I feel like I keep stalling just to make Erik sexually frustrated. Does it feel like the story is going somewhere? I don't know, I'm having too much fun making him feel like he'll never get to tap that. Also, I have a new found love for writing on my iPad. For some reason it is just ridiculously fun and it got me out of my slump… unless this chapter is crap and I was just too infatuated to notice. Read it though. Enjooooy it.
For Erik, the rest of the week wasn't a pleasant one. His mind kept slipping back to those mistaken words and he was constantly trying to formulate a way to fix them. Going back on what he says isn't something he enjoys doing unless the person deserves it and Charles Xavier had certainly done nothing to be such a person, but he just happened to twist Erik's tongue in the wrong way. He twisted it in a way that could possibly get the both of them in deep trouble. Sharks aren't supposed to show lenience with their prey. They could play with them, chase and tease and make them think they have a chance, but not show affection. Doing so could put the shark in grave danger and their prey be snatched by another. To avoid this Erik needed to forget about those strange feelings he was having and make himself see Xavier as just another client who needed to pay up.
Keeping himself busy, as usual, was the only way he could think to get his mind out of that red zone. It was obvious to even him though that this plan was proving difficult. He had never had his mind swarming so violently with images and fantasies and wants and needs. There was no getting rid of them. Just those few minutes with that man had given his brain enough ammo for a lifelong war inside his head and it was battling furiously. Whereas he was known for his perfection in scribing his contracts, lately he was crumpling one after the other between his hands whenever he noticed the intermittent 'Charles' scribbled between the rest of the words. Where he used to be looked up to in training for his superb skills with the knife, nowadays he always missed his target because he would see Charles as the victim. He was a mess and others could tell.
Then the week finally came to a close, but if he thought the waiting was miserable then the day of had to be his death-wish. Immediately upon awakening his nerves were frayed, if he had even slept at all. He hadn't a clue what his plan was, but he needed to get it done with. Finished. Over. So it was only natural that he was up, ready, and speeding his motorcycle down the highway by seven in the morning, right? Sure, his normal time frame took place in the afternoon or the evening, but there was always an occasion for change. The frame of mind he was in, a calming bike ride in the cool morning air was needed anyway.
Once Erik arrived at the looming mansion his heart was pumping with adrenaline. His limbs felt numb from the wind and his hair a little out of order. He still felt nervous as Hell and, being without a plan, was going in improvising. So when the door pulled backed and the one he had been thinking about for the past seven days said, with a trouble-free expression," You've returned," his instincts took over. Not human instinct, but the reactions carved into him as a loan shark owned by Shaw.
He pushed the door fully open and charged on the victim, backing him into a wall of the entryway. At some point during his assault he had removed the knife from his jacket pocket and now had it only a centimeter away from the pale throat before him. "Here's how it works," he started, a mechanic tone to his voice. He pressed the cold blade against flesh, "You hand over a payment quick and easy or I'll have to slash up this pretty skin of yours."
"You find my skin appealing?" Erik tensed at the question, but kept his gaze intimidating and the blade pushing. "Well, hack away," Charles slowly lifted his hands and unfastened the top three buttons of his pajama top. He pushed the fabric apart, making sure to graze his fingers across the skin beneath. "I haven't a penny to spare."
Erik breathed in unsteadily loud at the sight before him. Having rushed in without a thought, he was just now taking in the full picture. A button up top and long pants, both striped with white and blue. The bed wear hung loosely on his body , but managed to accentuate all the right places. Not only that, but he pulled off bed hair astonishingly well. Too well. His bangs, that had been pushed back when they met, were now trying to fall into their proper place, but only managed to frame his forehead. His eyes were glassed over with tire. Barely visible pink outlines from a rough sleep accented his face. Erik was starting to feel his face burn with heat and he looked down, not the best of ideas, but hopefully a good enough one to keep the other man from noticing his flushing skin. "Do… do you play chess?" he asked out of need to put his mind elsewhere.
"Sorry if I'm interrupting some intimate moment, but what are you doing, Charles?" they were both startled by the sudden inclusion of another voice and turned their eyes towards Charles' sister. She was down the hall, arms crossed in front of her robe. She had come down for breakfast only to turn and see a sight she was not expecting. It was a rather compromising position the two were in. Charles, pressed against the wall with Erik's left hand digging into his upper arm and a leg precariously perched between Charles' knees. Not only that, but Charles' shirt was unbuttoned and Erik's face having been seemingly bent down into the exposed chest with the both of them looking quite disheveled. "You could at least have the decency to take it to a room. There are plenty of them."
Erik wasn't bothering to move. He was subconsciously enjoying the situation he was in and thinking to himself that the sister should just move on and leave them to themselves. Charles, on the other hand, clumsily pushed the man away from him. "We were just headed to play a game of chess," he tried to cover, pushing his hair back and straightening his shirt. "Weren't we…?" he left the question hanging as he realized he still didn't know the name of the man across from him.
"Erik," he gruffly provided under his breath.
"Erik!" the last of his sentence shouted more in a way of statement. He looked back to his sister.
