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Night Ocean	By : RubyLeaves Category: X-Men: (All Movies) > AU - Alternate Universe Views: 1159 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Marvel 'Verse, X-Men First Class, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Here are the trigger warnings for this set... (hands out popsicles)

TW: Mind control, psychic bondage, fingerfucking, rimming, orgasm denial, prostate stimulation. The usual mindfuckery; top!Charles, some slight PTSD.

Night Ocean 13-16/?

by Meredith Bronwen Mallory

(rubyleaves / garnettrees)

"Up," the professor said, and Erik rose willingly enough. "Come on." He tugged on their joined hands, as if they were both children. Back out into the main room, where the fire was smoldering. The lamps provided enough light to see by, though, and Charles seemed in no mood to be bothered with the hearth, despite the slight chill.

"Undress me," he ordered softly. Erik made that small, slow nod again, raising careful hands. He felt numb, a bit out of body, and not in any way that had to do with retreat. It was as though some shift had occurred, allowing him to see colors he'd previously never been aware of. Charles was there, and he was free to look as he had never allowed himself. He brushed wondering fingertips to the dark hair, the smattering of freckles, the tilt of pale chin. Then he bent his head and followed the command.

"Slowly," Xavier instructed, though it was hardly necessary. Erik's fingers didn't feel capable of anything else. He helped the younger man disrobe, with a reverence he would never dared express in the Time Before. Always, his hands had been insistent, tugging at the offending layers, at any barrier between himself and Charles. He would exploit their height difference, lifting his lover ever so slightly so the telepath was forced to cling to maintain balance. Never too rough, always considerate, Erik had never the less walked a razor's edge of of dual impulses. A part of him-- the part that with the CIA, that basked in Charles' smile-- would have him touch his schatz, his yakir, with all the care given to spun glass. The other-- which had wanted to leave in the first place, to grapple as adversaries and _win_-- longed to crush the professor close, leave bruises. As the inevitable confrontation with Shaw began looming closer, he had for the first time experienced the fraught sense that he had something to lose. He had wanted to leave an indelible mark; get so far up inside his lover that, even if Charles should abandon him, send him away, the telepath would never be shed of him completely.

Now Erik's touch was hesitant, almost shy. Cardigan buttons, then collared shirt. Khakis, and the frustrating plastic belt buckle. If the older man was expecting anything, it was to go down on his knees and take Xavier in his mouth. That was familiar-- in fact, something he had enjoyed. Sometimes, he would engulf Charles even after he'd milked the man dry, enjoying the weight, the thrum of the vein. In anticipation of this, he drew fine trousers down towards bare ankles, and leaned forward to kiss Charles through his Y-fronts.

"None of that, then." A firm hand pushed him away, even as he attempted to give a friendly nuzzle. Questioning, he looked up into those cyan eyes, began to sway forward again. "on the bed," Charles ordered, giving his ear a little pinch. He search the other man's face, genuinely confused, but only got a raised eyebrow and slight clarification: "On your back."

Erik did as he was bade, never taking his eyes off his lover. Slowly, the instinctual distrust came back

(what does he want what can he gain how many moves variables avenues of attack must I consider…)

jamming along his nerve endings, as familiar as the lines in his own palm. Seemingly of their own accord, the metal-bender felt his arms raise above his head, crossing at the wrists. The cord

(never really gone just coiled lovely familiar darling little snake)

came back, sliding over him in one long caress, making him gasp and buck helplessly against empty air. Charles joined him on the ridiculously luxurious mattress. The dim light made a halo around his dark hair as he cocked his head, as if he were an artist admiring a particularly sought after subject. Somewhere, far away

(way down below in the underneath)

some creature was crying. The unkempt, underfed boy boy who survived Shaw's experiments-- and oh, thank G-d that's all it was-- was screaming. The sound itself was almost nothing with the distance, but it shook the steel-and-iron tessellation that composed Erik's mind.

('Shhh…' the man tells the boy. 'Be quiet, so I can protect you from him… and him from you.'

He's a vicious little thing, this nuclear-age Prometheus; he's had to be. He knows he is a freak, and not quite strong enough, and alone alone alone)

When Charles touched the inside of his thigh, Erik very nearly jumped out of his skin. A flash of terror roiled under the submissive calm. Like red molten lava in the dark night ocean, and it cooled just as fast.

(please don't have heard, don't have seen, bad freak stitched-together monster, ugly so ugly don't ever want to be seen)

Clearly, the professor knew something was was amiss, but apparently not what.

(too far down in the underneath)

He crouched over the older man, giving him a lingering, close-mouthed kiss. He held it just on the edge of something more, breathing against the angle of jaw, until Erik finally kissed him back. Reassurance flooded through the older man and, on the heels of that, the cord grew. A brand of lust and need,

(my own my darling my best beloved)

it wrapped around his neck, a crown upon his forehead, thick gauntlets around his ankles. The onslaught continued until Erik was very nearly screaming with pleasure, unable to remember his last thoughts if his next breath depended on it.

"With me again?" his captor asked.

A frantic nod.

"Words, dear."

"Yes."

A dry chuckle, "Very well, then."

Erik attempted to even his breathing, relax his muscles. The last time Charles had taken him had been a few days before Cuba

(and oh the night before, he's mine he's mine, up against the wall, astride my lap)

and that was… Ago. He needed to un-tense, though the memory of the enema

(shame, arousal; arousal, shame)

wasn't helping. Nor was the fact that the psychic bonds had left him erect, but had given no relief. He closed his eyes, breathing through his nose.

"I had wished," Charles told him confidingly. "That I could have been your first… something." A depreciating little smile, at odds with the ripple of amusement that came through the sound of the younger man's voice, through the bonds. "Mind you, it's a good thing one of us knew what they were doing." An expert finger traced down his balls, caressing the difference, the cut.

