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To Sleep, Perchance to Dream	By : Zoisite84 Category: X-Men: (All Movies) > Slash - Male/Male > Charles/Erik Views: 7387 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own "X-Men: First Class" or any of the characters herein. I am not making any money off of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
- 1
Settling back into life at the mansion is odd; even though he's only been away from it for a short time, his preoccupations between becoming Professor Charles Francis Xavier at Oxford and a G-Man for the CIA are quite an ocean apart. Things have changed significantly; not the least of which, his house being full of teenagers with raw, unhoned superpowers and a rather surly German.

Charles has never met anyone quite like Erik Lensherr, and is sure that he never will again. The road trip they took to recruit the mutant youngsters bonded them irrevocably. Charles has never been one to enjoy spending time in close quarters with another person; growing up, he and Raven would see each other at mealtimes, but his adopted sister knew to leave him to his puttering. With Erik, however, he relishes the company, the shared looks, the suspiciously easy camaraderie. In addition, Erik is something special, something extraordinary, and Charles' naturally quizzical mind can't resist delving deeper into the puzzle that Erik presents.

It's more than just a quickly blossoming friendship or even scientific curiosity, however, and they both know it. Charles keeps a strict moral code regarding exactly how he uses his telepathy powers, and he respects that Erik doesn't want him probing about all willy-nilly. Though it's tempting - Erik's eyes, always full of myriad emotions, promise that - Charles wants everything between them to be completely voluntary.

One of several things that surprise Charles about Erik is that Charles still beats him, and everybody else he knows - at insomnia. True, Erik stays up late - this is largely the origin of their nightly chess matches - but he still seems to give in to exhaustion before Charles can quite shut his own mind off enough to rest. Once they have retired to their respective quarters, Charles resorts to reading or, as is most often the case, allowing his mind to wander freely.

Most of the house is asleep, though Charles can dip in and out of the occupants' dreams as he pleases. Raven's mostly concern Hank, and he also receives snippets of an exchange between her and Erik about her 'true form'; it warms him to know that Raven is starting to accept herself. In Hank's dream, he has normal feet and he and Raven - blonde, of course - are having a picnic on the grounds with their shoes off. It doesn't surprise him. Sean is flying in his dream, and Alex unwittingly broadcasts fuzzy images of a young boy with strange eyes. Moira seems to be recalling their first conversation in the bar. Charles smiles ruefully, remembering how tipsy he'd been, and also how reading Moira's mind that night had set his world spinning on a completely new axis.

Erik doesn't often fall asleep deeply enough to dream. Ergo, it surprises Charles when he can tap into images that undeniably belong to Erik. The most vivid one is simple, yet intense: He and Erik sit opposite one another at Charles' coffee table, bookending a chess board. In the dream, Charles says something that makes Erik laugh, and the corners of his eyes crinkle and he's genuinely amused and it's beautiful. Then Erik says something back, and Charles in the dream is blushing and looking rather peculiar. Slowly, he nods.

"Hmm," Charles murmurs to himself. He knows this is private, knows he shouldn't be seeing this, but before he can chastise himself too much, dream Erik makes a tricky move on the chessboard and raises his hands triumphantly. "Checkmate!" he shouts, and beams, and dream Charles is also smiling, and then even wider when dream Erik beckons to him, crooking his finger once.

"I suppose a bet's a bet," he replies, eyes sparkling, and the real Charles finds himself unable to look away. He watches the cheeky, idealized version of himself in Erik's had saunter around the table, which Erik has moved lazily with his booted foot to make room for another person on his side. Sitting open-legged towards the front half of the chair, easy and relaxed, the two men's eyes meet in searing mutual appreciation. "Erik," dream Charles murmurs, and there's a hand on his cheek now, and real Charles could swear that this is really happening.

"Charles." Erik's voice is a low rumble, and it goes straight to Charles' - real and imaginary alike groin. His hand continues to pet the other man's cheek, and then Charles watches his counterpart bend slightly, bracing himself lightly against Erik's strong arms. The kiss they share starts slow, and then Erik's fingers entwine in Charles' hair, tugging him closer. Dream Charles lets out a muffled yelp, and then they resume kissing, more coercively than before.

