amuly | Pass the Cream

Title: Pass the Cream
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Word Count: 1,740
Rating: NC-17
Summary: Written for this prompt at the 1stclass_kink meme: Erik or Charles using Charles' telepathy to make the other come in his pants. In public/in front of the students. Cleaned up for public consumption.
Warnings: rimming, felching, dirty talk, sort-of-exhibitionism
A/N: Because my stitches still hurt and I don't feel like studying logic when I'm this uncomfortable. Also: I have this ridiculous history planned out in my mind about how Charles was sexing it up Oxford Style with all his university chums, and that Erik finds this out early on in their relationship. Eventually I will probably write this, and there will be intercrural sex all over the place. :DD

Charles' head was certainly not the best it had ever felt that morning as he stumbled down to breakfast. In fact, as Charles silently contemplated all the places on him that didn't feel one hundred percent, he realized his arse was certainly one of them. Charles smirked to himself as he pushed open the kitchen doors. Well, he had Erik to thank for that, and he certainly wasn't going to complain about his body being achingly sore from the fantastic buggering he had been on the receiving end of the night before.

Kettle successfully filled with water and on the stove, Charles eased himself back against the counter as he watched the children slowly file in. His muscles were still protesting, but a morning jog with Hank should work most of the soreness out. And if that didn't help, well: he could always find Erik and get some endorphins flowing through his body that way. Even if that would ultimately exacerbate the problem at hand.

As if his thoughts had summoned the man – and Charles knew they hadn't, since he could do that if he wanted to – Erik strolled into the kitchen, looking as refreshed as Charles had ever seen him. Charles smiled softly as he watched Erik bend over and rummage through the fridge for the creamer. Every day Charles saw Erik, the young man looked more relaxed, more at peace with himself and the world around him. Charles liked to think he had something to do with that. He knew Erik wouldn't be completely at peace: not ever, not even if he hunted down and killed Shaw – something Charles wasn't about to allow, anyway. But the lines in his forehead and around his eyes had seemed to lessen these past few months, and his lips quirked more readily into a small smile.

“Morning, Charles.” Erik brushed past, creamer in one hand and coffee pot in the other. He set about brewing his horribly strong German coffee, as he did every morning. One day when they were alone in the kitchen, early morning light just barely filtering into the wide windows, they had swapped their morning brews and taken a sip. Charles' tongue felt like it was being burned off, while Erik wiped at his own, complaining about “muddy water”. They had stuck to their own morning drinks thereafter.

“How'd you sleep?” Charles asked. Their eyes met briefly over the stove, before flickering away as the chatter of children around the kitchen table pressed warningly against their awareness.

Taking a breath, Erik nodded: all casual companionship, nothing untoward about his manner. “Good. Yourself?” Erik's eyes sharpened, and Charles could feel his mind shouting something at him. Opening his mind to Erik just the barest bit, Charles felt the thought reverberate through his mind, rattling him like a bell being struck: Manage to sleep at all on that arse of yours? Better watch how you walk around the children. You're moving like a man buggered to within an inch of his sanity.

Charles' knees trembled, hands flying to the stove to grip the edge. It wasn't so much what Erik had said, but rather the images that had accompanied it: himself, panting and writhing, face scrunched up as Erik pressed in, in, finally settling home before imitating a relentless pace. Himself, neck jammed up against the headboard, legs splayed over Erik's shoulders as he twisted the sheets beneath his fists, trying desperately to stay in control, to not lose himself in this brilliant, terrifying young man.

Adjusting himself discreetly under cover of the stove, Charles removed the kettle just as it began to whistle. “Good,” he croaked, barely remembering that Erik had asked him a question. “Very restful.”

Again, Erik's mind shouted at him. Charles couldn't resist. I'm sure you needed it, after what I did to you: taking you apart, holding you together as you came all over your pale little stomach. You might want to take a nap today when you're done with the children, because I plan on doing it all over again tonight.

“Right,” Charles breathed.

“Hey Prof!”

Charles barely remembered that he shouldn't turn around, lest he want the children to get an eyeful of an entirely inappropriate reaction going on in his pajama trousers. “Alex! Yes. How are you?” Charles smiled weakly over his shoulder at Alex as he busied himself with making tea. Tea. Right. Steeping and stirring and just a dash of honey to sweeten it. Simple, methodical, not arousing.

“I was wondering if we could try some moving targets? Like the ones at state fairs? I think I'm ready for it, today.”

