Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11659707.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      X-Men_(Movieverse), X-Men_(Alternate_Timeline_Movies)
  Relationship:
      Erik_Lehnsherr/Charles_Xavier
  Character:
      Erik_Lehnsherr, Charles_Xavier, Janos_Quested
  Additional Tags:
      Erik_is_Crushing_Harder_than_a_12-year_Old_Girl, Charles_Xavier_has_a
      Ph.D_in_Adorable, Prostitution, Age_Difference, Daydreaming,
      Architect!Erik, prostitute!Charles, Charles_is_17_so_legal_for_NY_but
      under_18_hence_the_AO3_warning
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-07-30 Updated: 2017-08-11 Chapters: 3/? Words: 5982
****** Man and Boy ******
by Fullmetalcarer
Summary
     Erik should know better than to fall for a rent boy.
     Charles should know better than to fall for a trick.
     They are both fools . . .
Notes
     Dunno where this came from or where it is going, but it demanded to
     be written.
***** Well met by streetlight *****
Erik fucked up into the boy, desperate and relentless. He was on his back and
the boy was straddling him, facing his feet, and bouncing up and down on his
condom clad cock as Erik thrust up. He could see the lovely line of his spine
and arch of his back. His surprisingly strong thigh muscles - the rest of him
was so slim - as they bunched to push him up and relaxed as he dropped down.
The perfectly round globes of his ass, paler even than his lightly freckled
back, rippling as he bounced.
He'd seen him on a street corner. The area his architectural practice was
redeveloping was run down. One block was the haunt of rent boys. Erik always
did his best to ignore them, even when they importuned him as he waited for the
lights to turn green. This boy had drawn his eye due to his beauty; dark hair,
pale skin, blue eyes and red lips illuminated by the harsh glow of the street
lights. He'd shivered in the autumn air, inadequately dressed in skin tight
jeans and a silky cropped top.
Their eyes had met and Erik had been haunted by him from then on. Maybe if his
mother hadn't had to have another round of chemo, maybe if he hadn't had to
testify yet again at Shaw's parole hearing, maybe if Magda hadn't been talking
about taking the kids to Europe, he wouldn't have been tempted to reach for
something, anything to stop the rat in his skull.
As it was, Erik had found himself pulling the BMW over and gesturing the boy to
get in. He looked very young and very small sitting on the black leather seat.
He stank of cigarette smoke, unwashed clothes, unwashed body and sex.
"How old are you?"
The boy rolled his eyes.
"Legal for New York," he said, street accent overlaying something much more
cultured.
So Erik had taken him to a scuzzy hotel and fucked him into the mattress,
trying to believe him and not think of him as sixteen or fifteen or even
fourteen. And it had been a revelation, his slender, flexible body and the
obscene noises he had made. Erik had come back night after night. It had been
more than a month now and he still didn't know the kid's name.
He reached round and grabbed the boy's prick. He was hard and leaking. He
stroked him in time to his thrusts. The boy turned his head to one side, giving
Erik a glimpse of his lovely profile, hawkish nose and all, and made a thin,
high noise that drove Erik mad. He tightened his grip on the boy's cock,
stroked him faster and increased his assault on his ass.
"Erik, Erik, Erik," he cried, more a sob than words.
He clenched his perfect ass on Erik's cock like a vice and spilled over Erik's
fingers as Erik convulsed and spilled inside him. The boy fell back so he was
lying back to chest on Erik. His limbs sprawled helplessly and his chest
heaved. Erik wrapped his arms and legs round him and hugged him tight. His
breathing slowed and he let out a long sigh. Fuck, Erik could stay like this
forever, cock up the ass of a rent boy in this disgusting hotel room. He swung
him carefully over so they were big spoon and little spoon, Erik being the big
one. He allowed himself a few more moments of inexplicable peace, then pulled
out, keeping a careful hold of the condom. He tossed it in the bin by the bed
and pressed up against the boy.
The kid felt so warm, so alive, blood pumping through his veins, pulse strong,
heartbeat a powerful rhythm. Erik always felt a weird post-coital fondness for
the kid, which was ridiculous. It was his job. Erik was paying him. There was
zero affection involved.
