Note: The thing that bothers me about ff dot net, is that I can't link you to all the tutorials or other extra materials that I upload on AO3 or my tumblr. There are so many visual aids, and I have no way to share them with you, except to provide a broken link. http: /euphorbic . tumblr . com/ search/ technobabble you can also search under research obsessively! if you want more.
Also, sorry everyone, but next week is the last weekly update. Uploads will be biweekly after that. I am a slow writer.
Warnings: Some sexual situations in this chapter.
"The circumstances put soul in me,
And there ain't no holding me,
I've got heart made of gold in me..."
A Little Better, Cee-Lo Green
Asphalt Ballet
With the test paper in his pocket, Charles was quick to remind himself that the sex from several days ago had been far from perfect. It didn't do much to keep him from wanting to try again, though.
When he came back down the outside stairs after dropping off his new gear, his blue-eyed gaze fell on Erik's bare neck. The man had set the Alpinestars jacket to his side on the stairs. Without the leather barrier the play of Erik's scapulae was apparent under his grey V-neck.
Erik was no blushing virgin, far from it, but even if the man had made progress in opening up to Charles, sex as a serious topic still hadn't appeared on the table. Looking at the point between Erik's scapulae where he had set his promise, Charles' resolve not to provoke sex until they spoke strengthened. He was willful and stubborn and those qualities helped him resist.
Once they had talked, though, he would wreak sexual devastation on the man.
It was early enough in the afternoon that Charles doubted anyone would need to scale the stairs, so he settled in next to Erik. "What's the plan?"
Erik wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "We'll take the Triple up to PV, I'll set your suspension, then we'll head to Cave Creek to test your skills. No matter what you think, your turbocharged GPz was a pig. The Triple is half the weight and easy to throw around. It makes far more consistent and smooth power than anything you've piloted before. You'll need to be cautious with it at first."
The plan was reasonable and worked in Charles' favor: there was information at Erik's house he wanted to get for Agent MacTaggert. He hadn't wanted to get caught snooping in Erik's room that morning. Not when he suspected Erik had been on the phone with his sponsor or the malevolently named Azazel. Setting the Triple's suspension was a much better time to do what he needed.
It was nice to sit on the stairs in the relative cool while the desert breeze brought them warmth and the scent of dust. Charles was glad his apartment complex didn't make the attempt to grow grass like so many other complexes he had seen in Phoenix. Grass in the desert didn't make sense to the professor. It contributed to humidity, which Phoenix could do without: a dry 110 F was far more bearable than a humid 90 F.
After they were both done eating, Erik rifled through his jacket and withdrew a packet of gum. Charles smiled fondly as he watched the man take two pieces of gum instead of a habitual after-meal cigarette. He then replaced the packet in his leathers.
"Aren't you going to share?" Charles teased, gesturing in the general direction of the gum.
He received a baleful look for his effort and a flat response. "No."
Unfazed, Charles chuckled and patted Erik's left knee. "Fine then, I'll get my gear on and meet you down at the Triple."
Erik nodded and handed Charles the wrappings from lunch. Jacket in hand, he headed down the stairs. He used his right hand on the rail to keep some weight off his bad leg.
Charles watched him go. He needed to start talking to people about knee replacement surgery. He didn't know if he needed to know about the injury that precipitated the osteoarthritis or not. The point would prove moot, though, if there wasn't enough alcohol or sex in the world to get Erik to talk about it.
Moving resolutely, Charles went back into his apartment to gear up. Though Erik had complained, Charles had selected a Triumph-branded jacket. The leather was perforated for airflow, but Erik had still suggested they take a road trip to LA to a shop that sold RS Taichi mesh jackets. It was a none-too-subtle hint to Charles that he was long overdue for a talk with Raven about the unexpected reunion with Erik. Prospect was no less stressful than before.
Erik was sitting on the Street Triple when Charles came down, helmet in hand. He'd gone with Arai's DNA graphic. It didn't remind him of DNA, but the black, red, and white graphic was more sedate than the rest of the helmets worn by Erik's group and acquaintances. He liked the colorful array of helmets, but he couldn't get past the notion that a rainbow had vomited most of them. Plus, the white and black blocks of color matched the Triple's white paint and blacked out engine.
Charles pulled the Arai helmet over his head and fumbled for a few moments with the straps. He had managed to buckle Angel's helmet faster, but then he'd had enough tequila and scotch to not over think the process. Once the helmet was buckled, he pulled on the Alpinestars gauntlet-style gloves Erik had forced him to buy.
The Triple's riding position looked more upright and comfortable than the GPz, ZX6, or R1. When Charles threw his leg over the seat, though, he found two-up on the one-piece seat only marginally more rider-friendly than the R1's pillion. There were still no grab bars and each thigh was only inches from the Triple's double exhaust canisters.
