Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/910456.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      X-Men:_First_Class_(2011)_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Erik_Lehnsherr/Charles_Xavier
  Character:
      Erik_Lehnsherr, Charles_Xavier, Steve_Rogers
  Additional Tags:
      Honestly_Charles_What_Are_You_Thinking, Tentacles, Tentacle_Sex, Kinkmeme
      Deanon, X-Men_First_Class_Kink_Meme, Sex_on_the_Beach, Cockthulhu, Alpha/
      Beta/Omega_Dynamics, Balls_Deep_Under_the_Sea, Consentacles
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-08-03 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 2855
****** High Tide ******
by velvetcadence
Summary
     "Teen Charles is on holiday on a remote island his family owns and
     has been enjoying being on his own.
     He’s having fun, reading books, playing in the sea but, more and more
     often, when he’s in the water, he feels touches, light strokes
     against his feet, his shins. And they get bolder with time, though
     never threatening, so Charles is intrigued, and not afraid.
     One night, he can’t sleep and goes on the pier to cool off, not
     realizing he’s going into his first heat. Except he’s not alone, and
     someone intends to help him go through it. –insert tentacles porn
     here-. And Charles enjoys it, very much."
     tldr; Sex on the Beach. With Tentacles.
Notes
     Kinkmeme prompt here. After hemming and hawing for four months, I
     finally gathered the guts to put it up here. Enjoy!
     Props to Roz, Vice and Skye for great editing. You guys are the best!
***** Chapter 1 *****
It's a relief to feel the sand between his toes once again. Charles has found
his niche in boarding school (top student, future prefect, teacher's favorite)
but there's nothing quite like returning to his island. Every summer since he’d
began studying in England has been spent here, a personal paradise.
They all think he's an odd boy, to spend so much time by himself when he can be
out there with his peers, but he relishes it. Boarding school leaves little
time to oneself. And in any case, it isn't as if he's here all by himself.
They've got cooks and nannies and servants up and about the beach house. Uncle
Steve's tagging along too. Ostensibly to enjoy the beach and the scenery, but
more to keep an eye out on Charles.
The island's still as beautiful as he remembers. It's called Charlotte's
Island, for the grandmother they named him after. Uncle Steve's only been here
once before, before he'd joined the Army, but that was a long time ago. He'd
come back a quieter man, but he always made time for Charles, which is nice.
His mother and Uncle Steve don't get along so well, Charles knows. It's a
wonder they let him stay with Uncle Steve for a whole summer, but his mother is
enjoying her honeymoon with his new stepfather back at home.
Charles is halfway out the door before he remembers to ask, “Uncle Steve, is it
okay if I go to the beach for a while?” He's used to coming and going as he
pleases. Nobody back at the house pays him attention so long as he stays quiet,
but he remembers how mad Uncle Steve was when he didn't know where he'd been.
Uncle Steve looks up from his sketch. “Sure thing, kiddo. Just be back by
dinner.”
“Okay.” Grabbing a random book off the shelf, Charles steps out into the
sunlight.
-
Dipping his toes into the water makes Charles a little giddy. It's the done
thing, isn't it? Reading a book in a sunny spot on the pier. There's a portrait
of a boy hanging in the living room of the beach house, wearing a sun hat and
immersed in a novel, his shins submerged into the sea. In front of him is a
mermaid leaning against a crop of rock. She looks fascinated as he reads aloud.
“Maybe she's listening to him read poetry. Do you think I could get a mermaid
to pop up if I read Whitman?” he says aloud, not expecting anyone to answer
him.
He's halfway through the next page when a smooth appendage tickles the
underside of his foot. He jerks, but then the limb slides against his ankle,
soothing. He peeks at the edge of the pier, but again, there's nothing there
despite the fact that he can feel limbs caressing his feet.
It's odd, but it's comforting.
“Hello, old friend. What have you been up to, lately?”
There's a sucking pressure on his toes like someone's taken them into their
mouth. It tickles. It's never done that before. Charles sighs and dips a little
more of his legs into the water, unconscious of the fact that he's spread his
thighs open. It's a little obscene the way he sighs, but again, there's no one
else here.
He wonders how far it would go if he dipped his whole body into the water.
Mummy, if she were here, would be furious that he was careless with his new
clothes. Charles hesitates for a long while before he shucks his shirt off and
slides his pants down, leaving him in his underwear. He feels the loss of the
caresses when he pulls his legs back to do so. Then, dangling off the pier, he
pushes himself off and plops into the sea.
-
The first time he'd dipped his toes in the water in this particular pier, he'd
thought it was the seaweed that was brushing against him. It wasn't, though.
Seaweed didn't tickle you with intent. Whatever it was that Charles felt but
couldn't see, it was different. Sentient. Intelligent. Not harmless, but also
not malicious.
Charles should have been scared. He was, the first few moments. But whatever it
was, it didn't touch him again until his heart stopped racing and he'd drifted
off into his daydreams. From then on, it always brushed against him timidly at
first, and then steadily the longer the time passed. Charles didn't mind it. In
fact, he'd even come to anticipate it. It was one of the strangest things he'd
ever encountered in his life, but it was also one of the most thrilling. When
he’d gotten home from vacation, the first thing he did was call Tony over to
tell him.