Ever the voyeur, the real Charles swallows hard, and then feels himself growing harder. He knows it must be rather perverse to be getting off on this, and it's not as though he's never thought of it himself, but his near-immediate arousal still surprises him. Still focused on Erik's dream, the two figures are still kissing. 'Lap,' Charles thinks fuzzily, actual arousal pooling in his belly. 'Straddle his lap.'

To his surprise, dream Charles' eyes open a bit, and with a quick, chaste kiss to dream Erik's forehead, he straightens to full height and then, supported by Erik, who seems to realize his plan, does, in fact, climb atop the slightly larger man's lap. They kiss again, Charles' hands clinging to Erik's shoulders and Erik rubbing his sides through his sweater. Their clothed cocks rub together, and real Charles gasps when he realizes that he, too, can feel the friction. He bites his lip. 'This is bad,' he thinks wildly. 'I shouldn't be here. What if he senses me ...'

Even so, he still can't bring himself to cut the connection to Erik's mind. The frantic make-out session is on-going and then some, with Erik now cupping Charles through his pants. Dream Charles' lips are kiss-swollen and his eyes are bright when they break apart, and real Charles wonders how Erik knows so much about what he looks like in mid-coitus. Erik kisses him again, briefly. "I want you," he murmurs in Charles' ear, "to suck me off."

Charles inhales sharply. "This isn't part of the bet," his dream-self intones, but his mouth is arranged into a crooked grin as he says it. Erik, too, is smiling, and then Charles is sliding off of his lap anew and rearranging himself on the rug, which Charles is quite sure has never been used for such a purpose before. He realizes he's barely breathing, and releases a trembling breath, and then practices breathing in and out a few times, and closes and reopens his eyes. Erik's brain is still broadcasting the dream, however, and now dream Charles is reaching to unzip dream Erik's pants, but dream Erik murmurs, "Let me," and the zipper moves on its own.

"Oh," real Charles breathes, and it's taking as much strain to keep his hand away from his cock as it used to take to keep himself out of Erik's head. He's still sure he should back out, but he's transfixed by how Erik's legs spread a little wider to accommodate his dream-self's nestling between them; how dream Charles' hand trembles a little as he tugs Erik's cock from his underwear and his fingers wrap around it. Erik moans, and Charles moans, and then Erik looks up, and even though he should be looking at dream Charles, he isn't when he speaks, an edge to his voice: "You're quite good at this, Charles."

"Oh," Charles breathes again, and he knows that this, whatever this is, has been compromised. "I'm, I'm sorry, goodnight, I'm so sorry," he murmurs. The disconnection from the other man's mind is like a door slamming in his brain, and he doesn't look back as he takes his abrupt, embarrassed flight. He's already looked enough, after all.

He spends several minutes after leaving dream Charles and Erik to their own devices simply sitting in the near-darkness, staring at nothing. To say it will be awkward to face Erik the next morning is the understatement of the century. He considers what he could possibly say: 'I was a tad drunk; you didn't exactly block me out; I thought it was Raven's dream.' He could deny it, he thinks, but decides that he's very bad at playing dumb. Also, it goes against his moral code to lie so brazenly. Vaguely, he wonders if Erik will even talk to him about it at all. Perhaps he's making a mountain out of a molehill. He almost convinces himself that this is true, and then --

'Charles.' The voice that cuts through his head makes him jump. 'I'm just outside, Charles,' it says again. 'I need to come in.' There is no room for argument in the tone.

Charles swallows. 'Yes. Okay,' he sends back, and then the doorknob turns and the entrance swings open to reveal Erik, hands behind his back, dressed in a dark robe and nothing else. The door shuts again without him touching it, and the sound reverberates in Charles' head. His stomach twists. He's not an inherently confrontational person, preferring instead to stay in people's good graces so they won't need to tell him he's done something terrible to them. And yet, here is Erik, still devastatingly attractive, but frowning at him all the same.

