A/N: Wherein Charles gets some action... and then gets some more action. Erik needs stitches and we meet some of Charles' future patients.
...
Chapter 3: Closer
Logan's hands were warm as they gently spread his legs. Charles' breathing was steady, pupils dilated with not fear, but arousal. When Logan's tongue circled the head of his erection Charles hissed, digging his fingers into short brown hair. Whether the man was aware or not-most likely the latter-he was part of Charles self-prescribed therapy. Their fist night had awakened the suppressed part of Charles, the part that wanted the touch of a man's hand on him, wanted the heat of that touch. Since the... trouble Charles had been too afraid. Too afraid to trust and too afraid of his own fear.
He wasn't falling for Logan. If anything, and even Logan had put it this way, they were fuck buddies. Charles had tried to say it out loud and just ended up rolling his eyes. Americans came up with the silliest labels for relationships. They couldn't leave well enough alone, could they? Regardless, Charles was thankful for Logan. Especially as the bigger man sucked him down to the root and Charles had to cover his own mouth to muffle a cry of pleasure. Breathing heavily, he watched as Logan bobbed his head. Every now and then that smoldering gaze would dart up and Charles would be enveloped by it. But worry was niggling at the corner of his mind. Logan would expect some reciprocation for this, would he not? Charles' brow furrowed as he canted his hips, Logan's fingers dancing over his sac with uncanny skill.
"U-um," Charles stuttered, hard-pressed to form the string of words into a coherent sentence, "Logan, let me... oh, let me-"
He let Charles fall from his lips with an audible smack. "Xavier, just moaning would be great. Don't dry to talk dirty-"
"Logan," he snapped. Who said he couldn't talk dirty if he wanted to? "I was just going to say that... ah." He stopped, face flushing. "I mean, I think we could be arranged into a much more mutually beneficial position."
It took him a moment, but Logan cracked up, actually falling back from Charles entirely and laying spread-eagle on the floor, staring at the younger man like he had sprouted pink feathers from his ass. "Xavier. Charles. Man, just say you wanna 69, okay? You use way too many syllables. I feel like you could save a lot of time and live more of your life if you simplified." He was still chuckling when Charles crawled down next to him on the floor, red lips quirked in a wry smile.
"Alright then," he conceded, face turning even redder. "Let's 69 then."
"Turn around, Charles," Logan said, voice a soothing rumble.
Gulping down a suddenly dry throat, Charles turned away from Logan, lying down alongside him. Not giving hesitation time to grow into nervousness, he took Logan's impressive erection in hand and lowered his mouth to delicately kiss the tip of it. His skin prickled pleasantly as Logan rubbed his back, returning to giving Charles nothing short of a fantastic blowjob. Again, Charles silently thanked Logan. Though the man's obvious arousal was staring Charles in the face, he never gave any indication of force or impatience. Ironic, Charles thought, given his rough character.
Drawing his tongue over the hot flesh, Charles simultaneously fisted the base of Logan's dick. The hollowing of Logan's cheeks and the positively filthy sound of wet sucking seriously distracted him. Taking a deep breath, Charles calmed his mind and leaned forward, wrapping his lips around the head of Logan's cock. It sat heavy on his tongue and he drew it slowly in, inch by inch, until he felt it brush the back of his throat. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple and Charles focused on the feel of Logan's mouth on him, taking that pleasure and using it like a mental salve. He drew away a little and lapped at the tiny drops of precum dripping down the stiff flesh. Moving his hands a little faster, gaining confidence as Logan moaned appreciatively, Charles bent his head and this time sucked Logan in deep. He closed his eyes and directed all of his attention to the task at hand; the taste, the sounds Logan made, and the good vibrations that shivered down his cock as a result. Moaning a little, Charles took the other man in even deeper, red lips sliding easily over the slick skin. He remembered this-enjoying it, wanting it. Like an archeological tool carefully chipping away at the mud around a precious artifact, Charles was unblocking the feelings and wants that his past had buried.