The tea spoon clacked loudly against the china as Charles stirred his tea vigorously enough to have a miniature little Charybdis forming in his cup. Erik was moving past them, newspaper in one hand and coffee in his other as he took his seat on the far end of the table. Charles felt his attention drifting after Erik like a puppy dog following the scent of a treat. Maybe tonight we'll give your arse a rest. With how stiff you're holding yourself, it sure looks like it could use it. Unless your stiffness has another cause?

Charles practically pushed Alex down to get to his seat at the opposite end of the table from Erik. Sipping his tea as if mulling over Alex's question, Charles was in actuality hurriedly resurrecting his temporarily lapsed mental shields. Finally he set down his tea and, avoiding Erik's knowing smirk, turned to Alex. “Why don't we warm-up with stationary targets and go from there? If you feel your accuracy is adequate, we can ask Hank to devise something more challenging.”

Alex grinned, clapping a hand on Charles' arm. “Awesome.”

Breathing somewhat more easily, Charles reached down the table for some bread and jam. Out of the corner of his eye, Charles saw Erik start forward to do the same. Their eyes met, hands outstretched over the table and bodies leaning forward. Have you ever had your arsehole licked? I don't suppose you Oxford boys ever did anything like that. No: you were all intercrural sex, good and proper like the ancient Greeks. Nothing so debauched and messy could have ever occurred to you.

Charles slipped, falling partially across the table as Erik's voice somehow got through. Ignoring the children's concern around him, Charles leveraged himself back into his seat, resolutely spreading jam onto his toast. Maybe he could have kept Erik out his mind, with just a bit more effort. But Charles found he honestly just couldn't be arsed to want to at this point. His erection was scraping against his painfully thin pajama trousers, and all he wanted to do was push back from the table and let Erik crawl into his lap.

The poor toast probably didn't deserve to be masticated quite so viciously, but Charles couldn't find it in himself to feel any sympathy for it. Not when Erik's eyes were smoldering at him from across the table, newspaper clearly forgotten at his elbow.

Sean was stabbing his butter knife rather viciously at Hank. “No! It's totally unfair if you use your powers on the basketball court! No way!”

Hank shrugged helplessly, adjusting his glasses in embarrassment. “Sometimes I don't even know I'm using them! I throw the ball and it goes more accurately than I thought it would, or I just run faster on accident! It's like me saying you're cheating because you have better vision.”

“Not uh!” Sean stabbed at his plate, mangy hair flopping around as he shook his head.

So you've never had your arse licked clean like the most delicious eiscreme? Not even after one of your university boys spilled his seed all over your thighs and arse? He never paid you the common courtesy to clean you up?

The teacup in Charles' hand rattled viciously, his breath coming in shorter pants. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. This was entirely unfair. He couldn't... not when Erik was sending him images of what he was describing as well: Charles laid out on his stomach, white arse bare for the world to see. Erik leaning down, nuzzling against his arse, fingers playing against his hole like it was a delicate instrument. His hole clenching and flaring in anticipation, some of Erik's own seed dribbling out. Erik pressing his tongue out, lapping at that first little bit of pearly white liquid, before burying his face in Charles' arse and making him fall to pieces.

Charles couldn't even drink his tea. That was how badly off he was. All he could do was stare at the table, hands gripping his armrest as the voices of the children rose and fell around him. Erik's gaze had to be burning a hole in the top of Charles' head, it was so hot – much like Charles' erection was determined to leak a hole in his pajama trousers.

So focused was Charles on his erection, on not coming, on not permanently scarring the three boys gathered around the kitchen table with them, that Charles didn't even feel Erik approach. It wasn't until Erik's hand was sitting lightly on his wrist, and his lips pressing against Charles' ear, that he realized it. “Could you pass me the cream, Charles?”

Charles orgasm was instantaneous. He tried to rationalize it: Erik had touched him, exponentially increasing the psychic link between the two of them, and therefore pushing Charles' arousal past its breaking point. But as he let his head drop to the table to hide his sweaty and flushed face, Charles knew the reason was much simpler than any mutation: Erik just had that power over him. His lips, his smell, the lightest touch of his fingertips to Charles' wrist could provoke such a reaction all on their own – no telepathy needed.

“I hate you,” Charles whispered against the tabletop.

Erik's quiet, secret laugh in his mind was almost worth it, even as Erik's physical warmth left him and returned to his seat.

“Psst! Alex!” Sean's voice was loud to Charles as he came down from his orgasm, even though the boy was whispering. “D'you think Prof and Magneto had a fight?”

Charles decided to leave his head resting on the table when Erik's warm, chuckling voice filled his mind. Hate you, too.

Current Mood: chipper
Current Location: Deks
Current Music: Changes - David Bowie

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