Charles offers him a seat, but Erik refuses with a curt shake of his head. Even in the lumpy bathrobe, the curvatures of his muscles are obvious. Charles clears his throat. "Erik," he begins, and decides he should probably stand as well, if nothing else, because Erik's pretty tall and the extreme height inequality makes him feel even more vulnerable. "Erik," he says again, "I know you're here because of what happened in ... in the dream."

Erik crosses his arms. "You make a lot of noise about respecting people's wishes and not spying on them," he says, leveling Charles with a measured stare that cuts through any pretenses he hasn't even put up. "Is that all bullshit?"

"No," Charles says quickly. "No, Erik, of course not. I didn't mean to pry, but you don't dream much, I don't think, and then it was so loud, and I think I imposed some of my will on what was, what was happening, and --"

"So it's my fault?" Erik cuts in.

"No." Charles takes a shuddering breath, closes and reopens his eyes. "No," he says again, softer. "It's all mine, Erik. I didn't control myself, and I should have. I'm sorry. I'm very sorry, Erik."

Erik's expression is still unreadable. He takes a step closer. "Surely the mighty Charles Xavier isn't undone by somebody dreaming a little loud," he says, and his mouth quirks upwards ever so slightly. Charles returns the grin ruefully.

"I'm afraid I am, actually. Your mind is amazing, Erik," he breathes. "I got pulled in. But I know, I know that now, I'll need to put up greater defenses. And I will, of course, Erik."

Erik cocks his head, drinking in the other man. "I wouldn't want you to go through all that trouble for me," he says casually.

Charles shakes his head vehemently. "Oh, no, it's no trouble at all," he says, trying too hard to sound mild and inoffensive. "It's just something I need to do to make us, er, this, comfortable."

Erik smirks as he babbles like an idiot. "You seemed pretty comfortable," he offers, and is gratified when Charles flushes. "Well," he muses. "I suppose, since you've made all these arrangements, there's only one more question to be answered."

Charles' eyes are wide. "Yes, Erik?" he asks tentatively.

"Yes." Erik moves closer, invading the other man's space, and touches an errant strand of hair on Charles' forehead. He drops his voice to a whisper: "And that is: Why did you stop?"

"Stop?" Charles repeats dumbly, and then he loses himself in the fastening of Erik's mouth to his, the sensation of the hand wrapping around the back of his head, of Erik's other arm tugging him close. "Oh," Charles says against Erik's lips, and he feels them curl into a smile. "Oh, Erik ..."

"Hush," Erik tells him. He kisses Charles again, more adamantly this time, and Charles decides that not talking is, in fact, the easiest solution. Still, he makes a small noise in the back of his throat when two of Erik's fingers lightly touch his right temple. "I want to hear you in here," he tells Charles.

Charles squirms. "Are you sure?" he asks, biting his lower lip. He's fairly certain he just narrowly escaped Erik's anger at his thoughts being intruded upon, and he knows without a doubt that that's the last thing he wants to return to. His eyelashes flutter when Erik's fingers slide down to caress and then cup his jaw. "I just ... I don't want ..."

"Charles. Do it."

"Okay," Charles says quickly, and it's as though Erik were the telepath or something instead of him, because he does as he's bade and soon they're synced up and he can hear Erik's thoughts as though they were his own. 'The way you bite your lip, Charles, honestly.'

Charles stops worrying the flesh, not conscious of the fact that he was even doing it a moment before. 'What's wrong?'

'It's obscene,' Erik tells him, and then he's propping Charles' face up by the chin. 'Besides, I want to be the one doing that to you.' Then he leans in and does just that. Pleasure pulses through Charles' head and chest and ... other places, and it excites him to realize that Erik is feeling these things, as well. In return, Erik sends back his own excitement, and then images similar to the aborted chess game-cum-blowjob from his dream. Charles feels Erik's erection brushes against his trouser leg, and knows how easy it would be to just reach under Erik's robe and touch him intimately. The thought makes him shudder. When the image reaches Erik's mind, he grins crookedly.

'You're very flattering to me, my friend.' When he does move Charles' hand to rub against his crotch, he is rewarded with a soft whimper. Breath catching, Charles squeezes, marveling first at his own sensation and then at Erik's, whose mouth opens in a surprised way as he emits a guttural sound. 'God, Charles ...'