When he was ready, he reached behind to grip the lip of the Triple's tail, hoping the two exhaust cans wouldn't make it too hot to hold. Through the leather covering his fingertips, he felt the top of the taillights and endurable heat. It could work if he needed it.
Reaching under Erik's right arm, Charles snaked his arm around the taller man's ribs and pressed his palm flat beneath his chest. In response, Erik slapped Charles' outer thigh a few times to signal their departure.
To Charles' surprise, Erik continued the model citizen behavior he had exhibited on the way from the dealership. He didn't challenge traffic lights. He didn't launch the bike from any stops. He even came to full stops at stop signs.
The onramp to the highway had likely never seen such a well-behaved motorcycle hoodlum. Erik did not flog the Triple at any point, but his effortless matching of gears to RPMs was still a thing of beauty. It was, Charles mused, not unlike asphalt ballet. With Arizona's 70MPH traffic limits and the police's blind eye to 80MPH speeds, Charles still achieved a velocity high as Erik navigated the HOV lane. He only pulled out of the lane to pass slower vehicles.
The sweeping curve past Camelback Mountain felt no less exciting for the lower speed limit. However, he felt Erik stiffen at the apex of the curve. His left hand came off the grip and smacked Charles' thigh hard and then pointed to the southbound lanes. Charles looked to the left and saw a group of three southbound raked-out cruisers.
Abruptly, Erik's right arm clamped down on Charles' arm, trapping it against his side. The German man leaned hard to the right, swinging them out of the HOV lane and one more lane over. Erik released the throttle and grabbed the front brake to rapidly drop behind a Ford F250. He then swiftly maneuvered the Triple another lane to the right. He hit the throttle once more to pull the Triple abreast of the truck.
Placing his trust in Erik's abilities, Charles lifted his head into the turbulent air. It was a strain on his neck the way the wind jostled his head, but he wanted to see what the cruisers looked like. Unfortunately, he couldn't see much with the truck and concrete divider between them.
Were they the SS Darwin had told him about? It seemed likely. Had they seen Erik? Charles' heart thudded lurched and sped rapidly in his chest. They knew him by his helmet and motorcycle, he reminded himself, and they were two up on a white Triumph. They were likely in no trouble. But, he couldn't help wonder; if the Russian Mafia backed Hellfire, did that mean SS also had some kind of crime syndicate backing?
Charles put his head down, his helmet clacked lightly against Erik's, and held tighter to the other man's torso. There were far too many ways to die in Erik's dangerous world.
The rest of the ride to Erik's house would have been idyllic, but Charles was too shaken to enjoy cutting through the air along the asphalt expanse. In his mind, it was nightfall and the GPz was being run off the road by a man on a Yamaha V-Max. He could almost smell the oily smoke from the man's face cooking on super-hot metal. To think, that man was likely still alive out on the East Coast.
When they got to the house, a familiar Toyota Corolla was pulled up on the street. The car's presence took the edge from the worst of Charles' worries. Erik switched off the Triple's ignition and let the engine's continued momentum pulled them to a slow stop in front of the open garage.
Charles spared no time dismounting the Triple. He pulled off his gloves and helmet. Erik stayed seated on the Triple as he did the same. His expression was serious beneath his mussed auburn hair. "Are you okay?"
"I don't know," Charles admitted, looking away for a moment. It was true, he didn't know and he wasn't sure what to say. When he looked back, Erik's mercurial eyes had lost their openness. His expression was shuttered.
"This is stupid," Erik stated, jaw growing tight. "Even if my sponsor agrees to my proposal, there's still the SS. They don't bother the others, but if that changed?"
Charles knew from experience what Max would do, but Erik? That was somehow a more chilling prospect. "You have enough pain and anger without thinking about hypothetical situations."
Erik looked blankly at his helmet where it sat on the Triple's tank. His jaw was still tight, his brow furrowed deeply. Charles stepped closer, reaching a hand out to comb Erik's hair back into place. The furrow was something he could do nothing about.
"What's this about a proposal?" He asked, still carding his fingers through Erik's hair.
The man sighed and tilted his head back to look Charles in the face. "My contact's in town Thursday for an aerobatic competition this weekend. We're meeting tomorrow to discuss an exit strategy."
Charles' heart clenched again, but this time in a combination of elation and dread. He wanted to ask about the strategizing, but the need for information for agent MacTaggert trumped that question. "Oh, your contact flies?"
Erik nodded and glanced toward the garage before continuing. "Not competitively. He has a friend that competes internationally. I might get dragged out to watch on Saturday or Sunday, though I'd rather not."
"Talk to your contact," Charles advised, running his fingers through Erik's hair and down to hold the back of his neck. He took comfort and strength in touching Erik, as if he absorbed it through skin contact. Erik body radiated warmth into Charles' hand. "Take one challenge at a time."