He growled, unable to resist arching his hips, thrusting deeper into Charles' mouth. Where had this come from, Logan wondered, delighted as Charles exhibited a very fine skill or fellatio that Logan vowed to explore at length-no pun intended-from here on out. Cupping Charles' pert little ass, Logan pushed the man's hips forward, mimicking a rocking motion that Charles matched, thrusting in and out of Logan's mouth. Humming around the pulsing cock currently plunging down his throat, Logan swirled his tongue and even used his teeth. Charles was writhing next to him, his own technique growing sloppy-by no means diminishing in pleasure-as his orgasm neared. Logan replaced his mouth with a hand long enough to throatily order, "Come for me, doc" before deep-throating the younger man.
Logan's rough voice fell on his ears and pushed him over the edge. Charles' threw back his head and made a keening sound, panting as Logan sucked him dry. Breathing heavily, body thrumming with sensation, Charles attacked Logan's cock with renewed vigor, the loud, wet sounds filling their room.
"Good, Charles, fuck," Logan murmured, stroking Charles' stomach. "I'm... close." He wondered distractedly if the doc would spit or swallow before he cried out in surprise as the cheeky little bastard used his teeth, nipping gently at the sensitive skin. Logan was grinning like mad, dragging his nails down Charles' side. "Again," he groaned, voice spiraling up into a long moan as Charles' alternately nibbled at his cock and sucked like a fiend. Logan decided quickly that war, murder, betrayal could all be avoided if more people received oral sex at this level. He couldn't fathom ever being anything but extremely happy, as happy as he was right now as the Juniper Mutant Correctional Facility psychologist sucked his cock like he was born to do it.
...
The blonde guard Erik didn't particularly like was standing in front of them. He was wearing the dampers on his head so that the mutants among the inmates that had abilities to manipulate the mind couldn't affect him. Erik knew that if they really wanted to they could, but why risk the guard going off the handle and slicing them all to bits with his molten hot plasma rings? They'd all seen him when he first came on board at Juniper. He'd performed a demonstration, cutting through stone, metal with bright red rings of concentrated energy flying from his body like hollow discuses. Juniper had done well to put him down with the mentally unstable population. Though the group he currently stood in front of was a mix of the lifers and the mentally ill, most heavily sedated and tightly bound with every precaution.
A few other guards met them in the inmate cafeteria (currently acting as the holding cell for these multiple mutants). The black guard who had earned something like a positive reputation with the convicts approached the blonde and whispered in his ear. Erik strained to hear but couldn't catch anything. He was pressed on all sides by the other mutants, irritated that he was roused from his bed and taken from an immensely pleasant dream filled with orb-like blue eyes and pretty red lips-
"Does anyone know exactly why we are here?" Mister Sinister-a ridiculous name in Erik's opinion-snarled. "As much as I enjoy waking in the middle of the night to be glared at by our dear handsome guards-"
"I could be jerkin' it," grunted Juggernaut. Mister Sinister shot him an acidic look and Erik snorted. Soulless eyes landed on him and Sinister's thin mouth curled into a cold-blooded smirk. "Oh, I'm certain you're quite upset yourself, Lensherr." His voice was a quiet purr too low for the guards to take any notice, but with a tone that silenced the rest of the inmates as they all listened eagerly.
Loathe to take the bait Erik just sighed, glancing back at the guards. One of them was holding a bag full of what Erik assumed to be shanks and various other primitive prison weapons. They'd each been thoroughly searched and any of them harboring even the most laughable of items was carted away to solitary confinement. He hated raids. The knives and bludgeoning tools his peers manufactured from toothbrushes, paper, and the plastic utensils they swiped from the cafeteria were far below Erik himself. After all, only humans needed to use weapons like that. Neanderthals had weapons like that. Mutants were far too evolved to stoop so low.
Lost in this train of thought, Erik didn't notice when Mister Sinister shot a pointed look at another mutant. The giant mutant moved forward and Erik almost jumped out of his skin as a long, sharp nail trailed over the back of his neck.
"We heard about your little stroll on the roof, Lensherr," a slimy voice coated his ears with simpering inflection. Erik stiffened, the hair on the back of his neck standing up. "Heard that a pretty little thing soothed the savage beast that day."
Remaining silent, Erik fixed his gaze on the guards, who seemed to be arguing about something.