The image of their dream selves comes into Charles' mind then. Judging from Erik's subtly changing expression, he is having the same thought. Simultaneously, their eyes light on the chair on which Charles was perched for the duration of Erik's dream, and then Charles is turning them in a slow semi-circle and steering Erik towards it. 'Charles, you don't have to -' Erik begins, but Charles bravely silences him with a kiss. 'Let me,' he thinks firmly, sounding more confident than he feels, and then he pushes Erik into the chair.

As in the dream, Charles leans forward and brings his face to Erik's for another kiss, a longer one this time, Erik coaxing Charles' tongue with his own. He isn't surprised when he feels Erik tug on his belt buckle with a casual wave of his hand. 'You're wearing far too many clothes for this, Charles,' he thinks, and the smile that accompanies it - not to mention, the image of a flushed and naked and wanton Charles straddling Erik that he sends to the other man - make Charles' mouth go dry.

He watches as Erik removes his belt completely, and complies by removing his own sweater and the shirt underneath it. He feels relatively inadequate and splotchy and, well, naked as he stares at the bits of Erik's luminous skin peeking out from beneath his robe, but Erik 'tsks' at him. 'Do not even try to convince yourself that you're not absolutely beautiful, Charles.'

'If you say so,' Taking a shaky breath, Charles allows Erik to unbuckle his pants, studying Erik's reaction as they fall past what he considers quite knobby knees, down to the floor. Stepping out of them, he stands before the other man apprehensively. Erik's low-lidded eyes rake over his frame with what could only be, for whatever reason, appreciation. Charles shivers.

'Come here,' Erik's mind beckons. 'Come to me.' Remembering his dream counterpart's actions, Charles moves to straddle Erik's lap, feeling only a little bit foolish, and definitely not as sexy. Still, Erik murmurs appreciatively, and Charles finds himself squirming with delight when the other man's hands run slow, languid circles up and down his back. They kiss again, and Charles runs his fingers through Erik's hair, still nuzzling into the warmth of the arms that encircle him.

'Erik,' he thinks, and then he feels the slight temperature shift when one of Erik's hands releases him, and then repositions itself against Charles' cock. 'Oh,' Charles thinks.

Erik's hand is moving in all of the right ways to draw more noises out of his partner. Charles seems to helplessly rut against him, his thoughts sporadic. One moment, he's sending Erik images from his own dream; the next, glimpses of Erik through Charles' eyes: That fateful rescue from the ocean; the pains Charles took to give Erik a wide berth during their road trip to recruit mutants, and then glimpses of several alternative endings to nights where each man had retreated to a separate bed or room. Obviously, Erik's naughty chess fantasy isn't a foreign notion to Charles; Erik seems gratified to know this. He tugs Charles' underwear aside so that his hand can lightly fist the other man's swollen cock, moving in tandem with a particularly erotic fantasy image of Erik taking Charles from behind in a cramped hotel shower. Charles lets out a small whimper, and he reaches down to still Erik's hand, but Erik slaps him away.

'Please, Erik ... I, I wanted to ... like in your dream.' He makes a valiant effort to reach for Erik's penis this time, and hears Erik snort in surprise. Then he's pulled away, and the ministrations to his own genitals continue. 'N-no, Erik-'

'Yes, Charles.' Erik's hand runs up and down the base a few times, and then cups Charles' balls, fingering them gently. Charles lets out a short sob. 'I'll let you suck me off after this,' he promises with a smile in his mental voice, and then he rubs his thumb over Charles' slit. He takes in the other man's wildly dilating eyes, the clenched leg muscles and flushed skin, and pulls him close for another searing kiss. 'God, you're adorable.'

Charles heartily disagrees, but he's too far gone to make some cheeky remark now, and if he were to be completely honest with himself, the image he currently gleans of himself from Erik is rather attractive. He moans as Erik speeds up his rhythm, expertly coaxing Charles towards orgasm. 'Come on. Come, Charles,' Erik's thinks. 'Come for me.' Three more strokes and Erik rubbing Charles' cockhead, and Charles acquiesces, his muscles spasming as Erik brings him off. He sighs a little in the aftermath, catching his breath, and when Erik sends him an image of his now completely debauched self, he grumbles.