Erik folded his hands over the helmet's contour and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath through his nose and released it slowly. When his eyes opened again, they took back their former intensity. "Let's set the suspension."
He dismounted the Triple and gestured for Charles to push it into the garage. As Charles took the grips, Erik stepped into the garage and called into the house for Alex. Charles had no trouble rolling the Triumph inside. His eyes lit upon the R6, leaning on its side stand with its blue plastics back. Fondly, he parked the Triple next to it.
When Alex appeared, Hank wasn't far behind. Charles chuckled and raised one hand in a jaunty greeting. "Hank, what a surprise! I didn't know tutoring pre-engineering students was part of your internship.'"
Hank made an annoyed face, but his ears pinked all the same. "Professor, you saw my car outside; don't act surprised now."
"Geek," Alex deadpanned, "you better hope the girls of PMS never take an interest in you. You're the easiest target ever. Consider yourself uninvited to the annual bikini barbecue."
Even with Alex's help, it took time to set the Triple's spring rate to Charles' weight and preferences. Charles tried not to laugh too much as Erik groused about the Triple's soft factory suspension. He'd disparaged BMW's suspension just that morning after all. It seemed a source of endless annoyance to the man.
Hank looked on in fascination. Alex answered the physicist's questions as they came, never getting impatient. He explained what they were doing even when holding the Triple upright while Charles stood over the saddle with his feet on the bike's pegs.
When Erik told him to get down, Charles excused himself to hit the bathroom. He left his new boots at the door and headed inside. As nobody had ever directed him to the house's public bathroom, Charles felt he had an appropriate excuse to go to Erik's. The door wasn't locked.
Rather than head for the bathroom, Charles went directly to Erik's bedside table and pulled the drawer. The pistol was the first thing he saw. He closed his eyes momentarily and made a conscious effort to dismiss his unease. With a deep breath, he looked back in. The condoms were still there as was the lotion, but now there was more appropriate lubrication.
The bottle brought a wicked grin to Charles' face. "I'll be seeing you later, my friend."
He reached past and snagged the small paper bag stuffed with envelopes. He had no intention of opening any of them. Charles scanned the stamps for the most recent postmarks and matched them to changes in the New York post office box. The PO Box and zip code changed every two years and most recent postmark was from ten months prior. The last time the box changed was one year prior. Chances were good that the box would stay the same for another year, which would give the FBI agent time to observe the comings and goings of whoever checked it.
Moving fast, Charles pulled out his phone and took a photo of the New York address. Hopefully it was enough to get Erik a passport. If not, he had information on Erik's contact, Azazel. Surely the man would go to another aerobatic competition to see his friend compete. The FBI or CIA could tail him from there and eventually, perhaps, the Black King.
He had everything back the way he found it, before he remembered the DVD. That needed to go back in the drawer as soon as humanly possible. He would have to check out what it held and return it while Erik was meeting with his contact.
Charles walked out of Erik's room and closed the door behind him. Walking down the hallway, he located the communal bathroom and slipped in long enough to simply push the head's lever. He didn't know if flushing could be heard in the garage, but it was worth the extra bit of authenticity.
Nobody took notice when Charles walked back into the garage in the cool garage. Hank's curiosity made a good screen for Charles' ulterior motives. Erik was still sitting on a rolling stool, going at the stock shock absorber's adjustment rings with a brass punch and rubber mallet. A fine sheen of sweat was beginning to appear on his forehead. While Charles was out of the room Erik had gone from gum to chewing on a match.
Charles stood in the door, watching and trying to imagine Erik shirtless and barefoot, wearing the old rubber butcher's apron. The fantasy wasn't what it used to be. Just watching Erik's focus on his work, his intense physicality, was enough. With the V-neck's short sleeves, it was easy to watch the bunch and jump of Erik's biceps as he delivered consistent, consecutive, blows to the punch.
Charles face began to flush.
When Erik was done hammering at the rings, he had Alex hold the bike upright again while Charles stood on the pegs. Erik measured the sag one more time and nodded. "That's as good as you're going to get until you get an Ohlins or something. Prestige manufacturers always have the worst suspension."
Using the Triple as leverage, Erik stood up and headed for the door into the house. He paused at the two stairs that led up, before bending down to unfasten his boots with dirty fingers. Charles set the Triple's side stand and tried to gauge how much Erik's knee was bothering him by the amount of difficulty he had after the technical laces were loosened.
He noted that Alex was covertly doing the same while putting Erik's tools away. Considering Erik had mentioned making the other help in the past, it was no real surprise. The support Erik had in his club members could never lose its poignancy.
Charles kept the relief off his face when Erik managed to negotiate the removal of his riding boots. He dismounted the Triple and followed only to take even longer to remove his own riding boots. He caught up to Erik as he was going into his room.
"Thank you," Charles said, following Erik into the bedroom. "You're spoiling me, you know."