"I've yet to see him for myself," murmured the mutant. It could be none other than Mojo, a regular in the insane ward. He was a trickster, completely without remorse or emotions. "But if he's got your attention I suppose he must be something to behold."
Erik could feel the evil yellow eyes boring into the back of his head, aware of the tendrils of oily consciousness sliding through his own thoughts. Erik was too strong to fall prey to his games, but the sensation was unnerving nonetheless. Like fingers poking around in a dark corner. But Mojo couldn't see into minds, or fully manipulate them. He could only suggest and weaker minds might fall prey. His nail left Erik's neck, but he was still too close. Out of the corner of his eye Erik could see the dirty white-blonde dreadlocks snaking down over meaty shoulders. The man was albino, the yellow of his eyes and the yellow of his teeth the only color that registered. He was a disgusting example of the mutant species. Erik's jaw tightened.
A thin line of chilling laughter bubbled out of Mojo's mouth, his breath rancid as it ghosted over the side of Erik's face. "I'll be seeing your sweet doctor in a few days, Lensherr. Should I say hello to him for you?" He could see the veins standing out in Erik's neck. Trading a look with Sinister, Mojo moved even closer to the silent man, yellow eyes wary of the guards as he whispered, "Do you think he can help a poor soul like me? Perhaps I can make him scream a little, hmm? We get to be in there alone with him, free to say anything we'd like. I'm sure the precious thing won't mind if I want to give him a little... prod." He opened up a stream of images in Erik's mind. Though Mojo didn't know his face, he could still send visions into another person's thoughts that would attach to any familiarity in their own subconscious.
Closing his eyes, anger swelling dark and dangerous beneath his brow, Erik saw the young man twisting in agony, screaming. He knew it was all a ruse, but that didn't stop the terrible black rage coursing through his veins. When Mojo started laughing coldly, something snapped inside Erik. He whirled around and, swinging his bound hands like an ax, struck Mojo hard across the face. The obese man staggered to the right, cackling even louder before launching himself at Erik.
Darwin was there in an instant, body solid as a rock. He dragged Erik back as one of the guards raised a stun gun and shot Mojo in the side of the neck. Blood running from his nose, Mojo stared up at Erik, panting like an overtaxed bull. He gave the man a biting smile, teeth shining crimson in the light. Erik glared back, aware of blood streaming hot down his face where Mojo had sliced him with his eerily long nails.
The vision of the blue-eyed young man faded like smoke into the sky. Erik's eyes were narrowed. He hadn't known the man was a... doctor? Not a doctor of medicine like that crack shot who so enjoyed shooting him with sedatives, surely. Then realization dawned and Erik forgot all about Mojo and the guard reinforcing his binds. Apparently the new psychologist had arrived and Erik hadn't known. A thrill ran through him. He'd get to see his vicious little songbird again. Just the two of them. Blinking as the guard started to drag him off-most likely to spend a night in solitary-Erik resisted only long enough to hawk a bloody loogie into Mojo's face, smirking as the albino mutant roared with rage.
...
The foghorn was deafening, and the knowledge that it came from a skinny redhead baffled him, even with the knowledge that Sean was a mutant. Curious, Charles rolled out of bed and shuffled to the window, grinning when he saw Louise and her boat pulling up to the dock. Her wild auburn hair spiraled out from her head in an unmanageable mop of tight frizzy curls, a tight captain's hat hugging her crown. He could see a line of men making their way to the cliff-side stairs, surprised when he realized they were guards and not the regular gang of groundskeepers. Craning his neck to see as Louise disappeared below the line of the cliff, Charles nearly jumped when Logan's voice emerged from beneath his cocoon of blankets.
"Tha' Louise?"
"Yes, she just pulled in."
"Mrrrmphjgkajgf..." The top of his head vanished before Logan slipped out from underneath the covers like an insect from under a leaf. Peering up into Charles' blinking face, he gave the man a toothy grin. "Bout time the old battle ax showed up. Come on, Xavier. She'll want to see you. She owes me five bucks now that you've made it a few days here without punching someone. Plus she might have your desk by now."