She glared at him through the unlit passage, but unfolded her arms and continued her walk to the kitchen. "Right. Chess. Whatever you call it, Romeo."
"Please wait here while I go change." With those words Erik was left alone in what appeared to be a sitting room or maybe a really large study. There was a fireplace on the back wall, ashes and burnt pieces of wood resting on the floor inside. In front of it was a simple table and two large chairs on either side of it.Sold everything, my ass. With his kryptonite gone he was beginning to regret and despise his decisions again. He could tell this could only continue to get worse. That should be obvious from the fact that he still hadn't brought this problem to a conclusion, but was instead standing in a fancy house waiting for his host to finish changing. He gulped as that thought finally surfaced in his mind.
He's taking his clothes off. Right. Now. he helpfully reminds himself. He tries to decide if Charles unbuttons his shirt and slips it off his back or pulls it up over his head to save time. Does he lift his legs from the pant legs one at a time or does he loosen them just enough for them to drop to the floor and he step out of them? Maybe he doesn't wear anything underneath his night wear. Maybe he's standing in his bedroom completely naked at this very moment, rummaging through his clothing as he decides what snug fitting cardigan to wear over what form fitting button up. It could be chilly in the room and he's getting goosebumps from the sweet caresses of cold air, making him rubs his hands up and down along his arms. He might drop a shirt and bend over to pick it up. He might feel the sudden urge to stretch, his raising arms and backside bringing to mind a sensual thrust upwards when—
"Alright then," his thoughts are interrupted by the exact person he was fantasizing about and he turns to take in his visage. He's not wearing a cardigan this time. No, that's a sweater vest and fuck he had never found such an attire to be appealing on anyone until now. The dress shirt left untucked, it's pointed ends hanging out the bottom of the vest, makes him want to walk over and rip both shirts up and over Charles' head. "Are you any good?"
Good enough to leave you begging for more he luckily replies only his head before realizing that Charles is holding up a boxed chess set to insinuate what he's asking. He pressed a hand to his mouth and runs the edge of his palm down his chin, breathing out slowly to help clear his head before answering. "Good enough to beat you."
"Is that so?" he looks absolutely giddy from Erik's response as he moves over to the table. He sets down the container and pulls out the board, setting it down softly. Then he sits, directs Erik to do the same, and starts readying the pieces. "I hope you're as good as you claim to be, because it would be wonderful to finally have a challenge for once."
He is. Dreadfully so. Charles soon finds himself feeling a loss coming on. It's been so long since he's been able to play a game with someone other than Raven and this man's moves are so thought out, yet so seemingly random with his ruthless tactics, that it's almost hard to keep up. This game consistently has him on his toes and thinking several steps ahead. His usual devices aren't proving useful. He truly has to use his full potential. For once, he's actually excited.
He smiles as he takes another piece from the field, absentmindedly beating it against his lips while thinking about how he might be able to pull off a win with the new strategy he's formulated in his head. He's so concentrated on the board, waiting for Erik's move, that he doesn't notice how he presses the rook in his hand against his bottom lip. The piece pulls down on the red flesh and his mouth is left slightly open. He twirls it listlessly around with his fingers. Then he suddenly puts it down on the table, a little concerned that Erik has yet to make his move. He raises his eyes to the opponent, only to find him staring right back at him. It's a little disconcerting really, the intensity in his eyes and the way it looks his jaw is clamped shut.
"Are you going to make your next move?"
The taller man looks as though he's been broken from a trance, jumping at the sound of his voice and readjusting his posture. He looks at the board for only a moment before moving. Charles watches him take the piece between his fingers and move it along the squares. He stops. Moves away. His turn ends.
Wait. Something seemed odd about that move. The whole game has been odd moves with this new opponent, but throughout this time he's come to somewhat understand how he works and this move was nothing like the rest. Not to mention, from what he could see… yes, that move, it just… "Checkmate," Charles says almost uncertainly as he completely traps Erik's king.
"Your win, Mr. Xavier," he praises, trying not to sound shaken. He was getting to that breaking point and needed to end this, he needed to leave. That move was fully intentional. He had hoped Charles wouldn't notice, but his expression told him he knew something was off here. "About our contract," he decides to deviate," I've decided how you will be repaying our loan."
"Is that so?" he breaks his attention from the flawed win.
"If you play a game of chess with me from time to time, I'll consider your debt nonexistent." Just keep digging that hole, Lensherr. Dig it deep.
At the thought of future games, hopefully fair ones, his face lights up," That sounds like a deal I can handle." They both stand from their seats and shake on the agreement.
Then Erik grabs the coat he had removed during the game and slips it back on, "I'll show myself out, Mr. Xavier."
"Charles, if you will. I'd rather be on first name terms with such a worthy opponent," he smiles softly. Erik only nods and heads out the closed double doors of the room that lead back into the hallway. He found his way back to the entryway he had had the pleasure of being so acquainted that morning and lets himself out the door. Once he managed to walk back to his motorcycle he stopped. He froze in place, thinking back to the events that had transpired and the things he said.
"SHIT."