Charles was not a lover of the coast, although, as with most things, he was able to see the beauty in it. The French town was small (less chance of meeting holidaying acquaintances) and made up of low granite cottages squatting around the harbour walls. From the window of the room they had rented (they'd actually taken two rooms for appearance's sake, besides, Charles wasn't sure he was ready to share a bed with the man just yet) a thin stretch of sand was visible where it met the surprisingly bright blue waters. He was wondering if Erik might take a walk there later, when the man in question knocked on his door.
"Get changed Charles, we're going out."
This caught him by surprise. "We've just arrived."
Erik smiled, the smile Charles noticed was on the man's face more and more frequently. "I want to get there before dark."
"Alright."
With a bow, Erik left, leaving Charles to get ready, and once again wonder what the hell he had gotten himself into.
Two hours later, light was starting to go from the sky as the carriage drew into a larger town a fair distance inland.
Drawing on any dregs of schoolboy French he could, Charles had guessed that Erik had informed the inn's owner that they were brothers, headed to a family function a few towns away, and wouldn't be back until late that night. The fact that he had then spent the majority of the journey kissing Charles' neck made their false identities even more morally questionable.
As a result, Charles was a little flustered – despite Erik appearing as straight-backed and composed as ever – when the carriage halted in the town square. Erik paid the driver, and arranged for him to pick them up later on. He led Charles down pretty side-streets that he would have loved to look closer at, if Erik hadn't been in such a hurry. Despite Charles' questioning, and only half joking threats that he'd look into his mind, Erik refused to say where they were going, only that it was a place a friend of his had suggested. They stopped outside a large but mis-matched looking building at the end of a street, with any number of small balconies, doors, and windows. Charles thought it looked awfully quiet, and a bit, well... suspect, for lack of a better word.
"Good evening sirs," a dark-skinned man holding a fine cane stepped from the shadowed doorframe, "shall I open the gate for you?"
"Thank you, but the gate is already open," Erik replied, not missing a beat.
The man tipped his hat, smiling, and stepped aside. Charles still hadn't quite processed this strange exchange as he followed Erik through the door.
They were met with an empty hallway, explaining why it seemed so quiet from outside. The illusion didn't last; they pushed open another door into a smoky pub filled with cheerful chatter, dark wood and over-stuffed furniture. It smelt a strange mix of beer and perfume, which Charles credited to the group of heavily made-up women at the bar. He felt out of place – at least with the unpleasant society at home, he knew what to expect. To calm himself, he let his mind wander, touching the minds of those around him. He was met with the pleasant thrum of contentment, a hazy fuzz of too much drink, and a faint spark of want.
"A drink, Charles?" He jumped at Erik's hand on his elbow.
"Yes, thank you." He needed one.
"What can I get you?"
"You know, I honestly have no idea."
"Allow me to make that choice easier for you boys." A large man smelling strongly of smoke stepped up behind the bar. "Beer, red wine, or brandy. We like to keep things simple."
"In that case, two wines. " Erik ordered for them. "Are you Logan, by any chance?"
The bartender's face hardened. "Who wants to know?"
"A friend who recommended this place mentioned you, that is all. I'm Erik Lehnsherr."
"Charles Xavier."
"Go fuck yourselves." With a sharp smile suggesting he was not entirely serious, the man placed their drinks on the bar with a flourish before stalking over to the women.
Erik only grinned at his abrupt reply as he led Charles to a small table in the corner, sitting opposite him. "So, care to take a guess at where I've brought you Charles?"
He shrugged. "I don't know. It seems an ordinary pub to me."
"Take a look around."
He did: there was the bar, the questionably mannered barman, the women, and the rest of the patrons, drinking and talking as in any pub. "I'm afraid I don't see anything out of the ordinary, my friend."
"Dear God, Charles," Erik rolled his eyes, "for all your gifts, you can be remarkably slow." Charles made to retort, but Erik cut him off. "Look again. Look at the tables."
Still annoyed at being called slow, he did so. There was a large table in the corner with a group of men, one with just two men, one with three men, another with just two, and they were sitting very close together... "Oh good Lord."
"The penny has dropped, I see."
"But it can't be, there's women at the bar."
"For the love of God Charles, you need to get out of your house more. They are not women."
"What? Of course they – " Erik was right; despite their layered make-up, long skirts, and the way they pouted and giggled over whatever Logan was saying to them, they were not women. Definitely not, judging by the Adam's apple on that redhead. "Ah. Right." Charles felt himself redden, though whether it was from his naivety or because they were in a 'queer' establishment, he wasn't sure.
"Does it embarrass you Charles," Erik purred, leaning close enough for Charles to feel the words against his neck, "that I've brought you to a place where people can see us?" Erik's hand was on his thigh, and Charles found he was really very happy about it being there. "Somewhere that people know what we are?" His mouth had moved right next to Charles' ear. "Know what we do?"