"Charming," he deadpanned, pulling on a sweater. Logan strode past him in nothing but boxers and an undershirt, doing that annoyingly dashing thing where he vaulted the railing and slid down the side of the wall. Opting for the more traditional-if slower-route, Charles was one of the last to walk down the stairs, arms folded against the cold.
Louise stood like a general overseeing her troops, one leg poised on the prow. She was shouting good-naturedly, dropping down packages and directing men who trotted up the gangplank to lift down heavier objects from aboard the vessel. Charles broke into a jog when he saw what must be his desk lifted down the side of the boat. A group of guards had wordlessly surrounded it, lifting it like nothing to bear back up the steps. Stepping aside as they went past, he watched them for a moment before going over to say hello to the boat's captain.
"Well if it isn't English boy," she trumpeted, dropping nimbly to the ground. She started laughing as Logan swaggered over, a box of Jack under his arm. Slapping a few bills into his hands, she punched him in the shoulder as he shot Charles an obnoxious grin, already swigging from a bottle.
"Louise," Charles greeted, "I didn't know you made regular trips to the island."
"I'm Juniper's lifeline, son," she said. "You got a request, sweetie, I'm the one to fill it. I'm your mail-lady, ambulance, and black market specialist-but don't you tell Moira that. She'll have my head. But how are you, boy?"
"Fine, Louise," he said, unable to keep a beaming smile off his face. "I hope my welfare is worth the five dollars you had to give up."
"Aw, it's worth it, smart ass," she shot back, clapping him on the back. "Now you listen. You need anything you let me know. I come a few times a week to deliver mail and whatnot."
"I'll keep that in mind. Thank you, Louise."
"Alright. You keep your chin up and don't let these boys take advantage of you," she ordered, hands on her hips.
Even standing a good number of inches shorter than Charles she was a force to be reckoned with. A flood of warmth blossomed in his chest for this woman and Charles found another smile stretching across his face. "Deal."
He stood on the dock with the others, waving as Louise backed out of the narrow waterway, repeating the same complicated patterns through the water as when she'd first brought Charles to Juniper.
Hank was waiting in his office-their office when Charles made his way back inside. Charles peeked in and saw the doctor digging through the file cabinet-their file cabinet? Closing the door behind him, Charles waved when Hank glanced up.
"Oh, Xavier! I'm glad you stopped by. Nice desk, by the way."
"Thanks, I believe Moira picked it out." Running his hand over the wood, he supposed this was quite a pivotal moment. Up until now he'd been floating around the institution, going on rounds with Darwin or sitting up in the crow's nest with Sean. The desk symbolized the beginning; soon it'd be filled with notes, files, pens... everything one would think to have a in a desk. He'd never had one before, not to call his own in the workplace anyway. Grinning, he bit his lip. Excitement coursed through him, and it took him a minute to realize Hank was speaking.
"...I'm on my way there now."
He looked up, embarrassed. "I'm sorry Hank, what was that?"
"Oh, I was just saying you can go ahead and make yourself at home. Mi casa es, uh, your casa."
"Thank you, my friend. And it's 'su casa'."
"Right," Hank mumbled, ears bright red. "Well, I'll be off to the infirmary now. The guys put the desk there, but if you want to move it-"
"The infirmary?"
"Yeah, there was fight downstairs during a search. I guess they turned up some pretty gnarly weapons the inmates were harboring. Scary stuff."
Trying not to imagine what ghastly tools men with too much spare time had created, Charles cleared his throat and asked, "Someone was hurt?"
Hank gave him a crooked smile, hefting a thick file in his hand. "I don't know if he's capable of being hurt... but Erik Lensherr will need some stitches, yes."
"E-erik? Um, Mr. Lensherr, I mean?" His gut twisted unpleasantly, mind filled with sea green eyes. A shiver went down his spine when he remembered the roughness of the man's cheek against his own.
"The one and only." Noticing the pallor of Charles' face, he frowned. "You all right? Maybe you should go get some sleep. It's pretty late."
"Actually, may I come to the infirmary with you, Hank? It might be opportune to talk to Er-Mr. Lensherr. He will be my patient, and honestly I'd like to clear the air considering he collapsed in my arms the last time we met."