'How lovely,' Erik intones, his eyes laughing, and that's when Charles knows that it's time to turn the proverbial tables, so to speak. Trying to retain a fragment of dignity, he hops off of Erik's lap and shoves his own underwear off, kicking it aside. Next, he reaches for Erik's bathrobe tie; their eyes meet, and Charles hopes he looks remotely seductive and coy as he fumbles with the fabric. 'You do,' Erik assures him, grinning openly, and then Charles is gratified to hear a soft grunt when he succeeds in opening the robe completely and shoving it off of Erik's shoulders.

The other man is nearly fully erect. He watches Charles sink to his knees in front of him, and smiles. His hands dangle slightly at the wrists from the chair's armrests. When Charles leans forward and licks a path from the base of Erik's cock to the head, and then bobs his head as he takes a considerable length of it into his mouth, those hands grip the chair, and Erik emits a hiss. Pleasure dances up his spine and he sends the sensation to Charles, who smirks around his mouthful. He deep-throats Erik's cock, and Erik lets out a strangled groan. 'Fuck, Charles --!'

Charles traces a path around Erik's ball sac with his fingers. He fists the other man's cock and prepares to go down on him again, but a hand to his shoulder stops him. 'Am I not doing it right?' he thinks, disappointment clouding his thoughts.

Erik outright laughs. 'You could not be more right, as usual.' He tugs Charles to his feet, and then shoves his tongue in the other man's mouth. 'I want to fuck you now,' he tells Charles. 'Right here. I want you to ride my cock.'

Charles outright shivers. The explicit image that accompanies Erik's description makes his cock twitch anew. Unsure, he stands, brushing off his legs. 'What do I have to do?' he asks timidly.

Erik gestures towards the squat nightstand across the room. Something comes to his hand quickly, and Charles realizes it's the small (metal) pot of oil that he uses to, well. He blushes deeply, embarrassed and yet utterly aroused that Erik is touching something so personal of his.

He watches, transfixed, as Erik hastily removes the lid without touching it, and then dips his fingers inside. With his clean hand, he pats his naked lap, and Charles lets out a small huff of indignity as he straddles Erik once more. They kiss, and then Charles feels hands gripping his backside, lifting and spreading him. 'I don't want to hurt you,' Erik whispers soothingly into Charles' mind. Charles feels a single digit probing lightly at his entrance, and in his mind, Erik's fierce resolve. 'I won't hurt you, Charles.'

'You won't,' Charles assures him, but notices that Erik watches his face intently as his finger sinks more deeply inside of his asshole, and then back out slightly, and then pumping in again. 'Okay?' Erik queries, trying to make some sense of the 'pain-pleasure-pain-pleasure-oh-God-Erik-f
uck' litany that seems to be playing on-loop in the other man's brain.

Charles nods shakily. 'Two more will do it, I think,' he says decidedly, and lifts up as Erik begins working a second finger into him, and then a third. He slides his pinkie in as well and Charles grunts, and then whines as he feels Erik gradually spread his fingers, and then bring them together again. He does this several times, until he can feel Charles' mind start to calm. He dips his fingers into the jar a second time and slicks his still-hard member with it before setting it aside. 'Ready?' he asks. 'Are you ready for this, Charles?'

Charles takes a steadying breath. 'Let's find out,' he returns. With Erik's assistance, he manages to scoot back just enough to be positioned atop the other man's cock. He breathes in again and then releases it, and then he's sinking in slow, painstaking increments downwards. Erik is careful not to thrust up - Charles admires his patience - and after several moments, he's fully impaled on Erik's cock. He glances at Erik's face, impressed, as always, by the sharp, graceful angles, and gratified by the arousal apparent in his eyes. Erik's mouth is open in a sort of half-smile. 'I can't even begin to tell you how amazing this feels, Charles.'

'Show me, then,' Charles responds, and Erik does. Soon, they're moaning into one another's mouths, and Erik begins to thrust, grinning the first time he scrapes Charles' prostate because it makes Charles keen. He rubs at Charles' penis and thrusts again, and then a few more times, and Charles can tell that he's holding back. 'Come on, then,' he coaxes. 'You said you wanted to fuck me, Erik. Do it. Fuck me. Now.'