Charles was about to ignore every instinct he had and kiss Erik in that room full of people, when he felt someone sit heavily on the seat next to him.
"Fresh meat! Haven't seen you around here before." Charles turned to see a man with impeccably trimmed facial hair and a brash American accent. "Name's Tony Stark," he held out his hand for Charles to shake, "and this is my associate, Steven Rogers." He gestured to the broad-shouldered blonde who had taken the seat next to Erik, much to the man's displeasure.
"Associate." He frowned. "Honestly."
Mr Stark didn't miss a beat. "Well, I was going to say 'the man I am fucking,' but I thought that might be a bit forward for a first meeting."
Erik just glowered at him, unimpressed. Charles noticed a metal tankard on a dusty shelf rattle with Erik's annoyance, and reached out under the table to rest a hand on his knee. He wasn't about to let the evening turn sour. "Wonderful to meet you Mr Stark, Mr Rogers." He shook hands with the latter. "I'm Charles Xavier, and this is my... this is Erik Lehnsherr."
"Pleasure to meet you," added Mr Rogers, with the most fantastic smile Charles had ever seen; he couldn't help but smile back. Erik however, looked mildly disgusted, like Mr Rogers was an insect he wished to step on.
Erik, Charles spoke directly to his mind, they're just being friendly. We should be thankful there are others we can speak openly with, and be ourselves. There are many who would not be so courteous – surely it's better not to be alone. Besides, he hesitated, there's plenty of time for other things later. He gripped Erik's knee harder to make his point clear. He glanced across to see that Erik's expression had cleared, but his jaw was still tight.
"So what brings you two to this part of the world? You're obviously not from here."
Mr Stark apparently chose to ignore Erik's thinly veiled jibe. "That's correct sir. We're from the States, where, I don't mean to brag, but I'm a pretty big deal. Stark Industries, heard of it? Me and Mr Rogers here like to take a break sometimes. Go places where we don't have to limit ourselves to polite handshakes and business talk. Where I can do this," he leant across the table to press a kiss to Steve's lips, "and nobody will punch me."
"Or arrest you." Steve added.
"Or arrest me. Oh, memories." He sighed. "What's your story?"
"Um, we – " Charles started, with no idea what he was going to say.
"We'd rather not discuss it, if you don't mind." Erik cut in. Well, it was more polite than a lot of the other answers Charles heard running through his head.
"We're still figuring things out."
"Ah, say no more." Mr Stark looked around, as if just noticing he was missing something. "Where's that big guy gone? THOR?"
"Thor?" Charles raised his eyebrows.
"Yeah," Steve smiled, "As in the –"
"Norse God." Erik finished.
"Unusual name." Said Charles.
"Yeah," Tony waved someone over from the bar, "Nobody knows what the big bastard's really called. Doesn't speak a word of English, or French for that matter. No idea what he's doing here, to be honest. But, he's very generous with the drinks." He clapped the shoulder of the huge, bearded man who had lumbered over and sat down at the head of the table. The newcomer grinned, and passed everyone a cup. Beer. Not Charles' drink of choice, but when in Rome...
'Thor' raised his glass, and said something in a Scandinavian language Charles wasn't quite sure of, before knocking back the entire cupful. Charles knew a challenge when he saw one.
A couple of hours and too many rounds of 'Can anyone drink faster than Thor?' later, Charles finally gave in to Erik's mental plea to go back to the inn. It was probably for the best – despite his impressive drink tolerance, Thor was nearly asleep, and Logan was none too subtly asking people to leave.
With Mr Stark's address in his pocket (which Erik wasn't too thrilled about) and the promise to keep in touch, Charles led the way back to the square where the carriage was waiting, stumbling only a little. He gratefully accepted Erik's hand to help him in to the carriage, trying to ignore the suggestion that this made him the female half of whatever their relationship was.
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
Though not dangerously drunk, Charles' head was swimming. Erik's too, if the hazy, half-formed thoughts he was projecting were anything to go by. He found this endearing, although he knew he probably shouldn't. But there was one other thing bothering him.
"You're keeping something from me Erik. You've been shouting it with your mind all evening."
Erik grinned at him with even more teeth than usual, but said nothing.
"How the hell you've managed to hide from me what the actual secret is, I don't know. But I'm impressed."
"You forget Charles, that I've spent the best years of my life married to a woman who can literally read my thoughts. I've had a lot of practice."
"So... are you going to tell me now?" Charles leant forward and Erik mirrored him, lips almost touching, bumping together as the carriage jolted.
"No." And Erik drew back again, the teasing bastard.