Looking sheepish, Hank chuckled. "Yeah, I understand that. Though I really don't think he blames you for anything. If I hadn't patched him up on so many occasions after prison yard fights I think he'd be out for my blood. I've shot him quite a few times after all."
Surprised registered on his face as he followed Hank out, flicking off the lights. "Juniper has a yard?"
"Well, less of a yard and more of a naturally lit gym. It's open air, so it allows them to get some fresh air. There's only one door, and the guards stay on the outside, so that's when grudges get carried out between the inmates. Those are my busiest hours."
"I see." Nodding thanks when Hank pulled the door open for him, Charles ducked into the infirmary. He came up short when the figure cast in shadow on the first cot turned towards him. Even without light Charles could feel those eyes. A light brush over his consciousness. Hank turned on the lights and Charles winced. Erik was bound by thick straps from head to toe. Though he didn't look at all perturbed. In fact, he looked like he just woke up from a nap. There was a nasty cut along the side of his head, leading from his temple to the edge of his eye. Someone had cleaned the blood away, but he definitely would need stitches.
As Hank moved about the room collecting the equipment needed, Charles approached Erik's side, pulling up a visitor's chair. "Hello, Erik."
"Hello songbird," he said. His voice was slightly raspy from sleep. He'd been dozing; figuring that after a surprise search the cellblocks would be full of outraged noise all night. Might as well grab a few winks while he could. Though now he was quite awake. He hadn't expected to see the young man any time soon. The fight would land him in solitary, and that meant no human contact for as many days as Captain Moira saw fit.
"My name's Charles," he provided, moving out of the way as Hank finally came over carrying a tray of tools. "Xavier," he added, peering over Hank's arm as the doctor brusquely checked the patient's head.
"Charles Xavier," he echoed, eyes finding Charles' blues over the doctor's starched shoulder. "It's very nice to see you again."
"Erik," Hank interrupted, "You can talk to Charles after I patch you up." He glanced up into flat green eyes. "I can't have you moving when I'm sewing up your head."
"I suppose not," Erik murmured, looking at Charles again. His smile reached his eyes. "Can't have you slipping and taking out an eye."
"Too much paperwork," Hank agreed, dabbing antiseptic over the cut. "Okay, you ready?"
"Mmhmm," he confirmed, eyes still on Charles. When the needle broke skin he didn't flinch.
Hank worked quickly and quietly. Charles almost forgot he was there, caught as he was by Erik's intense gaze. Again, just like on the roof, he felt the world drop away. This time, however, Charles reached out with a thin tendril of his power. It lay like a veil over Erik's mind. He found the pain from the stitches and gently muffled it. The green eyes widened minutely, as if the convict knew what he was up to.
"Such a tough guy," Hank joked. "There, I'll just cut... this... right. All done. Now because it's a head wound I'm going to keep you in here tonight. You bled quite a bit they said. Unfortunately I'll have to sedate you-"
"Sedate a man with a head wound?" Charles chimed in, fixedly looking at Hank though he felt Erik's eyes on him.
"It's not what I would generally do, but the dose will be extremely low. It's either that or he goes back down where he won't be monitored."
"Ah, yes," he conceded, glancing briefly at the convict.
"Now if you could just watch him for a second I'm going to go to the supply closet to get the sedatives. Erik," he said, looking at the man. "I'm going to leave bandages off until tomorrow when you're back in gen pop. Let it get some air while there's no risk of infection. Sound good?"
"Grand," Erik said, eyes twinkling with amusement. Once the doctor had gone, he fixed all of his attention on Xavier. "Thank you for what you did, whatever it was." He cocked his head. "You're what, a telepath?"
"That is how I would be categorized, yes."
"You should've used it in the lottery," he said, grunting slightly with the effort to shift beneath the ties that held him. "You could be off rich somewhere instead of here."
"With you?" Charles hadn't meant to say it. He inwardly cursed himself.
Thin lips quirked. "Good point. I recant my statement."
He opened his mouth to try and pacify that slip when Hank walked back in with the sedative, looking a little too pleased with himself. The syringe on the tray was filled with a copper colored liquid and Charles could practically feel the waves of disdain rolling off of the patient.