Erik smirked, crossing his arms over as he gripped the hem of the V-neck. "I know."
Charles laughed at that, then lowered his eyes to Erik's hands. "You're going to get your shirt dirty just holding the edge like that. You can go ahead and take it off; I've seen it all before."
Erik continued to pause. He looked down at his hands for several seconds. "Close the door, Charles."
Charles reached back, eyes still on Erik, and pushed the door shut. As soon as it clicked, Erik pulled the shirt up, revealing his handsomely proportioned and muscled torso. In the daylight coming through the blinds, however, it was clear why he hesitated. The scars were far more terrible in day than they had been at night.
It was all Charles could do to react to Erik's body rather than his skin.
"Does this show repeat in the evening?" Charles smiled with as much appreciation as he could project. He could wait for an explanation. After all, Erik had been far more communicative in the last five hours than he had in the last two and a half weeks put together..
Erik tossed his shirt aside, his eyes fastened on Charles' with the same intensity he had bestowed on the Triple's shock absorber. His hands dropped to his belt and worked the leather loose. Actions always spoke louder than words when it came to Erik.
"Are you taking a shower?" Charles breathed.
Erik's head dipped once in a nod, but his eyes stayed fixed on the man before him.
Heat was rising to Charles' cheeks under the intense gaze. It was terribly erotic being the subject of Erik's exclusive focus. Along with the rush of blood to his cheeks came the rush of blood to his groin.
In one swift move, Erik pushed his jeans and boxer briefs to the floor and stood up again. He reached up and took the match from his lips and tossed it aside. "What about you?"
The perfect vision of Erik's nude body was one thing, but the huskiness of his voice was another. Charles' jeans were getting increasingly tight as his cock responded to a storm of sight and sound. "I'll… I'll just watch?"
"Will you?" Erik asked, his head tilting to a questioning angle.
It took a great deal of willpower, but Charles answered as he thought appropriate. "Erik, I'd like to join you, but I want to know a few things before we proceed." God, he'd just cock-blocked himself!
Erik raised an eyebrow in further curiosity. He stepped forward and pushed the Triumph jacket from Charles shoulders and down his arms. "Then ask."
The jacket, still stiff with newness, hit the floor. Charles nodded mutely, trying to find the best way to ask even as Erik worked inexorably on undressing him. "Have you been with other men?"
Erik paused to look at Charles speculatively, then went back to unbuttoning his shirt. "No."
Charles shook his head, seized Erik's wrists, and brought them up to shoulder height. The single syllable killed and kindled his lust. "That is just like you. Erik, if I had known, things would have gone totally different Thursday night. I would have taken care of you, instead of being so selfish."
To Charles' surprise, Erik didn't fight the hold on his wrists. "I didn't want to be taken care of or for you to be gentle. I got what I wanted."
"You wanted a ferocious wank using my limp hand?" Charles snorted and squeezed Erik's wrists. "I call shenanigans. Don't take me for a fool, Erik."
"I never have," Erik stated evenly. He turned his wrists in Charles' hands, but he made no move to break free. "You can be stupid, but it has never taken over your life."
Anger melted from Charles' spine and made room in his lungs for a deep sigh. He pulled Erik's wrists down until the man's long hands opened to hold Charles' shoulders. Charles dipped his head and leaned forward to rest his forehead against Erik's stubborn lips. "It is now your turn to stop talking."
He felt Erik's lips push forward in what was possibly a kiss, but Charles forged on. "We are going to take that shower now. And you, my friend,you are going to let me take care of you. Unless, you don't want that, in which case you should say, 'Charles, I don't want you to suck my cock.' Understood?"
He lifted his face up and beheld Erik's strangled expression. The taller man's face was flushing in anything but embarrassment or anger.
Giving him a smile, Charles glanced down to see Erik's cock rising with a declaration of intent. He released Erik's wrists in a slow unfurling of fingers and took over the unbuttoning of his shirt where the other had left off. "Understood?"
For a few beats, Erik's hands continued to rest on Charles' shoulders. He shook his head slowly and slid his right hand up Charles' neck to his jaw, calluses scratching lightly with the motion. His gaze was determined as ever, but less harsh. "Understood, but that isn't what we're going to do right now. We'll do things your way after Cave Creek. For now, we do things my way."
Despite himself, Charles leaned into Erik's rough palm. He could smell brass and exhaust fumes from the Triple on Erik's hand. His bright blue eyes did not leave the challenging grey gaze across from him. "If you promise me the reins after we're done at Cave Creek then I'll let you be in charge for now."
"You have my word," Erik agreed, voice husked low.
"Excellent," Charles breathed, pulling his shirttails out of his jeans in one languid movement. "Let's get in that shower."
With Erik already gloriously nude, it took no time at all for Charles to join him in nothing but his own skin. They made it into the shower with a minimum of exposure to cold spray. Charles found himself thankful he had showered there before and knew where everything was and how it all worked.
