Warning: Graphic non-con in this chapter. If you don't like it, skip over the italicized part at the end.
Author's Note: We get a brief look at Charles and Jackson's old relationship, but not quite the entire story. This chapter is quite graphic. There will be a more detailed explanation of what's really going on in the following chapters. Thanks for reading if you did so far!
To the untrained eye, Charles was not unlike his usual self. He carried on with the practice session, encouraging his students' conquests with cheers and applause. If he was any more jittery than normal, they took no notice. But Erik kept a close eye on him for the remainder of the day, not that Charles made it easy for him. At any moment that the telepath realized he was alone in Erik's company, he found any number of reasons to excuse himself. Be it a neglected paper he had to attend to, feigned illness, or even the ludicrous idea that he had forgotten to wash his hair that morning. Once again, they found themselves to be alone in the kitchen. Erik caught him after he mumbled something about needing to fold his socks. He grabbed Charles by the bicep and whirled him around.
"Don't!" Charles cried out, attempting to jerk away from Erik's grip with an unsettling urgency.
"Calm yourself, Charles." He felt a pang of remorse at his actions, but something needed to be said.
Charles looked absolutely stricken. He tore at the hold on his arm frantically, eyes flashing and breathing labored. A growl of frustration left his lips when the hand only tightened around him.
"Charles, please-"
"Get off, get off me right now!" He was yelling now, though it sounded more like unintelligible screaming to Erik.
The kitchen doors burst open and a mess of students tumbled in. Hank bustled in soon after, knocking Sean to the floor in his hurry to get through.
"What is it, what's going on?" Hank pulled Sean off the floor and looked carefully between the two men.
"What the hell did you do to the professor?" An older boy, Alex, asked him gruffly, glowering at him.
Erik glared right back. "I didn't do anything. This is a discussion between adults." He stressed the last word and looked pointedly around at the group. They didn't seem to be going anywhere.
"Doesn't look like a discussion to me!" Sean did his best to look intimidating, folding his arms across his chest and mimicking Alex's expression.
Erik was at a loss; he wasn't any good at comforting children. And he didn't even know if comforting was what they needed. Charles mercifully stepped in at that moment.
"It's alright, kids." He assured them warmly. "We just had a bit of a disagreement."
Sean seemed more at ease after the professor's words. Hank watched them warily, and Alex still looked as if he had smelled something foul.
"Everything is fine, cross my heart." Charles crossed the room towards them and patted Alex on the shoulder.
"Calm your mind," he soothed the aggravated teen.
Behind him, Erik scoffed. Hypocrite. He thought loud enough for Charles to hear.
"Alright, off to bed with you all." Charles shuffled them out of the room without a backwards glance.
Erik fell into a fitful sleep.
Stop!
The word echoed in his mind. Spoken by a faint voice that seemed miles away.
Please.
Clearer that time. The voice was demanding and authoritative. But its fear was evident.
No, I-
Then pressure. Suffocating and relentless. Phantom hands squeezed at his throat, tighter and tighter every second. The voice pleaded softly.
Erik.
He thrashed violently into awakening, desperately choking for air. Erik let out a rattling breath as he righted himself, pressing hesitant fingers to his lips. He was baffled for a moment until the last word resonated in his mind. That was no dream. Erik came to grim awareness. It was a projection.
"Charles," he whispered. And in a split second he was out the door.
Foolish. Incredibly foolish. Erik berated himself as he stormed down the flight of stairs and through the hallways. He knew who it was. Who else could it be? He should have made sure that man had left. Even better, he should have killed him when he had the chance. Fortunately, Charles was a man of routine. It was nearing one in the morning, sending Erik hurtling towards the library where Charles undoubtedly was. His nails dug into the paneled walls as he barreled around the corner. Erik assured himself halfheartedly that he would reach him in time. It's not too late. He'll be okay. Repeating the mantra in his head gave Erik little hope, however. The doors of the manor's library seemed to jump in front of him abruptly. Adrenaline propelled him forward into the heavy oak, bursting through the doors with ease. What he saw all but intensified his panic.
Charles was on his back. The man who he recognized to be Jackson Crawford was pressed against him, holding a fistful of his hair and muttering in his ear.
Charles opened his eyes blearily. There was no fight left in them. A painful tug of his hair caused him to give a muffled yelp. The startled noise set Erik into motion. He charged forward and was on Jackson in a matter of seconds. The man was grabbed roughly by the collar and launched across the room. He looked around wildly, stumbling to his feet in confusion as he attempted to right himself. Erik's knuckles connected with his jaw, sending him sprawling back onto the ground. He was driven by a fierce rage unlike any other. Jackson cowered on the floor, shielding his face before the next blow came.
"Never again," Erik grunted as he pummeled his fist into any visible part of Jackson's flesh.
"Not allowed. Don't you dare." He panted in harsh fragments, sweat pooling at his brow.
As Erik drew his fist back once more, he heard it.
Stop this, my friend.
In his maddened state, Erik had left Charles on the sidelines. He scrambled towards Charles who sat slumped against the bookshelves, head lolling to the side. His eyes were closed, face unreadable.