"Hey, Charles..." Alex poked his head around the corner, nodding a hello to Hank. "We found a couple office chairs for you. You should come check them out. We'll take the one you don't want back to storage and close up for the night."
"I'll be there in a second. Thank you, Alex." Looking sidelong at a clearly unhappy Erik, Charles smiled comfortingly. "Sleep well, Erik."
"Unlikely," he mumbled, earning a sour look from Hank.
As he stood up, gripping Hank's shoulder as a farewell, Erik said his name. Looking back down at the man, he cocked his head. "Yes?"
"Maybe you'll think of me? More songs to sing?"
"Unlikely," Hank cut in mockingly, rolling his eyes at Charles. "He's loopy from blood loss, don't pay any attention."
Trying to look casual while processing Erik's suggestive words, Charles furrowed his brow at Hank. "You're still sure a sedative is safe?"
"This is a new compound I've just finished," Hank said proudly, clearing the syringe with a tap the to the side of the glass. "It should reduce the side effects on the body while still achieving the intended drowsiness."
Sure that he saw a smirk curl over Erik's lip as Hank explained, Charles nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You are the doctor."
Chuckling, Hank called over his shoulder, "Night Charles!" as the psychologist wandered down the hall.
The chairs both ended up being quite ugly. But one was less rickety, and that was the one he took. Bidding the others goodnight, Charles returned to his dorm to find Logan dead asleep. His snores were soft, and Chares had noticed they only occurred when Logan slumbered at a certain angle. Laughing quietly, he undressed, pale skin striped by moonlight. Though it was awfully late and he had a busy day tomorrow, his mind was totally awake and buzzing.
Erik was very handsome.
Running his hand through his hair, he collapsed into bed.
Erik was a criminal.
The twanging keen of the razor wire was carried on the wind into earshot. Charles tossed and turned. Sleep evaded him like sand through fingers. Suddenly Logan's quiet snores were amplified, the razor wire outside was deafening. Charles was surrounded by hundreds of sleeping men, and the collective racket of their slumber was the low rumble of an earthquake. There was no quiet to be found. Not tonight. It may have been his ability, it may have been the way Erik's eyes had watched him over Hank's shoulder, but Charles was hyperaware of his environment. The life pulsing around him, the smell of the salty sea air. Turning onto his side, he stared at the window. Ribbons of cloud curled around the moon.
Not since he was a boy had Charles traveled, jumping from mind to mind, wandering like a spirit among the living. He never dared at the Academy in fear that someone would sense him; someone would find out and condemn him. Long ago he'd ceased to be the fly on the wall and stayed put, anchored in his own mind. But on this night distant memories of the feeling-the unimaginable feeling-of touching someone else's mind proved to be too sweet a temptation.
Closing his eyes, he reached out with hundreds of hands. Like the caress of a mother, Charles gently moved among the men. Nothing but a petal floating on the still surface of a pond. Barely there, barely felt. Understanding the boundaries, and respecting the privacy of his fellows, Charles flew blind. Unaware of faces or identities he glided along, swirling down among hallways, arcing up into the open air to soar over the ground, propelled by others' eyes staring up into the twinkling night sky. He must be inside of the groundskeepers, or even Sean up in the crow's nest. The night was beautiful. He hadn't noticed before. In this strange stillness he had no limits.
Falling back gently, he swung through minds like a trapeze artist, dipping briefly into pools of familiar imagery before moving on. It was incredible. His chest filled with the heightened excitement that birds must feel when they fly. There was never doubt he could do it, but the fear had always stopped him. Charles smiled, his body reacting to the flashes of becoming, of ceasing, of shifting. When he settled, even for the briefest of surface seconds, he was that person, sitting alongside their consciousness like a bird on a branch.
Suddenly he felt it like a beam of white-hot light, slicing across him. Charles' chest tightened. And there was Erik, lying in the cot. Not asleep, not unmoving. Not sedated. And not bound! His hands were free, though the rest of him was still tied. Diving down into Erik's mind, Charles made himself known.
"Erik," he said sternly, "Who released you? That sedative should've knocked you out."
Eyes darting around the room, Erik realized that Charles was inside his mind. Looking down at his hands, he smiled. "Looks like you caught me. And don't be surprised, usually the doctor's testers fail miserably. It's expected."