Back in his room at the guest house, Charles was readying for bed. The long journey and cold night had taken the edge off the drink, his head clearer. He reached out, sensing the landlord asleep in his rooms, three other slumbering guests, and Erik next door – a strange buzz of nervousness.
He pushed this from his mind so as not to invade the other's privacy, and moved to look out of the window. Not that he could see a lot – the only light was the odd candle from a window and the moon on the water. He heard the latch on the door lifted, and a moment later Erik was behind him, arms around his middle and a nose buried in Charles' hair. He smiled and leant into him, tipping his head back on Erik's shoulder. The latter took this as an invitation, and turned his head to press open-mouthed kisses under Charles' jaw. He felt himself moan and tried to hide it; he didn't want to give Erik the satisfaction of showing him just how much he was enjoying this. Not yet.
His resolve soon melted when Erik began to use his teeth, and Charles turned to face him, pulling him into a proper kiss. There was a moment when Moira flashed into his mind, his determined beauty, his strawberries and cream with a kick. This should be them, married and honeymooning on the French coast, finally allowed to discover each other, the tedium of courtship over and done. But then Erik bit his bottom lip, and it was harder to feel guilty about someone so far away when Erik was so close. So very close.
Erik's thoughts were a broken stream of touch me God your mouth touch me. Who was Charles to deny the man what he wanted? He smirked before kissing softer, teasing Erik's lips with his own, making the man work for it. He moved his hands from where they had rested on Erik's shoulders to run over his chest, settle on his waist, and... wait.
That wasn't right.
He pulled out of the kiss, ignoring Erik's groan of protest, and looked down at his hands where they sat around Erik's middle, over his shirt.
"Erik?"
"Mmm, what?" He was trying to recapture Charles' mouth with his own, but Charles batted him away. He tugged Erik's shirt from his trousers and raised it.
"Erik, what are you –? Oh."
Erik was wearing a corset. It was white and simple; the practical kind, not decorative. It brought in his small waist even tighter, making him sharper, more angular, where it would have made a woman curvaceous.
"Erik, I..." He ran the tips of his fingers down one of the panels, catching on the fabric.
"Do you like it?" Charles looked back at Erik to see him flushed, half smiling, and anxious as to what Charles would do next.
He groaned in reply, his desire and gratitude seeping through. "Erik it's wonderful. You're wonderful." I don't know how I lived without you.
Erik laughed softly and rested his forehead on Charles', "I'm glad you approve."
"Very much so. But – that is – how did you know that I wanted you... like this?"
It was Erik's turn to smirk. "Sometimes, your thoughts... they're very intense Charles."
"What? I'm sorry, but I really don't remember ever thinking of you like this. I mean, not while you were close enough for me to project it to you." It was times like this that he realised how little he knew about his ability. Not that there had been many times like this one before.
Erik was rubbing the small of his back, and it was getting harder to focus on the subtle technicalities of his gift under those hands. "Do you remember," he murmured, breath on Charles' lips, "the evening we dined at your home, and my untouched dessert spoon miraculously ended up on your floor?"
"Of course. And now I know it was because of your gift, what of it?"
"I lost control of it Charles. Do you know what it takes to make me lose control?"
I'd be more than happy to find out.
If Erik had heard that, he chose to ignore it. "I saw your thoughts. I saw you wanted me. Me, laced up, my mouth on yours and you wrapped around me, both desperate for more." His voice was low and rough at Charles' throat. "That was enough for me to lose control. More than enough. I believed it was Emma," a frown creased his brow, "it's the sort of thing she would do. But when I found out about your gift..."
"Well then," Charles started, sounding more authoritative than he felt, "let's see if I can make you call up the metal from the very earth itself."
Erik looked at Charles like he was about to eat him, which Charles wouldn't have minded one bit. They kissed again – Charles' hands on Erik – fingers on corset boning and nails scraping up the laces. He could feel the metal hooks at the front thrumming with Erik's pleasure. Casting his misgivings aside, Charles brought his hand to the front of Erik's trousers. Erik hissed at the contact and pressed against him harder, rocking into his hand. Charles felt Erik on him in return, long fingers stroking through the fabric. It was heavenly – or perhaps that word wasn't quite appropriate – but he wasn't about to let Erik win control so easily. He broke free from the kiss, un-buttoning Erik's trousers and pushing his clothing down, leaving him in just the corset. As determined as he was not to appear the virgin, Charles couldn't help but stare.
To be painfully honest, he's barely ever given much thought to his own penis, never mind someone else's. He'd never seen another man hard, either. And there Erik was; circumcised – expected, given his background – and of a size that made him concerned for Emma's wellbeing.
"She doesn't get to see me often."
"What?"
"You were thinking loudly."
"Oh."
"Now come here."