"Mmm, that was nice," mumbled the boy.
"Was it?"
"Yes. You don't hurt me and you make sure I come. Niiiiice."
Jesus, not being hurt and having his cock stroked and that was enough to make
it good for him. Poor little fucker. The kid turned over to face him. He was
startlingly pretty close up. His huge, cornflower eyes and plump, cherry lips
were perhaps his best features. His nose was too big and a bit lumpy, but Erik
had taken rather a shine to the two freckles on the bridge.
"I wish I could stay here all night," said the boy.
"I was just thinking the same thing," said Erik, "despite the numerous
parasites that are no doubt feasting on my flesh at this very moment."
The kid giggled and, fuck, that was erotic.
"I hope you don't consider me a parasite," he said, rounded vowels fighting
their way past harsh street speak.
He smiled like an angel. God, he looked indescribably innocent sometimes.
"No, we have a symbiotic relationship, I get sex and you get cash."
As soon as he'd said it he wished he hadn't. The innocent look was replaced by
a calculating one.
"Talking of cash," said the boy, sitting up.
Erik grabbed his jacket and got out his wallet. He pressed the notes, with a
big tip, into the boy's hands.
"Thank you, darling," he said, giving Erik his flirty-for-the-trick smile.
He clambered off the bed and pulled his scarlet top over his head. He hauled up
his jeans - no underwear - and shoved his grubby feet - no socks - into his
scuffed pixie boots.
"Erik, my name's Erik."
The kid looked at him.
"Thank you, Erik," he said, a smaller and more genuine smile on his face.
They went downstairs together to be leered at by the desk clerk.
"See you around," said the boy and trotted off down the street.
Erik didn't watch him walk away and he didn't think of him when he was alone in
his pristine apartment, but it took quite an effort of will.
                                     * * *
Charles damn near skipped back to the shitty apartment he shared with Janos.
Erik was always generous. He wouldn't need to turn anymore tricks tonight. He
didn't just like Erik because he paid well. Sometimes he was rough, but he was
never cruel and sometimes he was gentle. He always made sure Charles came. And
every now and then Charles caught a look on his face like Charles wasn't just a
filthy little whore, like he was a person.
Occasionally, when they were fucking, Charles indulged in the fantasy that Erik
was his boyfriend, that they lived together and went food-shopping on Saturdays
and Charles kissed him goodbye every morning when he went to work, then went
off to college himself. They had a black lab called "Choccie" and visited
Erik's family for lunch on Sundays.
He actively suppressed such daydreams as that kind of thing made a boy wish for
what he could be never have and end up getting hurt.
No, best just to enjoy the extra cash and a client he actually enjoyed having
sex with and forget about the rest.
He pushed open the apartment door. Janos was clattering around in the kitchen.
"Hi, honey, I'm home," he called.
***** A cracking good time *****
Erik had had a shocking week. His testimony at Shaw's parole hearing was
looming. His mama had resumed chemo. And he'd had a long and unproductive
conversation (argument) with Magda about taking the kids to Europe.
"It'll be three years, maximum. You can Skype and visit and they can come over
in the holidays."
"Three years? Three years! We'll be complete strangers in three years."
Things had escalated into a shouting match and Magda had ended up threatening
to call the police if he didn't get out of her house. The house he had bought
and paid for. The worst thing was he was pretty sure the twins had heard every
word.
He felt the need to punish someone. He couldn't punish Magda. She was the
mother of his kids and whatever he might say in the heat of the moment she was
a damn good mother and they had loved each other once. He couldn't take it out
on his mother, not with the state she was in, besides, he was incapable of
raging at her. He couldn't punish Shaw. He was locked up in prison, supposedly
already being punished, though they seemed like they wanted to let the bastard
out. He couldn't punish his staff, that would have been hideously
unprofessional. Getting into fights with strangers was unpredictable and likely
to end in jail. Then he thought of the boy. The rent boy.
He drove over to the street where the boys hung out. He spotted him straight
away, shivering in the drizzle, hair plastered to his head, thin tee-shirt
sticking to his torso. As soon as he saw Erik a smile blossomed on his face.