"Charles," he panted when he reached his friend, kneeling beside him. An agonizing silence met his ears.
"Dammit, Charles." Erik shook him by the shoulders as roughly as he could without hurting him. Charles expelled a shaky breath and sat up gingerly. He met Erik's troubled gaze with a reassuring smile.
"Erik," he greeted him almost cordially, as if the previous events had never occurred. He gripped the shelf for support and heaved himself to his feet, limbs trembling with the strain. "Let's forget about this nasty little indiscretion, shall we?" Charles' smile twitched and faltered.
Erik ran a hand through his hair in frustration and took account of the fact that Charles was almost completely undressed. He could have spat. Whirling around to attend to his unfinished business, he realized with a growl that Jackson had fled the room. Again. He'd let him go again.
"Erik," a small voice quelled his anger.
"Could you take me to bed, please?" Charles was looking up at him with chagrined eyes.
It was all he could take not to break down right there. Erik nodded and extended his hand. As if he was unsure of himself, Charles tentatively gave him his own and the two made the trek back to his bedroom in silence. Though Erik swore that he heard tiny sniffles as they climbed the stairs.
Erik insisted on helping him into bed. But Charles didn't complain much anyway. And when he patted the empty side of the bed hopefully, Erik couldn't say no.
Charles was curled up on his side, staring at him with that wide-eyed gaze. Erik wanted to close his eyes, look away. He couldn't. Instead, he took Charles' hand and held it tightly in his own.
"I think," Charles began softly. "I think you should see something,"
"You don't have to-" Erik protested, but he was gently shushed.
"I want to."
Before he could say another word, Erik's mind was flooded with memories. Charles' memories.
He showed him the day when he was accepted to Oxford, he and Raven jumping and screaming in delight. Next was the first friend he made at the university, a bumbling little guy who asked Charles if he knew anything about picking up girls. Then was the day he met a sophomore named Jackson Crawford. Charles projected all of his admiration for the older boy into Erik's mind. It was pure and innocent and harmless. But Charles didn't stop there. He projected all the fear, the hurt, and the loathing that came afterwards. The memories ceased for a moment, and Erik opened his mouth in confusion before promptly shutting it at what Charles showed him last. It was vivid, he could see the scene before him as if he were there himself.
Charles was in the library. He was struggling to reach for a book on one of the shelves when a pair of arms grabbed him around the middle. He knew Jackson was prowling around, but he didn't expect him to manhandle him like they were school kids again.
"What do you need, Jackson?" Charles presented himself with a tone of forced civility. He wanted to be rid of him as soon as possible.
"Someone's cranky," The other man teased without any real trace of humor. He was standing too close for Charles' comfort, one arm still lingering on his side. He had that look. The one Charles knew and feared more than any other.
"Yes, well. I must be off," Charles hurriedly turned to leave, but was instantly pulled back by his collar and pushed to the ground.
"Stop," he retorted futilely, hoping that he sounded more commanding than he thought.
"Remember this, Charles? Isn't it so familiar?" Jackson said above him.
Charles suppressed a shudder.
"It's quite familiar and I'd like it to stop immediately."
"Don't play hard to get," The larger man growled, his eyes glinting. He seemed to enjoy having Charles at his feet. But he knew that already.
"You're better than this." Charles appealed to his good nature, though he knew it was long gone.
Jackson ignored him.
"You'll like this, I promise."
"Please," Charles was getting desperate, he knew where this lead and he didn't want to revisit it.
But Jackson was on him now, one hand gripping his hair painfully while the other forced his mouth open.
"No, I-"
Jackson took that moment to shove his entire length into Charles' mouth, groaning as the man beneath him choked slightly. Charles knew there was no point in fighting back. There never was.
"Fuck, I forgot how good you were at this." Jackson leered. He curled his fingers in Charles' hair tightly, using it to drag him forward and push further into his mouth. Charles gagged in protest.
"Think that's bad?" The larger man panted, nails scraping at his scalp.
"Think that hurts?" He yanked sharply on his hair.
"You have no idea. You'll be begging when I'm done with you."
Charles moaned feebly; he should have been used to the humiliation by then, but somehow it always got to him.
"C'mon, Charles. Put some effort into it." He mocked him breathlessly, hips jerking forward violently.
And then, to Charles' astonishment, the hold on his head was suddenly free and he felt himself being pushed onto his back. "What are you-"
"Relax, I'm not done playing yet." Jackson dropped to the floor and straddled him, roughly yanking at his shirt and trousers.
"God, no. Please-"
"Shut up, I'm getting sick of your whining." His tone was firm and dangerous, making Charles certain that there would be no more fighting at this point.
Jackson wasted no time in forcing his knees apart and dragging him closer. Charles felt pressure at his entrance, then searing pain. He opened his mouth to cry out, but no sound escaped his lips. He heard Jackson say something, but he didn't know what. His eyes were glazing over, head dropped to the side. It would be over soon enough. He just had to endure it.
End note: If you're wondering about why Charles hasn't used his powers in defense, there will be an explanation in the following chapter. I hope I haven't been too confusing with that.