Charles arched an eyebrow. "I'll do what I like, thank you Mr Lehnsherr."
He moved closer anyway, backing Erik up against the wall. He moved to kiss Charles, but instead found fingers pressed to his lips, barring his way. Charles got down on his knees, face level with Erik's erection. The latter looked down at him, shocked but certainly not displeased. Charles covered his anxiety with what he hoped was a seductive smile. He had no idea what he was doing; all he was going on were loud discussions (both literal and mental) overheard at the men's club. Most of them seemed to agree this was one of the most pleasurable things a woman could do for a man. Not that he was casting himself as the woman, you understand.
He pressed a kiss to the tip of Erik's cock, partly because this seemed the first logical step and partly just because he wanted to. Erik shivered, and Charles felt his fingers curl into the hair on the back of his head. This was no time to do things by halves. He took Erik into his mouth, as far as he could without gagging. Which turned out wasn't very far – unsurprising given his lack of experience – though Erik did not seem to mind.
"Good God, Charles. I never thought I'd see the day when the man of Xavier Manor would suck my cock."
Charles wasn't sure if that was meant to be an insult or a general observation, so he let it slide and sucked harder, running his tongue along Erik's cock, going purely on what he imagined would feel pleasurable himself. Erik thrust back into his mouth, and Charles had to place his hands on the wall to stop himself falling backward.
"You know," Erik spoke through gritted teeth, "for someone who's supposedly never done this before, you're rather good at it."
Beginner's luck.
Erik laughed softly. "Perhaps. Charles?"
"Hmm?" He hummed around Erik's cock.
"Agh! Come... come here. I want to kiss you."
Charles did as Erik asked and drew away from his cock, pressing a wet kiss to his hip bone before standing. He felt the hard dampness pressing against him, his own saliva rubbing from Erik's cock onto his trousers. Their lips met again, harder and more impatient than before, the taste of Erik still on Charles' tongue.
"You're wearing far too many clothes for my liking, Charles. Take them off for me."
Charles quirked an eyebrow, but did so, removing each piece of clothing and tossing it aside, never looking away from Erik's face. Now naked, he felt Erik's eyes running over him, felt his mind humming even faster with arousal and hunger. Charles went to him and pressed their bodies close, feeling the scratch of the Erik's corset against his chest, their hips align and their cocks rub together. Erik brought his hands around to Charles' backside, gripping hard and pulling him closer, fingertips digging in.
Charles pulled back. Erik touching him in this way sharply reminded him of what he was doing. He vaguely knew the mechanics of how two men slept together and he trusted Erik – how could he not – but the thought of it unnerved him.
"Charles?"
"Erik, I – I want to do this, with you, but I'm afraid I –" he stopped, reluctant to ruin the moment. "It's just a little daunting, that's all."
His concerns must have trickled into Erik's mind, because the man smirked and said softly, "There's a great deal more to sex than anal penetration Charles."
Charles grimaced at his frankness. "Thank you for putting it so charmingly."
"Let me show you?" Erik pressed soft kisses on Charles' face and neck, so disarming that he barely noticed Erik laying him down on the bed, sitting across him, effectively trapping him between his thighs. Grinning in a way Charles could only describe as wicked, Erik grasped both their cocks together in one hand and stroked. Charles felt something jolt in his stomach at the unexpected sensation, and arched up into Erik's hand, his own fingertips scrabbling at the corset. His mind was lost then, to a frantic haze of want, pleasure and more. His mind and Erik's joined similarly to their bodies, barely acknowledging whose thoughts were whose anymore
When Charles looked back on those next few days him and Erik spent together in France, he could barely recall any conversation they had shared. What he did remember was Erik pressed tightly behind him as they sat together by the window, and looked out over the harbour at dusk. Tangled sheets. He remembered trying to drag Erik fully clothed into the sea, and succeeding. He remembered the feel of Erik's hand briefly in his, rough and sticky with dried seawater. It was all touches, sensations, things he couldn't sum up in words. He felt that maybe that should trouble him, but it didn't. What did trouble him was the thought that when they returned home, all of this strange, precarious situation would shatter and fall apart. Erik smiled at him as they boarded the ferry, and he dearly hoped it wouldn't.
...
AN: Sorry this took so long, I was in London for a few days, at the tattoo convention
Also, it was a long ass chapter for me. I suppose it could be counted as an interlude – not really a lot happens plot-wise – I just wanted cameos and corsets.
There was a Mumford and Sons gig on TV while I was typing this out. Right in the feels.
Awkward when you're trying to write porn and your parents are hovering around the room watching Bargain Hunt. It doesn't exactly help my already poor porn writing skills.
I've read so much fanfiction it's getting hard to remember what's canon. I DO NOT EVEN KNOW WHAT I'M DOING ANYMORE.