Not the flirty, filthy smile he often deployed, but something innocent and
joyful. It morphed into his professional grin as soon as he got in the car.
"Hello, darling. I was hoping you'd turn up. Things are slow. It's the
weather."
"What's your name? You know mine, it's only fair I know yours."
"Charles."
It sounded ridiculously posh the way he said it, cultured voice emerging from
his usual street speech.
"Charles," repeated Erik.
It rolled off the tongue very nicely. A lot of other things would roll off the
tongue very nicely.
He drove them to their usual scuzzy hotel and paid the scuzzy desk clerk. As
soon as they got in the room Charles hurled himself on the bed and bounced like
a little kid. Fuck, he looked young. Not for the first time Erik prayed he
wasn't lying about his age.
"So, what do you fancy, Erik? My hand? My mouth? My arse? All three?"
Erik hesitated.
"Don't be shy, love. Trust me, I've heard and done it all before."
"I'd like to spank you."
Charles grinned.
"Ooo, you dangerous thing, you. I charge a bit extra for spanking, more for
whipping and the more cuts and bruises you leave, the more cash I'll want."
"I won't leave any cuts or bruises," said Erik, trying not to feel shocked,
"and I don't want to hit you with anything but my hand."
"No probs, love. How do you want me?"
How did he want him? Over his knee? No, that brought back bad memories.
"Take off your jeans and lie face down on the bed."
Charles obeyed, wriggling out of his jeans in a way that made Erik stiffen in
his pants. Erik walked over to the bed and gazed down at him. There was
something erotic about the fact that he still had his damp tee-shirt on. His
buttocks peeked out from under the hem, round and firm and pale and enticing.
Erik drew his fingers over those smooth cheeks. Lovely. He climbed onto the bed
and straddled Charles' thighs. He prodded one cheek with his forefiinger,
admiring the way the flesh dimpled under the pressure.
"I've been told it's my best feature, that and my mouth."
"No," said Erik, without even thinking about it, "it's your eyes. You have
exceptionally beautiful eyes."
Charles twisted his head to one side and fixed those exceptional eyes on him.
"That's . . . that's a nice thing to say."
His voice was soft. He smiled. Erik smiled back.
"This is an odd way to begin a spanking. Don't you want me to say stuff about
being a naughty boy and needing to be punished?"
"I don't know, give it a try."
Charles leaned to the side. His eyes widened. He pouted his obscenely red lips.
"I've been bad, Erik. I'm afraid to tell you what I've done because I know
you'll be angry."
It was cliched and ridiculous, but somehow it worked. Erik gave one buttock a
gentle slap. Charles made a distressed noise.
"Tell me what you've done."
"I . . . I slept with other men."
He sounded genuinely scared. Fuck, he was good. Erik gave the other buttock a
slightly harder smack. He moaned, his ass jiggled and his ivory skin reddened a
little under Erik's hand. Erik's cock was decidedly interested now.
"Tell me exactly want you did."
"I let them do things to me."
Erik gave each cheek a stinging smack. Charles yelped. God, the way the blow
rippled through his flesh. The feel of his skin under Erik's palm; hot satin.
The colour that surged up; the most beautiful deep rose.
"I touched their cocks."
Two more slaps.
"And?"
"I let them put their cocks in my mouth."
Four slaps. Good hard ones that made Charles' buttocks quiver and go from rose
to scarlet. He sobbed and his beautiful eyes filled with tears.
"And?"
"I let them put their cocks up my arse."
Fuck, "arse" sounded so much dirtier than "ass", particularly in Charles'
hybrid English/American accent.
Erik slapped his ass, no, his arse six times, bringing his hand right back and
swinging his arm with some force. His fingers were stinging. God knows what
Charles' buttocks felt like. They were dark red and searingly hot. He sobbed
"Erik" on every stroke and the tears spilled down his cheeks. He was a lovely
cryer. No red eyes and snotty nose. No, just crystal tears and tragic looks.
Erik transferred his attention to the backs of his thighs, reddening them with
blows from the curve of his buttocks to the backs of his knees.
"I bet you loved it, didn't you? Sucking off all those guys? Having their come
dribble out your ass?"
