Author's Note: Warning for sex; this is basically an excuse for PWP. Charles and Erik and their first time. Takes place after the strip club and Angel's recruitment.
Chapter 3: The Dance
They have sex for the first time after leaving the strip club, drunk on too much champagne and riding the high of another successful recruitment.
Charles' cheeks are flushed, his blue eyes dilated and he's more than a little giddy from the waves of lust that have been washing over him all evening from the club's other patrons. He has to will himself not to fidget; he's restless and aroused and his hands are itching to touch the soft nape of Erik's neck hidden beneath his collar and tie.
Perhaps he might have projected that particular thought he thinks, because the other man leans into Charles' space then, his mouth hovering right next to Charles' ear. "Come on. Let's get you back to your room."
It's probably the combination of too much alcohol and the fact that his shields have taken a hell of a beating, but he decides right then that tonight's the night he's going to make a move.
"And what," Charles tilts his head to the side and looks up at Erik with a teasing grin, "do you think we should do when we get there?"
Erik's slow, answering smirk makes his stomach flutter with anticipation...and maybe just a touch of nervousness. He's not sure why; Charles knows for a fact that Erik has been with other men, saw the memories of casual hookups in bars and sex in dark rooms and alleys.
Charles himself is no stranger to the delights of a male bed partner. His time at Oxford was liberating and educational and he's had ample opportunities to appreciate the hard angles of a man's body as much as the softness of a woman's curves.
Somehow, he suspects that the answer to his question is simple. This is Erik, and unlike the others, Erik matters.
"Chess perhaps," the man's low chuckle makes the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, "or we can catch up on our reading."
And then he grips Charles' elbow, squeezing it just hard enough to show intent as he thinks loudly about all the things they should do once they get back to the hotel.
Erik on his knees, his mouth wrapped around Charles' cock.
Charles riding him on the bed, his head thrown back, coming hard all over his chest.
Charles' fingers in his ass, stroking them together, water coursing down their bodies in the shower.
He almost stumbles in his haste to get off the stool and Erik laughs, a delighted sound falling from his lips as he places a warm hand on Charles' back.
"Umm yes, chess sounds lovely my friend."
Their mutual attraction had been obvious from start – at least it was to Charles who had the benefit of his telepathy and the mental dive he took into Erik's mind that first night in Miami. The Nazi hunter (and boy are some of his memories a strange, intoxicating mix of arousal, power, fear) cares little for labels and the disapproval of society at large, chasing pleasure as easily as he does revenge.
He makes no connections, preferring anonymous affairs with men and women to anything meaningful or lasting. There's no bitterness or regret for the life he chooses to lead; only single minded determination to seek out the man who murdered his mother.
Erik has spent years honing his skills as a silent and deadly predator; his words few and careful, his movements concise and economical. To the world he appears aloof with a dangerous edge, a man who takes pains to maintain a careful distance until the moment he doesn't.
He tries to do the same with Charles, always conscious of the amount of personal space he leaves between them. Erik is polite, distant and cool and even Charles would have been fooled if not for one, tiny detail.
He never takes his eyes off the telepath.
Those steely eyes track him, whenever he enters or exits a room. They watch as Charles drums his fingers while he thinks; watches his lips when he speaks or takes a sip of his drink.
They follow him everywhere – whether he's talking to Moira, getting updates from the CIA or hooked up to Cerebro, breathless and dizzy with exhilaration.
He feels naked and exposed under the weight of Erik's gaze; feels the attention like the touch of the man's long, elegant fingers on his bare skin. It prickles and delights and makes Charles want to scream or hide or fuck till he's too tired to stay awake and too wound up to sleep.
And he's sure that Erik knows the effect he has on Charles, has caught him with a sly grin on his face a few times when the telepath flushed hot and babbled awkwardly at the way the man's eyes seemed to all but devour him.
But Charles isn't completely without defenses.
He makes an effort to invade Erik's personal space whenever he can, a gentle brush on the arm or clap on the shoulder that makes the other man tense even as he leans subconsciously into Charles' touch.
It's a dance that requires no words; a subtle exchange of perhaps and I want and not today but soon.
They each wait for the other to make a move, the importance of their partnership enough to instil a bit of caution. Charles is wary of pushing for too much too fast; he wants Erik to know that having sex won't change anything about their budding friendship or easy camaraderie.
And then of course they do have sex, and everything changes.
Erik doesn't let go of him for the entire cab ride back, his hand steady and warm on Charles' arm. They don't speak; Erik looks every bit as calm and collected as he did on the way to the club earlier in the evening. By the time they make it up the elevator to their floor Charles is buzzing with impatience and he huffs with relief when the other man unlocks the door with his powers so he doesn't have to fumble for the key.
"Do you...want to come in?"
The words come out a lot less confident than he intended but Erik just gives him an easy smile and tips his head against the door frame. "Do you want me to come in Charles?"
He swallows, his throat suddenly too tight and dry but he breathes through the nervous tension and places his hand on Erik's chest. "I do."