"How did you get out of them, Erik?"
"Charles, you underestimate me." He paused, thinking. "Or overestimate the men here. The binds on my hands were done poorly. I'm somewhat of a Houdini, if you've forgotten where we first had the pleasure of meeting." The lie slipped from his mouth easily. "And I'm sure I can undo the rest of these before you, or anyone else, can get down to me."
"Erik," he hissed, "I can stop you if you try to do that. You're there for your own good."
Staring forward at nothing, Erik murmured, "I don't like being bound. I don't like being in the infirmary."
Charles felt flashes of agony and pungent fear. His body was wracked with second-hand pain. "Erik," he gasped, "Erik, what is it?"
"You... can feel that?"
"Yes," he said hoarsely. "I'm so sorry."
Confused, he tipped his head up. "Why?" The memories faded back, washed away by real curiosity. Being here reminded him of his past and the horrors he suffered. The horrors that made him who he is today.
"That pain... your suffering," he caught his breath. "Erik, why didn't you say anything?" He was already walking swiftly towards the ladder, climbing down the floors of the guard dorms.
"You think it's unique? We all have pain and darkness that brought us here."
Just like Logan had said. Charles broke into a jog. "It's my job to help you work through that. I'm coming for you, please don't do anything else."
"You're coming for me?" He curled his free arm up and laid his fingers over the clasp securing the band across his waist. "I might be free by then. On the prowl. You could be in danger."
Charles didn't miss the humor, but he wasn't amused. "Erik, don't. I'll be forced to report you."
"So you can feel everything, can you?" he asked, ignoring Charles' plea. "Can you feel this?" He moved his hand over his groin, rubbing against the thin cotton fabric. He felt a strange fluttering in his mind, like a quickly inhaled breath.
Charles froze.
"What about this?" He slowly reached inside his pants and ran his fingers over his hardening cock. "As long as you're in here, all the sensation is yours, too." Biting back a groan, he stroked himself, hips arching against the feel of his callused fingers.
On his knees, Charles tried to catch his breath. His dick was stirring in his pants, mind and body alive with the feeling of Erik's pleasure. "Erik, stop," he whispered.
"I'm not breaking any rules," he argued playfully. "My hands are busy, so they aren't undoing any more of these belts. That's good, right?" He emphasized the last words with a languid roll of his hips. Knowing Charles was there with him, feeling this; it increased the thrill tenfold. "Don't let go of me, Charles," he whispered. "Stay with me and I won't escape."
He'd fallen against the wall, cutting off a moan with his hands over his mouth. His hair was standing on end, goose bumps racing over his flesh. Erik's thumb rubbed the head of his cock and Charles squirmed, pressing a palm to his erection as if he could will the feeling away. Erik would feel it if he left his mind and Charles didn't know what he would do if he escaped and had access to possible weapons. There was more he could do to stop Erik, but Charles didn't trust himself to stop Erik without hurting him. Emma's training had been thorough and esoteric-there had been nothing gentle about the tactics she taught him.
Increasing the speed of his hand, Erik moaned, thrashing beneath the binds. His other hand was between his legs, underneath. If Charles could truly feel... He pressed a finger in, curling against his own inner walls. Precum slicked his hands and Erik bared his teeth, pressing another finger in deep. He wanted Charles to feel this. Part of Erik was angry at the mental violation this represented; another part was aggressively reacting to his memories being trampled through.
Charles was staggering down the hall, closer now to the infirmary. With the fight and the raid having riled the inmates, the normal patrol that would be making rounds in these halls had been reassigned for extra manpower. Charles was thankful for that. No eyes to see him this way. He moaned, slamming his fist into the wall as Erik quickened the pace. Wetness spread across the front of his pants and Charles cursed. Yet he could not deny the strange eroticism of this mental stimulation-the academic in him filed that away for further study.
Then he felt as Erik began to finger himself. Charles stopped. He didn't want that. He wasn't ready. Not yet.
"Erik," he thought at him clearly. "Stop."
"Already told you, songbird, " Erik panted, "I won't stop."