He let Erik lead, waited for him to negotiate the logistics that would best allow access to the long German body with the minimum strain on the man's knee. Grip tape across the shower's floor and a sturdy rail set in the wall made things far easier than Charles had hoped.
For the first few moments, Erik was intent on cleaning his hands and rinsing off sweat. Charles took advantage of his distraction to do a new tactile exploration of the Erik's muscular back, following the channel of his spine, then running his hands appreciatively over his ass. Water rinsed Charles' hands of soap faster than he could create lather with Erik's bar soap.
Then Erik turned, shower spray hitting the back of his lower neck and between his shoulders. Charles squinted to shield his eyes from the momentary aquatic halo as it rebounded off scarred skin. Erik's lips were parted as he bent his head down to Charles.
Not one to wait, Charles surged up into the intended kiss, bringing the fight, as ever, to Erik. The friction from Erik's tongue pressing forward just as firmly as Charles' fed the professor another dose of red-clothed lust. The kiss a heady rush of sensation of tongues that fenced and soothed.
Charles closed his jaw partially, scraping his teeth lightly when Erik disengaged slightly. He slipped his hand to the back of Erik's head and pulled him close again. He could still taste a trace of mint on the taller man's mouth. Of the match he could taste nothing.
The shower spray eventually necessitated a break in the kiss for breath. Charles gave ground, licking across Erik's lower lip as they parted. Eyes narrowed and blinking against the water's spray, Charles could still see the heat emanating from Erik's intense gaze, the swell of his lips. He noted Erik's right hand's white-knuckled grip on the shower rail and grinned mischievously.
Placing a foot between Erik's, Charles leaned in, pushing his body against Erik's. The motion fed him the sensation of other's stiff cock, a burning line pressed against hip and waist. He felt Erik's guttural moan through his chest, rather than from his throat.
"Just don't call me Max," the taller man growled, seizing Charles' flank and maneuvering them flush. Their erections pressed together wickedly.
"God, no, I would never…!" Charles gasped, lust making him inarticulate. He tried to worm his free hand between them to catch at overheated flesh. "You're Erik… My Erik."
He finally caught both their cocks together. Much of Erik's height was in his torso, but his legs were still longer than Charles'. However, with all his weight centered above his left foot, Erik's height was reduced slightly by the angle. The logistics were a strategy of bliss. Charles swept his hand down both lengths.
Erik banged his head back against the showerhead.
"Teufel," he hissed, appreciatively.
"Oh, German," Charles grinned at the man's responsiveness, pumping his hand again. "I'm doing something right when I hear German."
"Make it quick," Erik rasped, hips jerking. "Save slow for later." His hand left Charles' flank. Leaning back, he covered Charles' hand with his own and helped set the pace and pressure.
Between them, a pace was negotiated, if temporarily struck. Charles only broke the grip once for soap and, though much of the lather washed away, the slipperiness was intoxicating enough to break the shaky unison they had found.
Soon, Charles' free hand was gripping the shower rail just as hard as Erik. The friction of fucking their conjoined hands had low-grade nonsense spilling from Charles' lips. Cock slipping against cock sandblasted any remaining sense form his brain. Their joined hands struggled as they thrust out of time into their mutual grasp.
Charles wasn't aware that Erik was coming until the man's hand pulled out of his grip and off his cock. He grabbed the back of Charles' head and crushed the shorter man's lips against the lower line of his bared teeth in a failed attempt to kiss his way through orgasm. Erik's shuddering breath was not unpleasant against Charles' nose.
Erik's shot covered Charles' fist and was swiftly washed away from his stomach. The pulse of the man's cock against Charles' and the stuttering jerks of hips took him to the edge. But it was the ragged sound of Erik's animal moan that did him in.
Orgasm came thundering up from Charles' toes and down from the crown of his head and met in the middle, wrenching his abdomen in heated knots. He bit into Erik's chin and finished in violent spasms within his own hand. It was like the tight knots of his pleasure were undone, coil by coil, by being pulled violently straight. Again and again and again, until he was slumping forward into Erik's broad chest.
Then they were sliding, slowly, inexorably down. Erik's injured leg was out straight, but his left folded, bringing them to the shower floor. His right foot slid across the perimeter of the shower floor where the grip tape did not span.
Charles twisted his body as they descended, trying to redistribute his weight away from Erik's right side. He ended up half collapsed across Erik's left, pressed flush against the shower's glass. The slide of skin on skin and skin on glass was exquisite to sensitized flesh.
Erik raised a hand and blindly reached back to turn the water off. His expression was still a bit slack, but one corner of his mouth was pulling up into a smile. Pressed against the glass and feeling wonderful, Charles started to chuckle.
"That was ridiculous," he gasped through his humor. "Brilliant and ridiculous."