Erik had no idea what he was talking about. Enraptured by the telepath's voice, by the feel of the bonds, he stared into Charles' eyes the way an occultist would observe the heavens. So, he saw the smile, saw the other guide long legs and knobby knees up against his chest.

The touch of Charles' tongue against his now clean hole came as a complete surprise.

(His infatuation with that tongue, those red lips, begins the very first night. Moira brings Charles tea, clearly trying to curry favor and just as clearly trying to be casual about it. The young professor doesn't seem to notice. Instead, Charles sits next to him, their shoulder's touching, eyes never leaving Erik's face. Other than his victims, this is the first person who has been-- who has dared to be-- this close to self-appointed assassin in a long, long time. The Englishman goes on and on about evolution and genetics, mutations and the possible accelerant of nuclear radiation, until Raven finally comes to scold him for boring people they've only just met. When Charles turns away, engaging in clearly familiar banter with his sister, Erik thinks, 'No, please look back at me.'

Strange.)

He had watched that tongue lap at coffee and tea, watched it flirt from behind white teeth and do obscene things to a lollipop. He had felt it lay flush with his cock when Charles sucked him off. He had even applied his own tongue to Xavier's pert arse. Just the one time, hulking, hand splayed across those slim hips to keep him still and Charles-don't-be-such-a-prude.

Erik himself had never been rimmed before, and it turned out to be a devastating sexual weakness. Charles ate him out with gusto, and that tongue wrung noises from Erik he didn't even know he was capable of. The invisible bonds seemed to pulse in time with the telepath's heartbeat, the thrusts of his tongue. Then, that blissful wetness retreated, and the older man let out a sob.

"This is a nice first, don't you think?" Xavier asked musingly. He replaced his tongue with his fingers, as considerate with the vulnerable flesh as he was with his precious books. Unerringly, he found Erik's prostate, stroked it lovingly, eyes never leaving the other man's face.

How long that went on for, Erik did not know. The professor alternated tongue and fingers, always maddeningly tender. Occasionally, he would pause to lick a drop of sweat from Erik's chest, his thighs. Sometimes, the younger man shivered as if from some pleasurable caress but-- as far as his captive could see-- he had yet to touch himself at all.

"Your pleasure, Erik," the telepath murmured, switching back to manual stimulation. "It's delicious, so different from how I experience it. Smooth and cool, like copper wire." In response to Charles' words, every nerve in the metal-bender's body seemed to thrum, as if conducting a sudden stroke of lightning.

Charles removed his fingers again but, this time, no touch of tongue followed. Erik realized he'd had his eyes closed for quite some time, as even the cloying lamplight felt too intense.

"What do you want?" Charles asked, performing the not inconsiderable feat of crouching over the prone man without actually touching him at all. "Sweetheart, what can I give you?"

Erik stared up into that beautiful face-- the sort of inhuman perfection found on the boy-gods of Rome-- and felt his jaw go slack. He was aware that the words were English and that he should understand them. His lover was waiting, required a response, but the bonds caressing Erik were like molten desire, and he was so empty empty.

Ah. "Your cock," he rasped, hardly recognizing his own voice. "Fuck me. Use me."

Unfathomably, the professor continued to gaze at him fondly, not reaching out.

Frantically, the older man struggled against the psychic restraints, though that only fed the frenzy. Something was blocking him, some thin but impossibly strong wall of glass between himself and relief. The telepath was keeping him there, holding his mind the way he'd held his body. Erik's struggle was sincere, but useless; if he could just get loose, he'd tackle the younger man, climb atop and just fuck himself on Charles. Uncaring if the younger man saw him rutting, moaning like a whore.

"Again, a lovely image," Charles said gently. "But not what I was looking for."

"Please." When it came to him, it felt like a bolt of divine inspiration. And, because it worked, because Xavier applied a seemingly unnecessary amount of slick and began to push in, Erik said it again. "Please please pleasepleaseplease." Until it ran together and became nonsense.

"Shhh…" his lover crooned, pulling Erik's legs up over those pale, slim shoulders. "Yes, of course, darling. You had only to ask nicely." He quickly set a consistent rhythm; not punishing, but very firm. After the innumerable light touches, it was exactly what Erik needed. He still couldn't move his arms from where they were bound, couldn't grip himself like he wanted but, at this point, he hardly needed to. It was so very close…

"You'll wait," Charles whispered sweetly, never the less brooking no refusal. "You'll wait, and come after me."

Erik keened.

With new determination, the older man angled his hips, pushing into every oncoming thrust. At the same time, he clenched around the warm, hard weight of his captor, as if he could wrest Charles' orgasm from the mind-reader's body and into his own.

"Oh, yes, love." The warm praise was matched by a brilliant smile. "That's it. That's good. My good boy." Biting his lip, Erik fought against the spike of arousal from Charles' words. More thrusts, and he held off against that beautiful knifes edge without really remembering why. Charles had asked him to, though, and Charles would never ask for something he wasn't capable of.

It felt like each beat of his heart had become an eon. The taste of copper bloomed on his tongue. Finally, finally he sensed the warm flood and pulse that signaled Charles' release. He looked up, beseeching grey eyes wide and almost panicked.

"_Very_ good boy." It felt as though those words became a part of the bonds, burning into his skin. "You may." Erik felt his own climax like an earthquake under sea; it lifted everything, with almost no warning at all.

His vision dissolved, becoming that arresting azure blue, then a white that was all colors, and finally no colors at all.

_{schatz- (German) treasure, purpose

yakir- (Hebrew) 'dear', as addressed to a male [the female form is 'yakira']}
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Night Ocean