Charles was curling on the floor, hands moving over his own body, seeking to push away the fingers and hands on him, but there weren't any there. He began to panic, flashes of the Academy storming through him, sending uncontrollable shudders racing through his body. Fear, heavy and foul, swamped his mind and Charles yelled, "Stop! Stop!"
Like a doused candle, Charles' presence blinked out. As it did Erik received a very clear, practically blaring feeling of terror. Charles.
His eyes were clenched shut, blood stinging across his lips where he'd bitten through them. Tears stung his eyes. He was still on the floor, shivering. Upon hearing a rushed set of footsteps he initially panicked, but then a whispered, "Charles!" calmed him. His attackers at the Academy hadn't said his name. Though he was nowhere near calm when he realized the arms curling around him, wrapping him in a warm embrace, were Erik's. Face pressed to the juncture of his neck and shoulder Charles could smell the fear and concern, genuine worry swirling around his mind. Relaxing slightly when he sensed no threat, Charles swallowed shakily and opened his eyes. Erik was staring down at him and for the first time Charles saw real emotion there.
"Charles?" he questioned. "I'm so sorry. I really am."
"I should be the sorry one-well, I am the sorry one," he said lightly. "I should have stuck to protocol and alerted the proper-"
"Charles," Erik sighed. Something went back up in his eyes, some kind of barrier. Now when he looked down at Charles the deceptively casual amusement had returned. "I think you're forgetting our roles here. I'm the inmate. You are... Charles."
Sitting up on his own and moving a safe distance away, Charles snorted. "What does that even mean, Erik? You don't know who Charles is. And really, that's the way it should be. As for knowing you..." His face reddened and he frowned. "Well, a very clear line was crossed here tonight and I sincerely regret it."
"You don't regret all of it," Erik countered. When Charles' eyes darkened he held up his hands defensively. "I have a head wound. Remember that."
Charles chose his next words very carefully. "Then I trust you'll have suffered a touch of amnesia by morning." He tried not to see the quick flash of hurt in Erik's eyes.
"For you, songbird," he finally said, "Anything."
"Then you'll do me the service of escorting me back to the infirmary so that I may ensure you are just where Hank left you."
Charles didn't tighten the belts as much as the guards had, but Erik didn't mention it. When the psychologist flopped back into the chair, his face drawn, Erik said, "Charles, please don't hold what happened here over me."
Anger coated his next words, "I'd asked you to stop and you did not."
"I never touched you," he said calmly. "It was you, Xavier, who entered my mind uninvited."
"As your psychologist I have that right."
"Of course. And I have none."
"You don't," he snapped. "You lost them."
After a beat of tense silence Charles turned away from Erik, rising out of the chair. "I'm going to return to bed." He made it to the door before Erik stopped him.
"Charles."
"Mr. Lensherr, if you would kindly address me as is fitting our roles here. It's Mr. Xavier."
"Xavier," he mimicked, "Please listen." When blue eyes grudgingly rose to meet his, his tone softened. "I didn't mean to hurt you. Please believe me. Whatever you've heard, or whatever you assume, don't think that I would ever intentionally hurt you."
Despite the circumstances, Charles knew he was telling the truth. His shoulders drooped. "I do believe you. But that doesn't change the fact that we both grossly overstepped boundaries here tonight. We are both at fault, myself moreso than you."
"I only regret that I hurt you, Cha... Xavier," he said firmly. "But I do not regret the pleasure that we shared."
Heat cresting his cheeks, Charles took a deep breath, centering himself. "You're not the one who hurt me," he said, almost too quiet for Erik too hear. Then he left.
Listening to Charles' footsteps fade down the hall, Erik undid the clasps on the belts and slid from the cot. He'd wake before the doctor checked on him and make it seem as if he'd been obediently bound all night. They'd never know. No one would know except he and his little songbird. Leaning against the doorframe, Erik's eyes fell unfocused. Both of them had pain in their past. Not the kind of pain most had gone through. No, it was different. That fear he'd felt before Charles disappeared from his mind; that was a fear he'd felt before in himself. They both had suffered torment they did nothing to bring upon themselves. Erik knew that, somehow, Charles had been a victim, too.
...
A/N: Just the tip of the iceberg...
-Villain