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And It Feels Like I've Been Rescued	By : Zoisite84 Category: X-Men: (All Movies) > Slash - Male/Male > Charles/Erik Views: 2221 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own "X-Men: First Class" or any characters therein. I am not making any money off of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-And It Feels Like I've Been Rescued
- 1
Summary: At the CIA base, Erik wants to go to bed alone, but Charles has at least one tactic for keeping him awake. Written, as always, with the best of intentions, for firstclass100's #7 prompt, “Distraction.” There’s an infamous GIF floating around Tumblr where it’s Erik’s room that Charles infiltrates at the CIA, rather than Moira’s, and well, it was just too easy to go from there. Technically, this is a first-time, "First Class" story. Title is from Selena Gomez's "Love You Like a Love Song."

“Charles.” He walks into the rather Spartan living quarters he’s temporarily occupying at the CIA base and stops short at the presence of the other man, legs crossed, smiling cheekily at him from across the room. “This is a surprise.”

“The nice kind?” Charles asks, still grinning.

Erik rolls his eyes. He jerks his head towards the door. “Get out of here, Charles,” he grunts, turning away as he begins to hunt around for his briefcase. “I want to go to bed,” he continues, and is slightly galled to see that this makes Charles smirk. “What’s so funny?” he demands. He wants this day to be over, wants to collect what he needs from people who have information that he can use, and then leave as soon as their backs are turned, never to be seen or heard from again. Charles’ presence is irritating because it’s a distraction. Erik can’t afford distractions.

Charles, seemingly oblivious to all of this, though perhaps not, simply cocks his head. “I didn’t picture you as the type to tuck in at any decent hour,” he shrugs. “It’s not even ten o’ clock.”

Erik frowns. “Maybe you don’t know me like you think you do,” he says, a touch acerbically, and Charles blinks. For some reason, his silence irritates Erik, who spins around, stalking towards the smaller man, still perched on a cot adorned with crisp, white sheets and a single pillow. “You think you know everything about me, Charles. You know nothing.” He looms over the other man, fully aware of how imposing his body language is, how it has managed to bring countless men – all of whom fully deserved it – to their quivering knees, begging for their pathetic lives. Charles, however, barely reacts, though he does crane his neck a bit to accommodate the difference in their respective heights. Irritated, Erik bares his teeth a little. “Get out,” he snaps.

Charles nods politely. “If you’ll just let me up,” he says, and he’s still smiling a little. Erik moves a miniscule amount, and he stands, and now their profiles are in extremely close contact. “Did you have a nice time at the gym?” Charles murmurs, and he pictures Erik lifting weights, the old-fashioned way, not by manipulating the metal bits, his lithe muscles straining from the lack of aid from his mutation. He must be thinking it rather fiercely, because something in Erik’s expression changes. It’s more animalistic now, and Charles hears his own breath catch. “Terribly sorry,” he whispers, and then yelps when Erik’s hands shoot out, gripping him tightly by the arms, tugging Charles against him and shoving their mouths together, their teeth clacking a little.

“Mmm,” Charles moans, closing his eyes and tilting his head; to his great relief, Erik seems to take this as an invitation. He releases Charles’ lips and slides his mouth hotly down the smaller man’s neck, nipping at Charles’ pulse, and then maneuvering him backwards until the backs of his knees hit the squat bed, which Erik then shoves him onto. The other man straddles him shortly thereafter, and Charles whimpers and bucks up into him. “Erik,” he gasps, and Erik’s eyes are cold, but his body is warm. He starts tugging up Charles’ shirt and undershirt, rubbing a bit at the pale skin beneath, and Charles squirms a little. “Erik, please,” he shivers.

Erik’s eyes are bemused now. “Like that?” he asks, and Charles nods quickly. He feels his belt unclasp seemingly of its own accord and grins, delighted, when he realizes that it’s the other man’s doing. “Nice trick,” he comments, and Erik smirks. Soon enough, Charles’ pants and underwear have been shoved down his legs, and he shivers as Erik moves off of him completely to remove enough of his own clothing to do, well, whatever this is.

Charles makes a concentrated effort not to do anything embarrassing, like shielding his bare body as Erik’s eyes skim over him contemplatively, or grin too stupidly. “D’you have … you know, for lubrication?” he ventures, and Erik snorts.

“If you can’t bring yourself to say it, Professor, you have no right to be doing it.”

“I can say it,” Charles retorts, but his eyes are on Erik’s naked torso, which is quite possibly the loveliest thing he’s ever seen. When Erik grabs up a small jar of something, he sighs a little with relief.

Erik glides back to him, parting Charles’ legs casually by pressing a hand to the other man’s thigh. “Well, say it, then,” Erik taunts him; his hand brushes Charles’ cock for the first time, and Charles bites his lip and groans. “Say how much you want me to shove my cock into your tight little ass hole, Charles.”