"No, no," Charles wept. "All the time I wished it was you, I wished they were
you."
Something tightened in Erik's chest. He so wanted it to be true. So wanted
Charles to want him the way he wanted Charles. He knew it was a lie, but he
allowed himself to believe it.
"Do you want me now?"
"Yes, yes," gasped Charles, "want you so much, only you, Erik, only you."
Erik leant down and kissed the side of his mouth, then his eyelids, then licked
the salty tears from his cheeks. He got the tube of lube from his jacket
pocket, coated two fingers and eased them into Charles, who let out a long,
harsh breath. He prepped him as quickly as he could without skimping, adding
another finger and making sure to target his prostate. He reached under him to
check. Yes, he was hard.
Charles rutted into his hand, hot and leaking. Erik withdrew his fingers.
Charles wailed.
"Oh, please, Erik, please."
Erik kissed his flushed face, then his even more flushed ass. He laved the hot
skin with his tongue.
"Don't worry, baby, I'll take care of you."
He rolled on a condom and lubed up his cock. He dragged the pillows under
Charles' hips, parted his cheeks and pressed in nice and slow. Charles moaned,
long and loud. Erik rolled his hips, easing in and out of his clenching hole.
Every time his hips hit Charles' tender ass he gave a little scream. Erik upped
the pace and reached under him for his cock. He stroked him in time with his
thrusts. They were both close. Erik pushed a finger in alongside his cock. His
insides felt like living velvet. He massaged Charles' prostate with his finger,
prodded it with his prick and scraped his thumbnail over his slit. Charles
screamed and came. His rectal muscles spasmed and Erik came too.
He collapsed on top of Charles, unable to breathe, unable to think. The peace
he found so hard to achieve in the rest of his life descended on him. After a
while Charles shifted under him. Erik rolled off him, keeping a careful grip on
the condom and tossing it into the bin.
"I'm sorry, I'm must have been squashing you."
Charles gave him a lazy smile. "A little."
"Are you alright?"
Charles grinned. "Oh, I'm more than alright. I haven't come that hard for
ages."
He was lying no doubt, but Erik couldn't suppress a flicker of pride.
"I meant your ass."
"Oh, that's stinging like fuck, but it'll ease off soon. I've had much worse."
He looked Erik up and down and started giggling.
"What?"
"You do realise you're fully dressed, don't you? Jacket, tie, pants,
everything? Oh my god, Erik, you're . . . you're still wearing your shoes!"
"Fuck, I am, aren't I?"
They both started laughing. They laughed till they cried. Eventually they
regained their composure and lay there grinning at each other like idiots.
"I guess you'd better get back to your beat."
As soon as he'd said it, Erik regretted it. Something seemed to close down in
Charles' face. He sat up, winced at the pressure on his ass and pulled his
jeans and boots on.
"Yep, can't laze around here all day. Got something you want to give me,
darling?"
For a moment Erik was confused.
"Oh, yes, your money. Is that enough?"
"Generous as always."
Erik cleaned up and zipped up.
"Want me to drive you back?"
"No thanks, love, the walk will do me good. Bye. See you soon."
"Bye, Charles," Erik called after him as he flitted down the stairs.
Charles didn't look back. Erik stood in the doorway gazing down the grimy,
poorly lit stairwell. Charles was a whore, a rent boy, a prostitute. Street
trash. Scum of the earth. So why did Erik feel so bereft every time they said
goodbye?
                                     * * *
Charles didn't go back to his beat. Thanks to Erik's generosity he could call
it a night. He stopped in at a cafe on the way home and bought himself a chai
latte as a treat. The barista gave him some vicious side-eye, so he responded
with his sweetest smile. She muttered under her breath. Charles thanked her in
his poshest accent. He plonked himself down on a chair and nearly screamed out
loud. He'd forgotten his spanking. He smiled to himself. Erik had done a great
job. Not too hard, not too soft, just right.
"Like Goldilocks and the Three Bears," he thought and giggled, drawing the
unfriendly eye of the barista.
