before he could make any real noise found his boxers torn off and jammed into his mouth. Silent tears were rolling down his eyes and he let his mental blocks down and read Andrew's mind.
I never thought I'd see him like this—so beautiful. God, he's even bigger than I'd imagined. Beautiful, beautiful boy. Fuck, he's probably not even close to a virgin anymore. Sure he's a virgin where it counts though. God… he's so delicious. This time I'm not even in class; but he should've known better than to be so innocent looking all the time. There's nothing that can stop me now. Dumb drunk fuck won't even realize what's happening. But, hell—he deserves it. He's the one that left me with no fucking explanation. This can be his real apology.
Charles, who had been utterly and morbidly engrossed in his former-teacher's mind, hadn't noticed as assaulting kisses and licks were placed roughly along his neck and jawline. He closed his eyes and tried to control Mr. Norton, but the alcohol had managed to dull his powers, and they were nothing compared to the hard-set objectives of the older man's mind. Struggling and groaning, Charles suddenly felt a finger prodding at his entrance; he stiffened his entire body and began to whimper foolishly. He knew he must look quite childish—whimpering and flailing his arms while tears poured down his face—but it didn't matter anymore, he just wanted this to stop. He begged through his gag, and he tried grabbing Mr. Norton's hand away from him, but all this resulted in was a cruel slap across his face, that left his ears ringing and his cheek stinging. This didn't dull his fight though, he managed to squirm from his position, and remove the painfully intruding finger. Suddenly on the floor, Charles managed to crawl towards the door, but not before a foot agonizingly connected with his side, and he was pulled onto his knees by a hand entangled in his hair.
The gag was yanked from between his teeth, but only to be replaced by something much larger—something pulsating and vile. He was commanded to suck, and told if he tried anything funny he'd not wake up in a hospital, because he wouldn't be waking up at all. Tears still streaming, Charles began to pleasure his former teacher; a man he began to believe was his friend. He timidly, being completely virgin in the area of blowing men, licked along the sides of the member, only to be kneed in the chest and told to move more quickly. Obviously, Andrew soon realized, this was futile, so he had to take over. Using Charles' hair, he controlled the mouth as he rammed into it over and over again. Finally spewing his seed into the young man, he commanded it all be swallowed. One drop outside of his mouth would result in pain.
Charles was panting on his knees—praying that his cruel torture was finally over—but soon he came to the realization that it had only just begun.
Guess I'm gonna have to teach him a thing or two. But god he could bloody make a man come just sitting there with his hair all messy and his lips that red color like he just wants to take more cock. God, that boy. Well, I guess he's not a boy anymore, now is he. Twenty years old, ripe for the picking.
Begging, while he still had use of his mouth, Charles promised that he would never tell a soul if it all ended now. He was sobbing and heaving; he was a sorry sight even for Andrew. But, none of that mattered now, because this would probably be the last time he saw the young genius, and he wanted to use it to his fullest extent. Soon Charles was thrown over the desk, as he had been before, and was being prodded at by dry and calloused fingers. A mantra of please stop sung through the room, but Andrew just shoved his three fingers into Charles' mouth and collected what saliva there was to collect. Then, each more painful than the last, fingers were shoved inside Charles' screaming entrance.
All Charles could think about was the boy who had raped him in the high school showers. That boy had been a stranger—someone he'd never talked with. He could handle believing the boy was cruel and had no heart; the boy could be anyone he wanted. That boy had hurt, but he had begun to heal. Andrew—Mr. Norton—was a kind and intelligent man. Mr. Norton taught children for a living. Mr. Norton knew the laws, he knew what he was doing, and he had planned what he was doing. Charles' chest began to constrict, and his breathing was coming in short raspy turns. All of this made it even more painful when a sudden thrust managed to rip his body in half. He shrieked as loudly as he could, but between his panting and his begging his voice had become unhappily quiet—Charles didn't think the shout could be heard even a few rooms away, let alone on the other side of the house.
For seven agonizingly long minutes, Charles was pounded into and slapped. He was licked and sucked along his back, and he was jerked from behind. The tears were constantly flowing and he couldn't help the small begs and whimpers. Only when he moaned from pleasure did the small begs become more insistent. He didn't want this to feel good. He didn't want to be thrusting backwards. It was involuntary! Couldn't Andrew—Mr. Norton— see that? Finding new life, the young professor began to struggle wildly; shouting and elbowing behind himself.
Erik heard a scream. It hadn't been loud, but it had been enough. His legs were pumping angrily and his jaw was set tight; he couldn't let exhaustion take over, this was Charles in trouble. Finally, when approaching the study, he stopped in his tracks. What he heard then was devastating. Shouts and muffled begging; all in the voice of one Charles Xavier. His feet were in concrete, but his arms slammed the door open. Erik fell face-first into the room and looked up to see his beloved Professor shoved up against his own desk, crying and whimpering, while Andrew slapped him around and, within seconds, came furiously inside him. That was his breaking point.
Erik jumped up from the floor and grabbed Andrew by the neck—throwing him across the room and onto the cold marble of the window sill. He felt metal in the man's teeth and began to pull them from his head—causing as much pain as he could while removing them. The resulting screams of pain were the most magnificent noises Erik had heard. But he didn't want his power to be the only cause of discomfort; Erik shot across the room and began to beat Andrew with all of his force. A punch to the nose. A kick to the side. Elbowing his ribs. Kneeing his groin. Stepping on his toes. Crunching his fingers. He didn't stop until he was satisfied with the results; and unconscious and bleeding piece of pulp. Andrew was hardly discernable.
Charles, now completely sober, ran up to his savior and began to cry. Up until this point he had been recovering on the floor, but now all he needed was someone to hold him without wanting to cause him pain. He needed his friend. But, in his weakness he allowed his mind to travel up to Erik's.
Son of a bitch bastard trying to hurt Charles. My Charles. God, how can someone do this to him? He's so fragile and delicate; he needs someone to ease him into things like this. How could that jack-ass even imagine touching Charles without care? He's so gentle, so beautiful; he needs affection. I can't believe I let this happen!
Erik was pulled from his thoughts and the younger man when Charles' face went white and he started to back away. Turning, with a confused look painted across his face, Erik asked Charles what was wrong. All Charles could answer were three short and shaky words before he ran off. Not you too.
A/N- Okay so I'm sorry I didn't update this for awhile… I'm kinda slow when I start writing, sorry!
So I'd realllly like some reviews, and you can private message me if you have any ideas. I'm planning on making this three-five chapters, so if I can get enough ideas! Hint hint! But anywho—I'm hoping you've all been enjoying it! Thanks for all the story-subscriptions. 3
And please tell me if I'm doing Erik and Charles right? Do they seem like them? Gah!
**Oh and I made Charles twenty and Erik twenty four. So yay!
Next chapter like… soon ish…