Erik managed to commit the rest of the way to the smile, he even snorted in lazy amusement. He lifted a hand to his chin to explore any damage Charles might have left. "Better than losing your virginity in a half bath, surely."
"Don't ruin it," Charles groaned, slapping Erik's wet thigh, "by making me remember that. I didn't lose it anyway; I know exactly where it went."
"Not every drunk teenager does," Erik shook his head, his skull pivoting back and forth against tile.
"Lucky me." Slowly, Charles pulled himself up. Placing a hand on Erik's jaw he looked at his chin and the fading crescent of tooth impressions. "No skin broken. It will be red for a few minutes, probably."
Erik brought his head away from the wall and seated his chin fully in Charles' hand. This close his eye color was more clearly blue-green. "Are you relaxed now?"
A lazy smile answered Erik's question sufficiently, but Charles gave him words, too. "Yes. Can we take a nap?"
"No," Erik sighed, though he seemed every bit as boneless as Charles. He pushed wet tendrils of hair out of Charles' eyes. "The key to good riding is relaxing. This is the perfect time to go to Cave Creek."
His hand dropped from Erik's chin in order to slap the German's thigh again. "You planned this! Buy motorcycle, set suspension, induce orgasm, apply post coital bliss to riding lesson!"
Erik grinned with all of his teeth and though it was a smile most people feared, Charles saw it as the brightest point in the past few weeks. It was the most unburdened expression he'd seen Erik make yet and it made Charles' heart fill with a pleasant conflagration. He clambered up on hands and knees and pressed his lips to Erik's. The kiss was a chaste movement of lip on lip, but it was like a pressure release valve, feeding Erik the overflow from Charles' heart.
Then he reared up on his knees and pressed Erik's face to his solar plexus. "You impossible bastard. What are you doing to me?"
"Ich weiß nicht," Erik murmured against wet skin. He slipped a hand between their bodies and pushed Charles away. His smile faded, but was not lost to a wave of thoughtfulness. "Come on, dry off and let's go."
The mark on Erik's chin had faded by the time they were both dressed. Erik's short hair dried quickly, but Charles' was still damp. Charles sat on Erik's bed as the taller man slid back the door on his closet. He opened the chest of drawers within the closet and began tossing a set of folded clothes next to the professor.
A fond smile worked onto Charles' lips; Erik was planning on staying the night elsewhere. Likely in Tempe. In Charles' bed. Splendid.
"The complex has a pool and hot tub," Charles said offhand. "Bring trunks."
Erik nodded and reached up to the closet's shelf to retrieve the item Charles suggested and a compact backpack. He packed quickly then pulled open the bedside table. The motion threatened the languor drifting pleasantly through Charles' limbs, but Erik only opened it to take his handgun. He checked the safety and then shoved it roughly in the back of his jeans.
Charles needed no other reminder to replace the DVD as soon as possible.
"Let's go," Erik said, zipping up his jacket and grabbing the backpack. "The air circulation in your helmet will dry your hair."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Charles sighed.
Erik shrugged, "Arai has non-fog shields on their helmets. You'll be fine. If it does fog, just keep the shield open a crack."
"That's not what I'm worried about," Charles replied as they walked down the hall together. "My hair is going to end up dried into permanent helmet hair."
Erik snorted in amusement and shoved his hand into Charles' brown locks. He took a handful and tousled. "You and your hair, Xavier."
Charles smirked and playfully shouldered Erik against the wall. "My hair is my crowning glory. Everyone says it is my eyes, but it is definitely my hair."
When Erik shoved Charles back, the professor went with the push, purposely allowing the force to bash him into the window flanking him. He was careful not to put pressure on the glass, but grip the framing in one hand. He covertly slapped it with an open palm just to make it seem far worse than it was.
It didn't work. Erik's grin didn't falter at all. Likely he would have laughed outright had the window broken. Breaking things never fazed Erik; his life had always been too full of violence to be perturbed by casual breakage.
"Hey," Alex shouted angrily from where he and Hank were seated at the kitchen's granite island. "I'm not putting in anymore glass. That's Sean's thing."
Charles smothered his laughter behind a hand, though he felt vaguely childish for doing so. He felt even more childish for being chastened for rough-housing in the house Erik shared with Alex.
"When you start paying rent," Erik deadpanned, "you can dictate the rules around here."
"Hunh," Alex snorted in suddenly amused disgust, "that's a direct quote from the foster family book of child-rearing."
"Good thing you pay rent, then," Erik returned. "Isn't it?"
"Yeah," Alex nodded, trying and failing to withhold a grin. He twirled a pencil between his fingers over a spiral notebook and a collection of what were likely Hank's personal textbooks. "You kids behave yourselves."
Erik paused, left hand gripping the doorframe out to the garage. "When Angel gets back from instructing Scottsdale trophy wives, you can use the Tacoma. If you need anything in the shop, call me. I'm in the middle of rebuilding Machete's transmission and I don't want anything moved."