He blew her a kiss and she turned away in disgust. His thoughts turned to Erik
again. He really knew how to show a boy a good time. A lot of his clients
couldn't care less if he came. Some of them wanted him to come, but were so
incompetent it was a real effort. Not Erik though. He gave himself a mental
shake. Erik was a trick, no more, no less. Yes, he was a great fuck and
generous and funny and, given his hard features, surprisingly kind, but he was
just a trick.
Charles repeated this litany all the way home.
***** Monday in the park with Charles *****
Erik felt sick to his stomach as he waited to testify before the parole board.
He was terrified he'd see Shaw, even though the clerk had assured him the
bastard would be in a separate waiting area. Part of him wanted to confront
Shaw and kick him in the balls and stamp his smug face to a bloody pulp. Part
of him feared he'd revert to helpless victimhood if he encountered the douche
bag.
The clerk called him in. He sat down in front of the board members, who
welcomed him and explained the process. He didn't take in a single word of it.
He wondered if his appearance would count against him. If they'd look at him -
his broad shoulders, his height, his strong jaw, his hard features - and think,
"Him? Victim? I don't think so."
The chair asked for his testimony. He tried to look them in the face as he
recounted his pathetic story. Eighteen year old Erik, tall and handsome,
awkward and shy, hiding his social ineptitude with a mask of arrogance. Shaw,
more than twice his age, charming, full of praise, offering to initiate him
into the mysteries of academe and sex. Shaw had been controlling from the start
and soon control had turned into psychological abuse. Shaw had ordered every
aspect of his life; his studies, clothes, friends (not that he had any), where
he went, what he did, everything, even what he ate. Then the violence had begun
and Erik had worn long sleeved shirts in the summer to hide the bruises. The
violence turned sexual and Erik limped round campus, fobbing off concerned
enquiries with tales of running mishaps and climbing accidents.
Erik hadn't got away. Shaw had got tired of him. At first Erik had been
devastated to be so abruptly dropped. Then he'd felt an extraordinary
lightening of his spirits and started to realise what Shaw had done to him. He
was in his third year and Shaw wasn't one of his professors anymore so he'd
been able to avoid him, graduate and move on.
He'd been married to Magda and the father of twin toddlers when he'd caught an
article about a sixteen year old student genius who'd committed suicide. His
old college. A quote from Professor Shaw saying how tragic it was, how closely
he'd mentored the poor boy, how mentally fragile the young man had been. Erik
told Magda everything and told her he wanted to act. She'd backed him all the
way. He went to the university authorities. He went to the police. The
consensus was he had no evidence and he'd left it too late. He tracked down
Shaw's students, current and former, the ones who were Shaw's type; tall,
handsome young men, outwardly confident, inwardly insecure. At first all of
them had nothing but praise for Professor Shaw, then one of them broke down and
told Erik a story he knew all too well.
One became two, became five. They hired a lawyer. They went back to the
university and the police, who, reluctantly, took action. More young men came
forward, including Shaw's current project, another sixteen year old. After more
witness statements than Erik could count, after delays and court appearances
and appeals, Shaw was found guilty and sentenced. They were lucky with the
judge and with the climate of the times - widespread public revulsion about
revelations of institutional abuse - and Shaw got the maximum tariff.
Of course the fucker was a model prisoner and came up for parole halfway
through his sentence, which was why Erik was here today. He concluded his
statement, managing to maintain control throughout, the chair thanked him and
he left, having a quick encouraging word with another of Shaw's survivors on
the way out. As he drove home he wondered if it would have been better if he'd
broken down and sobbed. People seemed to demand external evidence of trauma
nowadays.
He spent the weekend with his mother. She didn't seem to be suffering as many
side effects from the chemo as she had first time around. She was weak, but
cheerful, and bullied him into tidying up the garden and doing some odd jobs
round the house. He told her about the parole hearing. She praised him and
said:
"You should treat yourself, Erik, buy yourself something nice, do something you
really enjoy."
"I promise I will, mama."
The something nice that he really enjoyed was Charles.
He agonised that he was following in Shaw's footsteps with Charles. Except
everything was out in the open between them. He wanted sex. Charles wanted
money. He always made sure Charles came. He tried to treat him like a person,
not an object. It was sobering to realise that he treated a rent boy much
better than Shaw had ever treated him.