Charles licks his lips. “I do,” he breathes, glancing up at Erik, who stares at him like he’s prey to be devoured. “Please, fuck me, Erik.”

Erik leans down and chuckles before claiming Charles’ mouth in a bruising kiss. “Since you asked so nicely,” he croons, and Charles moans, and then shakily stretches himself prone, allowing Erik to hoist Charles’ legs atop his shoulders. The bed wobbles a bit, and Erik smirks. “I’m guessing it’s not used for this often,” he says dryly, and Charles laughs breathlessly. Then Erik’s fingers are shoving into the jar, and then they disappear, and Charles can guess where when he feels a pinch and then a warm, wet intrusion in his behind, and he moans and tries to loosen up, squirming and keening as Erik readies him for his promised cock. He feels Erik’s free hand smooth over his jaw and realizes that he’s clenching his teeth, and then Erik mutters something that could be “relax,” and he tries to because whatever this is – he still hasn’t figured it out – is happening, now.

Erik pauses when his cockhead slides into Charles’ backside, letting the other man get a feel for it. “Oh, God,” Charles murmurs, and he’s white-knuckling the thin, cold sheets and shivering a little, goose bumped and vaguely uncomfortable and fully aware that his nipples are rock-hard and that Erik’s dick is sliding past the ring of muscle in his ass, making all of the nerve endings back there stand up on end.

Erik leans into him, and Charles’ cock is leaving a trail of pre-come across his stomach. He grips it in one hand and looks up at Erik’s flared nostrils, his wildly dilated eyes, the way his hair is mussed just so. “Okay?” Erik asks him, and Charles nods; then Erik is pushing further into him, inch by inch, and he gasps and takes deep breaths and takes it until Erik grunts, “Okay, there.” His hand stills, and Erik wraps long fingers over his and shows Charles what he wants him to do. He groans and Erik smiles, and then Erik lets go and Charles continues jerking himself off.

Erik goes slow, pumping deeply but carefully, and Charles strokes his dick with the same rhythm, biting his lower lip hard until he feels Erik’s thumb near his mouth, coaxing him to stop. Erik looming over him, arms splayed, eyes dark, mouth slightly open is a sight to behold, and Charles looks his fill. He wipes his thumb over his cockhead, sending a mental projection of what it feels like to the other man, and Erik bites his lip to stifle an obscenity that he nonetheless thinks, loudly and clearly: ‘Fuck, Charles.’

“Erik,” he shivers. More thrusting, and then he can see and feel Erik’s muscles clenching as he nears orgasm. Charles begins pumping his dick furiously, drawing strangled gasps from himself and the other man as he continues to project, and then, finally, he hears a loud cry. Erik pitches forward, catching himself on his arms, and Charles lifts his head so that Erik can kiss him, murmuring happily into his mouth as his own orgasm nears. When Erik takes Charles’ cock in his own hand and begins masturbating him, he nods and murmurs a “please,” and then gasps out Erik’s name as his arousal crests, and his cock spurts briefly in Erik’s fist.

Erik climbs off of him rather quickly after that, to Charles’ vague disappointment. He bends briefly and picks up their discarded articles of clothing, turning away politely while Charles stretches his legs, a bit painfully, and then tugs up his underwear and trousers and haphazardly rearranges his shirts. “Well, that was … something,” Erik says finally, and Charles nods, but thinks desperately of some way to end things on a less awkward note.

“Hank says he’s something to show me tomorrow morning,” he settles on, and Erik raises an eyebrow. “I’ve a feeling it’s related to mutant tracking in some way. You’ll stay, then, won’t you, Erik?” he asks, trying not to beg, and then realizing that he’s willing to beg if it means that Erik will agree not to flee. He tries to look friendly and disarming, but Erik remains noncommittal, even grim as he shoves his sweater over his head.

“I’ll consider it,” he says simply.

Charles smiles and nods again. “Yes, do that.” He begins to move towards the door, and feels Erik’s eyes on him. He throws out a parting comment, unable to resist: “Please consider it seriously, Erik,” he murmurs, meeting the taller man’s gaze pointedly. “There’s obviously plenty more about you to learn, and I’d like nothing better.” Erik is outwardly silent, and Charles politely avoids reading his mind to find out whether any of this, this thing that they’ve just done together, has made any difference to Erik whatsoever. All he can do, as he makes his way back to his own room, walking carefully and a bit sorely, is hope that he’s made at least half the impression on Erik as Erik has made on him; and that that will be enough to convince him that they belong on this journey together, finding other mutants, learning more about who they are and what they can do, and, hopefully, Charles thinks wistfully, becoming more to one another than just a temporary distraction, something to be discarded before things could get too complicated.

In complete honesty, the telepath decides as he strips down for bed, finding his own cot cold and bland and overly sterile, he’s pretty sure that, where his burgeoning friendship with Erik Lehnsherr is concerned, “complicated” is already an understatement.
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And It Feels Like I've Been Rescued