“Could you imagine it, an invisible creature with the demeanor of a cat and
limbs like tentacles?”
“Pfft,” Tony had said, and threw a paper ball at him.
-
Never mind Tony, Charles thinks adamantly to himself. Whatever this thing is,
it's real, even if it's only real to me.
Strange how he only barely needs to swim to keep his chest above the water.
It's like he's being buoyed up by the sea itself, as if she's adopted him for
nearly drowning in her years ago. It helps that this part of the beach is calm
and that the undercurrents are weak. Charles dog paddles to a large boulder and
makes himself at home on a mossy indent. He feels tentacles slither against him
as he does so, and he smiles despite himself. The air is tinged with amusement
at first, the tips of the invisible appendages poking and caressing him,
tickling his feet. The suction at his toes continues until he has to curl them
from delight. He sags against the moss and lets his hands drift down his
stomach to the growing thatch of pubic hair, and then past that, to tug at his
half-erect member.
He shouldn't be doing this, he knows. But there's no one here to watch. And it
feels good, so why shouldn't he?
Charles pumps himself once, twice, feeling himself swell within the confines of
his underwear. His heart beating wildly, he grabs the remaining piece of cloth
on his person and crumples it in his fist. He's naked in the beach, and it's
such a thrill. He's so hard he can't think, and the phantom limbs rubbing
against him are maddening. All it takes is a squeeze, and then he's coming, as
quick as an arrow.
He floats, mind aimless for what seems to be eternity, until something smooth
grips his erection. “Oh!” He gasps, glancing at himself, standing at attention
but utterly alone. He feels it though, the grip, that sweet intoxicating slide
against his cock and there's nothing for it but to brace his feet against the
moss and undulate against it. Slowly, at first, because he's tired and still
shaking from the first orgasm, but he can't help himself and begins to buck
upwards faster and faster. He just wishes he had something to hold onto, when
suddenly the pleasure crests and he's spent again. There's nothing left to
think about except that he wishes he could spend every day of summer like this.
–
Dinner's a quiet affair with Uncle Steve. It's comfortable enough, though, and
he shows Charles the pages he's finished sketching for today. Charles tells him
that he read poetry all day trying to attract mermaids, and Steve laughs.
Eventually though, his uncle notices his uncomfortable shifting and places the
back of his hand against Charles' forehead. “You okay, buddy? You look a little
flushed.”
“I'm fine. Maybe it's the sunburn?”
Steve scents the air and places a steady hand on Charles' shoulder. “Maybe you
should get to bed, Charles.” He squeezes meaningfully.
“But I feel fine.” Charles insists.
Steve looks him in the eye. “Not for long. Trust this ol' alpha nose, alright?
Why don't I get you some medicine to help?”
“O-Oh. Am I really...?”
“Yeah. It's alright, Charles. It's nothing to be ashamed of. I'll stay at the
other wing so I don't disturb you.”
It doesn't stop Charles from being embarrassed, but he's a little relieved to
have Uncle Steve around. Cain would have made fun of him, and his mother would
have been no help, being a beta. Kurt, he doesn't want to think about.
“Okay. I'll go now. Thank you.” Charles surprises Steve with a quick hug before
he's dashing up the stairs.
Hours later, Charles is tossing and turning in bed, the sheets sticking to his
skin. It's too hot to stay indoors, and once Charles opens his windows, all he
can think about is the sea around him and phantom limbs caressing him. He's
leaking down his leg, so slick he can smell his own musk. The scent's saturated
on his hands and fingers from where he's tried to satisfy himself, but nothing
works.
Dizzy with his heat, he heads downstairs to grab a glass of water. He stands
there, feeling like his skin is too tight, his memory looping the sensation
from earlier that day. Before he knows it, he's unlocking the back door and
heading off to the shore.
Back to the pier, back to the place where everything begins. He strips himself
of his clothes, and then he's slipping into the water, naked once more.
Charles holds his breath underwater for a long moment, just listening to the
water around him. He tries to count until thirty, but he never reaches it,
because suddenly, there are arms lifting him up, and his head breaks the
surface.
He gasps, blinking the seawater from his eyes. There is a man in front of him,
holding him above the water. His grip is strong and protective and somehow that
is all it takes for Charles' senses go on hyperdrive. Charles has already been
short of breath from his dive. When he takes a deep pant, he can taste the
fresh salt in the air and that distinct other scent that's not quite a scent
but more of a presence.
He moans as a surge of heat grips him. His muscles clench, and his nails dig
into the skin of the man's biceps as he arches against him. It's only until the
convulsions pass that he notices he's sagged against a strong chest. It's as
human as the rest of Charles, but the hands that are holding him are rough and
scaled, melding into human skin by the elbow. Below the water, the sensation of
tentacles caressing him is unmistakable. Charles looks and can't stop looking,
for where human legs should be, there are slithering limbs.
The creature grins, two rows of gleaming fangs, and there it is again,
amusement in the air, not quite as thick as intent. It's a fearsome smile, a
touch predatory but not malicious. Charles must be out of his mind, but he
isn't thinking how strange or how terrifying this half-man creature is. Rather,
he's thinking how handsomely cut its face is and that he would very much like
to kiss it.