"Got it," Alex halted the pencil's spin and pointed it emphatically at Erik. "Plastics are back on the R6. Stay off the R1 or the next Deus motion passed will entail plastering you with nicotine patches and selling the video to PMS to cover the property and physical damage incurred in the process."
Charles was certain that his eyes watering would be the least of the damage were he to withhold the laughter Alex's pronouncement induced. He succumbed from silent shaking to peals of hilarity. He heard Hank join in hesitantly, followed by Alex's surprisingly light chuckle. "I would pay to see that, too."
"I'm sure you would." Erik looked on, his expression bland. Charles was on his heels when Erik stepped into the garage.
"What kind of lessons does Angel give?" The professor asked. He wiped mirthful tears from his eyes as Erik sat on his work stool and put on his boots.
"Pole dancing." Erik replied, looking speculatively between the R1 and R6. Nodding to himself, he retrieved his helmet and limped to the R6. He placed the helmet on the tank and then stepped over to Alex's yellow R6.
After finishing with his own boots, Charles watched curiously as Erik reached down through the cowling. Even had he been standing near the yellow bike, he wouldn't have been able to see what Erik was doing. He doubted Erik could see, either. Likely he was doing whatever he was doing strictly by feel.
"What are you doing?" Charles asked quietly, drawing the garage door shut behind him.
"Loosening a connector in its housing," Erik smirked, pulling his hands out of the wiring harness and cowling. "Shouldn't take him too long to figure it out."
"Is it just as easy to steal one?" Charles inquired. It was a question he'd wanted to ask for days. It finally seemed like an appropriate moment.
"All bikes have tricks to them," Erik replied, as he went back to his blue R6. "Little things you'd never guess at unless you own or work on one. Essentially, the difficulty of theft varies from model to model. All I need with most modern bikes is a clear path to a fuse box and a paperclip to jump the ignition. A decade prior to your GPz, it only took a safety pin. Recent models like BMW's K1200LT can be stolen with a toothpick, if you're lucky."
"What if the handlebars are locked?" Charles asked, genuinely curious and flummoxed by the idea of stealing a BMW with a toothpick. German engineering, what? "Or the wheel is chained?"
"Locked handlebars are no match for two people and a truck. Just pick it up and load it." Erik shrugged, slinging his leg over his motorcycle. "And with enough leverage, there's no chain a pair of bolt cutters can't cut. Methods depend on what kind of bike you're taking, how much time you have, how quiet you need to be, and how easy it is to get parts, if you need to break something to take it."
Charles mulled the information over and the casual manner it was delivered. A decade had seen Erik go from a thrill-seeking thief to a levelheaded, and possibly reluctant, professional.
All thoughts of thievery and the past were swept away when Erik nonchalantly rolled the R6 backwards out the garage and left him alone with the Street Triple. He was glad it was already facing forward, pointed toward the street. Biting his lower lip, Charles donned his helmet and gloves and swung onto the seat. He brushed his leather-clad hands over the tank's white paint.
"Hello," he whispered, under the cover of Erik starting up the R6. "I'm likely going to have a bit of trouble to start with, but once I get back up to speed, so to speak, I'm sure we'll get on."
The Street Triple had nothing to add, so Charles slotted his key into the ignition and started it up. With its unusual three-cylinder configuration, the Triple sounded and felt like nothing else. For a moment, Charles shut his eyes and listened to the throaty sound of the engine.
Then he realized he was just sitting there filling the garage with exhaust which would likely back up into the house. Grimacing inside the helmet, Charles toed the Triple down into first gear and slowly let out the clutch.
And killed the engine.
He'd forgotten to twist the throttle even the barest degree. He fished up for neutral's half click purgatory and restarted the bike. It roared alive again. More carefully, he timed his clutch with the twist of his wrist and eased the Triple out the garage.
Erik was waiting patiently on the street. When he saw Charles, he took off slowly, heading for the highway's outer road. Charles followed him south when Erik hit the outer road, though he took the turn far wider than he'd intended. Erik was right about the Triple's light weight and the way it nimbly fell into corners. The ease was disconcerting, but also heady: when he was used to the machine's grace he would be able to take the most from it.
A smile worked across his face as they sped down the outer road. The Triple had plenty of torque, too. Like the R1, it was happy doing far more miles per hour in first gear than the GPz or ZX6. It accelerated far faster than he ever expected and proved incredibly responsive.
Long before they reached the stop before the highway, Charles experimented carefully with the Triple's Brembo brakes. He doubted motorcycles would ever have the stopping power of a car, but he'd noticed in the painful stop-and-go traffic Thursday night that the R1 stopped quickly.
The Triple's brakes did not disappoint. In fact, the stopping power was strong enough that he thought he could use it against Erik, should they end up racing around Phoenix. He wished he'd paid more mind to the saleswoman's memorized speech concerning the Triple's specs.