He picked Charles up after work on Monday. He felt as though a burden had been
lifted. He felt wild and reckless.
As Charles got into the car, he leant towards Erik and for a second he thought
Charles was going to kiss him. At the last moment he bent down and adjusted his
boots. Of course he hadn't been going to kiss Erik. What a sentimental fool he
was.
"Hello, love. You look cheerful."
"I am cheerful," said Erik. "Have . . . have you ever had sex outside?"
"Lots of times," was the blasé reply.
"I haven't. Do you know someplace we could go?"
Charles grinned. "I certainly do. To the park, James, and don't spare the
horses."
"Do you think you're in some Regency bodice-ripper or something?"
"You mean you're not Mr Darcy?"
Erik snorted. "If I am, that makes you Elizabeth Bennet."
"I think I'd make a lovely Lizzie."
"More like Lydia."
Charles made an outraged noise and smacked Erik's arm.
"How dare you, sir. I shall be obliged to strike you with my fan if you persist
in your insulting behaviour."
Erik shouted with laughter.
"Strike me with your fanny you mean."
Charles burst out laughing.
"Wrong book. Fanny's the heroine in Mansfield Park. Ah, here we are."
Erik pulled up. Charles led him into the park. They headed for a secluded,
wooded spot. As they walked Erik admired Charles' ass in his too tight jeans
and contemplated the surreal fact that he'd just had a conversation about Jane
Austen's novels with a rent boy. Charles led him down a small overgrown path
he'd never have noticed if he'd been on his own.
"This is where a lot of hook-ups happen, professional and amateur. The police
do a sweep every now and then. They just did one the other day, so we're quite
safe. We might be watched, though. A fair old bit of voyeurism goes on here.
Are you OK with that?"
Erik nodded. He was more than OK, he was turned on by the thought of being
watched, while simultaneously disgusted.
"You just stand there," he said. "I'll pretend to be a stranger."
Charles smiled and leant his shoulders against a tree, angled his hips to
emphasise his crotch and tucked his thumbs into his waistband so his fingers
were pointing at his groin.
Erik went back down the path and circled round so he was coming at Charles from
behind. He crept up to him, grabbed his shoulder and growled:
"You're under arrest."
Charles jumped and turned with a genuinely scared look on his face. Erik felt a
twinge of guilt. Understanding dawned in Charles' eyes.
"What for, officer?"
"Prostitution."
"What? But I'm just enjoying the park."
Charles deployed his huge, innocent, frightened eyes. God, Erik loved his eyes.
"It's raining." It was. "It's almost dark." It was. "This is a known haunt of
rent boys and you're dressed like crack whore Barbie."
Charles clung to him and put on a desperate look. He should have been an actor.
"Please don't arrest me, officer. It'd be my third strike. I'd be locked up for
years. You know what they'd do to a boy like me in prison. Please, please let
me go."
He was heartrending. Erik forced himself to sound callous and uncaring.
"Not my problem."
"Please, please, I'll do anything."
One small hand crept up to the back of Erik's neck. The other slid down his
chest and belly to hover over his crotch. Erik grabbed the hand at his groin.
"Are you trying to buy me off with sex?"
"Yes," said Charles in a tiny voice.
"I should lock you up and throw away the key, except . . . you are very pretty.
Your mouth in particular. I bet you know exactly what to do with that mouth,
don't you?"
Charles gave him a tremulous smile.
"Why don't you let me show you?"
"OK, but it'd better be good or I'm hauling you in."
Charles sank to his knees on the damp ground. He unzipped Erik and freed his
half hard cock. He ran cold fingers up and down Erik's length, then leant
forwards and kissed the head. He kissed all around the glans and down the vein
on the underside. He got a condom out of his pocket and put it on Erik by
taking it in his mouth then sliding it over Erik's cock. Deeper and deeper he
took him. Fucking hell, surely he couldn't take it all? Charles kept taking him
down, unrolling the condom as he went, until his nose brushed Erik's pubes and
his lips were stretched around the base of Erik's cock.