He does so, gripping its shoulders to press at the corner of its grinning
mouth. He parts his lips, making a keening sound when a tongue darts out to
flick his own. The kiss tastes like brine and is surprisingly soft, a wet swipe
of lips and tongue. When Charles mistakenly cuts his lip on a fang, the
creature growls and sucks on the wound, holding him closer when a shudder of
arousal passes through him.
Charles' arse clenches as tentacles spread him by the ankles gently, and he
whimpers as a slim appendage prods at his hole. Another tentacle circles his
erection, pumping it just like that afternoon, slow and maddening. He goes
rigid as another seizure of heat takes him, and by the time his mind comes back
to him, his body has taken to rubbing itself alternately against the creature's
smooth human torso and its flexible appendages. He feels the tentacle roll
within him like a fist, feels it harden like he needs it to. “Oh...oh
please...ah!”
He goes limp from his orgasm, and the creature's mouth seals over his, bringing
them down into the water.
Sometime after that, Charles Xavier forgets who he is. Later he'll recall
snatches of his heat, like the smell of brine or the taste of cum on his
tongue, the dig of his nails into lean muscle. Later he'll remember it like
some half-dream.
But for now:
Mindless. Charles is in a mindless haze. He can't care about anything but the
hardness of his cock and the emptiness of his arse. “Please, oh please,” he
sobs as another wave of heat leaves him disoriented.
“Hush...” The creature tells him, carrying him over to a bedding where it is
soft and damp. Seaweed? Moss? The coolness of it helps. Charles keens when he
is licked from the navel up, baring his neck in submission. The thing rumbles a
growl and gently teeths at the thin skin of his throat. Charles stops
struggling in an instant, instincts directing him to remain pliant, but it does
not stop another orgasm.
Smooth appendages keep his arms and legs apart, spreading him for the
creature's eyes to feast. For a while it does nothing but caress him, his face;
fondle his cock and his balls. It sinks a tentacle an inch or so inside him,
toying with the rim of his hole. Its other limbs are always in sinuous motion
against his skin, a sensory feast for a heat-ridden omega.
Charles moans as lips close around his nipples, making him arch. More limbs
come to restrain him, smooth against his thighs, oddly soft for the contrast of
the lean muscle of its shoulders and back. The creature continues to tease him
with quick laps of tongue, eyeing him unwaveringly. Charles can do nothing but
stare back.
At last the tentacles at his entrance recede to be replaced by something bigger
and infinitely more satisfying. Charles whimpers when he sees that it's the
creature's erection, shaped like a man's would except that it is bigger, a
pulsing dark-colored thing, and Charles doesn't know how it should fit inside
him except that it does, oh, and it's a delicious burn, he's so slick and his
body's so open that it's no trouble for it to fit to the hilt, my god, he feels
so full.
He cries like a bride on her wedding night, so overwhelmed with finally having
a cock inside of him it's a surprise when it moves. He clutches at the creature
as it begins to thrust, gasping at every movement, his toes curling as he sees
stars at every upstroke. He's raw with want, but every flex into him is
measured, gentle but deep. Charles shouts when he comes, his voice echoing. He
must look a picture, suspended in orgasm, until everything in him turns dreamy
and lax.
The creature fondles him through a short nap until the heat compels Charles get
on his hands and knees. “Fuck me,” he moans, spreading his cheeks with a hand,
feeling slick run down his thigh. The reaction is an immediate tentacle in his
ass, pushing and massaging him from the inside. It's not enough, though.
Nothing will ever be enough. “Your cock. Please. Please.”
The tentacle barely withdraws before the cock is in its place, and Charles
gasps when its limbs hold him down and spread him wide as it ruts inside him.
One appendage enters his mouth; it smells like musk. Wildly, he realizes that
it must be the same one that entered him. He moans, slightly muffled by the
girth in his mouth. The others tweak his nipples and pump his arousal. The
creature fucks him through two orgasms and even after he's all but collapsed
from pleasure, mouth and cock and ass serviced to full ecstasy.
***** Epilogue *****
Uncle Steve raises hell the two days Charles disappears without a trace. They
find his pajamas on his pier, but other than that, there's no sign of the boy.
No signs of struggle, no notes. Charles couldn't possibly have left the island.
Kidnapping was possible but highly unlikely—the island is so remote any boats
would have been immediately noticed. Charles could have drowned on his watch,
dear god.
Steve buries his face in his hands and tries to breathe. Could have, should
have, would have. He doesn't want to think about what anyone would do to a
fourteen year-old omega in heat.
They find him on the beach the third day he's gone missing, and if not for the
fact that he was naked and salt-crusted, they might as well have found him on
his own bed for how well he slept. He wakes up confused and disoriented, with
one of the helpers saying, “Madre de Dios,” and crossing herself when they see
him underneath a blanket of seaweed. Steve ignores their whispering and gathers
him into a fierce hug.
They leave the island the next day. Charles has to reassure Uncle Steve a lot
after the scare.
 
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