He forgot about the specs, too, when they hit the ramp down to the highway and the wind began to buffet his helmet and body with the force of his passage. The Triple's tiny fly screen made little impact in forging a trail through the air.
The R6 shot out on the northbound highway like it was propelled from a gun. Charles was too careful of the Triple's torque to grab much throttle and thus loop the it. As a result, Erik ended up far ahead of him. The gap didn't concern Charles. Max had been patient with Charles' attempts to learn how to ride the ZX6 and then how to use the GPz's turbocharged boost. He suspected Erik would be a saint as he waited for Charles to become reacquainted with riding and with learning the Triple.
He wasn't wrong. While Charles never saw the R6's brake lights, Erik accelerated or decelerated as needed. Erik led him into Cave Creek without any problems and stayed exactly on the speed limit as they passed through the police-ridden outskirts. A patrol car tailed them all the same, but soon turned back. Erik's Arrow exhaust was loud, but it didn't hit Cave Creek's illegal decibel level. Of course, it helped that Erik kept careful control of the throttle. The Triple's volume was no cause for concern.
They spent the next hour dancing in Cave Creek's well-known the hills and turns. Many of the turns were blind and decreased in diameter, necessitating Charles trust Erik by matching his entry speeds and lean angles. The German was patient, but he also pushed Charles to tighten his turns by taking curves faster each time. Faster turns meant lower leans and lower leans were frightening to most people. It was that fear people like Erik thrilled to and, many years ago, Charles had acquired the taste.
Whether it was the sex or the return of long-dormant skills, Charles relaxed into the Triple. He stopped watching and following Erik and simply moved with him. The Triple was an extension that allowed him to skim along the desert roads, like a bird in flight. He leaned into the turns as much as he needed, rarely crossing the yellow lines and matching his gears to RPMs with growing efficiency.
It felt good. It felt beautiful.
He lost track of time, content to move through the dry atmosphere. It came of something of a surprise when Erik led him to a parking lot near a lake and brought the R6 to a stop.
Charles pulled abreast of the R6 and copied Erik when he flicked back his face shield. "That's enough for today. Why don't you call for take out and we'll race it back to your place?"
"Race take out?" Charles laughed, switching off his ignition. "Are you serious? The traffic is going to be hideous."
"That or we go to El Encanto," Erik returned, also switching the R6 off. "It isn't far, but we'll have to endure being filmed the whole time."
"PMS?" Charles wondered aloud. He wasn't sure he wanted that, if it meant Erik would become distant, as he often did, when they were in the presence of others. "I'll call in an order, but I don't want to race."
"Tell them to have it there in forty-five minutes," Erik suggested, loosening the fingers of his gloves before pulling them off.
Charles pulled off his own gloves and helmet and placed them on the Triple's white tank. Pulling out his phone he was pleasantly surprised to see a text from Raven.
I will only forgive you, if you got two helmets. Send a pic!
"Before I call, could you take a picture?" Charles grinned, opening the phone's camera app.
Erik pulled his helmet off and set it down. "You could just get video from one of the girls. There's going to be plenty of them before long."
Charles shook his head and offered Erik the phone. "I want it now for Raven. You know PMS found my Facebook? I have over twenty friend requests that I have no intention of adding. Not even Mama Chete."
"Don't add Machete, but don't make her angry, either." Erik advised and took the phone. He dismounted the R6. "Good thing you made it private long before coming out here."
"Troll," Charles smiled, though it was somewhat sad. "Do you even have a Facebook?"
Erik shook his head as he moved to take the picture of Charles on the Triple. "No, but I maintain a presence on the local forums to let them know when I'm accepting work and what kind."
"You must do good work," Charles suggested, watching Erik stop to frame the shot.
"I must," Erik replied. "Japanese only, though, so don't advertise that I helped you out."
"I'll leave that to the PMS video crew," Charles grinned. "I hope they never learn where I live, though I would hoard the resulting sex videos."
Erik took the picture and tossed the phone back to Charles. "As long as I never have to watch them."
"Not even if I let you do the filming?" Charles' grin grew wider as he looked at the shot. His helmet and leathers matched the Triple nicely and his hair looked nowhere near as bad as he thought it would.
"I hate seeing myself on camera," Erik stated and got back on the R6. "I wouldn't watch it, even if you were using me to train for competitive cock sucking."
Unfazed by Erik's attitude, Charles happily sent the picture to Raven. I can't get you a helmet until we get you properly fitted.
"You might change your mind," Charles laughed, "once you've experienced my award-winning performance."
Warnings for next chapter: Sex, a bit of hilarity, and graphic violence. Basically, two things you've been waiting for are going to happen.
Also, much thanks go out to all of you that comment. You don't have to, but you do anyway and I really appreciate the feedback and interaction.