Erik's face is an incredible array of emotions. He tugs at Charles' hips to give himself leverage to go faster and deeper, and Charles wraps his arms around the other man's shoulders for dear life. He gasps shudderingly as Erik lodges yet another filthy image in his mind, and then accompanies it with his usual melding of minds: 'Touch yourself, Charles. I want to watch you do it while I keep fucking you in the ass.' Obligingly, Charles wraps the fingers of his right hand around himself and begins his ministrations, soon bringing them up to speed with Erik's thrusts. 'Stupendous,' Erik tells him, and Charles breathes shakily.

Erik's hips snap upwards with even more intensity, and Charles watches him bite his lip and knows he's close. 'Now, now, Erik,' he thinks blithely, and lets up on his own cock momentarily to let Erik do what he needs to do. 'If I'm not allowed to do that, then you're certainly not.'

Erik's nostrils flare a bit. 'Fuck you, Xavier,' he bites out, and Charles can't resist grinning.

'You already are.' He can feel Erik's arousal swelling as though it were his own; he cries out when Erik's latest thrusts go far deeper and sharper than their predecessors. It won't be long. 'Come on, Erik,' he coaxes, and fists his own penis again, a bit surprised that his own pleasure isn't far off. 'Just let go, Erik.'

'Charles,' Erik gasps, and even as a mental utterance, it's jagged and raw. When he finally comes, it's with the same intensity that he had while trying to raise a nuclear submarine, with a much more satisfying payoff.

Erik's pupils are still dilated, his jaw slack as he glances up at Charles', still sitting pretty in his lap. 'Close,' Erik's dizzied mind manages, and Charles understands and leans in so that Erik can take his face between his long fingers and kiss him. Charles bites Erik's lip gently, and he laughs a bit, and then glances down where Charles is still holding his own cock. Charles watches Erik's face. 'Keep going,' Erik tells him, and Charles does. The stickiness below him is only somewhat unpleasant at this point, but he decides that he should finish relatively quickly if that isn't going to take a rather downward turn.

Of course, Erik knows exactly what he needs. Soon, his warm hand covers Charles' own, and they pump together, Erik speeding the pace up considerably as Charles' arousal washes over both of them. When he comes a second time, Charles buries his face in the crook of Erik's neck and breathes in deeply the scent of the other man. 'Lovely, Erik,' he sends hazily, not really meaning to. 'Lovely, pretty, Erik, wonderful, stupendous.'

'You Oxford men and your vocabularies,' Erik teases, but the tone is one of deep affection. He rubs Charles' back, and then reaches down to extract himself carefully.

'Shower,' Charles mumbles, but then he catches Erik's gaze and follows it towards the - his - bed. 'Stay? Yes?' he puts forth.

Erik helps him to stand, and then extricates himself from the chair, stretching long, lean muscles. 'Stay,' Charles thinks again, a bit more desperately this time. 'Stay, and sleep, and then shower in the morning. And then more -' he pauses to yawn - 'more training, and then chess.' The image that punctuates the final word is absolutely not chess-related at all. 'Well? Erik?' Charles sighs.

Erik blinks. He watches Charles fumble sleepily with sheets and blankets, and considers whether or not he needs time to himself. The answer is simple enough. Striding the short distance to Charles, he tugs the other man close and plants kisses along his brow, to the tip of his nose, and finally, to that warm, pliable, inviting mouth. 'Erik?' Charles asks again.

Their foreheads touch. 'You read my mind,' Erik tells him, and Charles' smile is beatific. They lay facing one another, cocooned in mutual admiration and bedding that smells like Charles, and Charles' smile dims as he drifts towards sleep (blissful, actual sleep, for once). 'Sweet dreams,' Erik tells him, lacing their fingers together, and knows that, if either of them is to dream for those scant hours before sunrise and the amassment of youth under the Xavier roof makes sleep an improbability, at least they will be together.
- 1
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To Sleep, Perchance to Dream