And the words are like magic, lifting the unexpected weight off Charles' shoulders. He takes Erik's hand and pulls him inside, the door closing behind them with a soft click.
He expects...well he expects things to go the way they've always gone in Erik's memories; the taller man taking control, rough and fast and a touch impatient. He doesn't expect Erik to push him gently against the wall, a soft smile on his face as he slips Charles' jacket off his shoulders and then slowly unbuttons his shirt.
Erik's sharp blue eyes, so familiar and seductive, follow his fingers as he peels the suit away layer by layer. They roam over the pale smoothness of Charles' shoulders; caress the lightly muscled chest. They join his hands on either side of Charles' waist, thumbing the soft skin as he un-tucks the shirt and pulls the belt from his pants. He devours every inch of a Charles revealed, unwrapping him like a present until he's completely nude and shaking from the need to move.
He reaches for Erik's tie, making his intentions obvious. "You're woefully overdressed my friend."
"Hmm..." A soft hum and a considering look and then the other man drops his own jacket and starts to strip. Charles watches, completely enraptured with the hard planes and slim waist, the long muscular form and broad shoulders. Erik is absolutely breathtaking; the scars on his body doing nothing to mar the beauty of the man underneath.
"God, Erik..."
He doesn't get to finish the sentence, the words morphing into a moan as he's pulled into a rough, heated kiss. Erik presses him against the wall, covering Charles' body with his own as he plunges into the warmth of luscious red lips.
His skin is on fire, every inch hot and tingling as Erik grinds against him, his mouth on Charles, licking and biting, marking his skin. It's intense and overwhelming and all he can think about – all he wants - is to give himself over to this moment; to let Erik take everything that Charles has to give.
They stumble over to the bed and fall together, a mass of tangled limbs. Charles pulls away for a moment to reach for the slick and then they're entwined once again, Erik's eyes hot and hungry, drinking in the sight of him like a man starved and desperate.
He keens as a finger slides inside him, long and slick and oh so good, Erik between his legs, a hand spreading him open. The sensations are incredible, the feel of Erik's mouth as he sucks Charles' cock, licking his balls and taking him down his throat.
One finger becomes two, wet and full, sliding in and stretching him open. He screams when Erik finds his prostate and presses, his hips jerking forward as he comes hard in the other man's mouth.
Charles thinks he should maybe apologize for the lack of warning but Erik just swallows and licks his lips. He rubs his thumb gently across Charles' cheek and kisses him, so careful even as his whole body thrums with need.
"Can I...?" He pumps three fingers, deep and perfect – and when did two fingers become three? – before slowly pulling them out of Charles' ass, replacing them with the tip of his erection. Every muscle in his body is tense and ready but he waits, holding perfectly still until Charles tugs him close and whispers, "Move."
And then Erik pushes, his cock sliding in, rough and hard and huge inside his tight channel, filling him and fucking him open. The man starts slow, easing his way in to give the telepath time to adjust but Charles just wraps his arms and legs around him and groans into his mouth, "Faster Erik. Fuck me please. Ah! I want it."
Erik only hesitates for a moment before he starts fucking Charles like a man possessed. His body is a marvel, all power and control, hips pistoning in and out like a freight train. It goes on and on and on until Charles is hard and aching again, before Erik finally slams in to the hilt and drags them both over the edge.
They lay together in silence, trying to catch their breath and Charles is boneless and sated and too tired to move. He feels empty and restless when Erik slides out of him and gets up, heading into the bathroom. Returning a few minutes later, he proceeds to clean them both with a wash cloth and then leans down to kiss Charles again, slow and sweet.
"I should go."
It takes a bit before he realizes what Erik means; it's not until the man starts collecting his clothes off the floor that Charles understands that he`s heading back to his own room.
"You could...stay?"
He doesn't have any idea what possesses him to say these words; it's not as though he's ever been particularly disappointed when a bed partner doesn`t stay the night. But the thought of Erik leaving his bed – leaving him – after what they just experienced; it's not something Charles wants to contemplate.
Erik stands perfectly still in the middle of the room and stares at him, his face inscrutable, and Charles wants so much to know what he's thinking. But he doesn't do or say anything; it's Erik's decision to make, whether he wants to go or take Charles up on his offer.
The seconds tick by and Erik still hasn't moved and Charles wonders if he's just gone and made things unforgivably awkward. He's about to make a joke, to send Erik away with a gentle laugh when the man drops his clothes on the floor and climbs back into bed.
"Um...goodnight Erik."
"Goodnight Charles."
They move at the same time, Charles shifting over to give the other man more room as Erik simultaneously tries to pull him closer. The two men share embarrassed looks at the mutual floundering and then promptly burst into laughter.
It gets much easier after that, with Erik pulling Charles against him, resting the telepath's head against his chest. Charles finds himself falling asleep in a matter of minutes, feeling safe and warm and appreciated.
And for the remainder of the recruiting trip, Erik doesn't offer to leave again, and Charles never has to ask him to stay.