Erik gave a shivery moan. No one had ever managed to deep throat him before, he
was too big, but Charles had done it like it was nothing. He looked up at Erik
with those killer eyes and swallowed. Erik could feel the movement of his
throat muscles on his dick. He gasped. Charles pulled off and sucked the head
of his cock through the condom. He licked and flickered his tongue, all the
time keeping his eyes fixed on Erik's face. Erik was one hundred percent
certain he looked absolutely wrecked.
He was painfully hard. Charles took him all the way down again, then pulled
off, then took him down, them pulled off, rinse, repeat. Erik struggled to stop
himself thrusting into the wet warmth of Charles' mouth. Charles pulled off.
"Fuck my face, officer, fuck my face. You know you want to."
His voice was rough from deep throating. His red lips shone with spit. His blue
eyes gleamed in the twilight. Erik fucked his face. Charles grabbed his hips
and urged him on. Erik put one hand to Charles' cheek to feel the slide of his
cock in his mouth and twisted the other into his dark hair. He was close, so
close. Tears tracked down Charles' face. Erik's gaze flicked from Charles'
streaming eyes to his condom clad cock sliding between those obscene lips.
Charles swallowed and hummed and squeezed Erik's balls and Erik shot his load
with a shout. He clung to Charles' shoulders to avoid falling over. He leant
against the tree, heart pumping nineteen to the dozen, gasping for breath.
Charles pulled away and took the condom off. He tied a knot in the end and
dangled it from his fingers, looking unsure.
"You'd better not drop that or I'll arrest you for littering."
"I had no intention of dropping it," said Charles with great dignity in a
decidedly scratchy voice. "I was just wondering where to put it."
"Jeans pocket."
"Too tight."
Erik sighed.
"Give it to me."
He put it in his coat pocket and hauled Charles to his feet. A flicker of
movement caught his eye. A guy was standing in the shadow of the trees,
watching them. He was frantically jerking off. As Erik watched, he came.
Charles giggled.
"Are you going to do him up the ass? Can I watch? Can I join in?" asked the
guy.
"Fuck off or I'll arrest you," yelled Erik.
The guy beat a hasty retreat. The thought of him watching them was disturbing
and arousing. Erik cleaned himself off with some tissues and zipped up.
"You do know you're not really a cop?" rasped Charles.
Erik grabbed him and ruffled him and tickled him. Charles squealed.
"Police brutality!"
Erik held him close and rubbed his fingers over Charles' denim covered crotch.
He had a semi. Erik popped him out of his jeans, spat in his hand and stroked
him firm and sure. He teased his balls with his fingernails and massaged his
perineum.
"This brutal enough for you?"
"Oh, yes, Erik, yes."
Erik rubbed circles on his back and kissed his hair, damp with rain, and kissed
his brow, salty with sweat, and brought him off with long, slow strokes
followed by short, quick ones. Charles came with a sigh. Erik hugged and petted
him. His Charles. Except, of course, Charles wasn't his, he was anyone's. Erik
wiped his hand on yet more tissues and offered some to Charles, who smilingly
shook his head and zipped up over his come covered cock. Erik found this dirty-
bad and dirty-good.
The rain was getting heavier. The trees provided some shelter, but not enough.
Erik wasn't too badly off as he had a decent coat. Charles just had a thin
jacket.
"You're getting soaked," said Erik. He put his hand to Charles' cheek. "You're
cold too. Let's go get a coffee and warm up."
Charles stared at him as though he'd just suggested the most vile sexual act
ever. Had Erik crossed some kind of boundary, asking him for coffee? He'd said
it entirely unthinkingly, just wanting to get him warm and dry. He was about to
apologise when Charles said:
"That would be nice. A coffee would be nice."
He looked almost shy. Erik felt a swell of warmth despite the dark and the
rain. No doubt it was the thought of coffee.
                                     * * *
Erik drove them to a coffee shop which stayed open late. It was smart and in a
smart part of town. Charles felt out of place. Once he'd have belonged
somewhere like this. Not anymore. It was warm and bright after the autumnal
darkness and damp.
"What would you like?" asked Erik.
"A hot chocolate with all the extras."
Erik smiled. He had nice smile. It was a bit toothy, but Charles liked it.
"Your wish is my command."
Charles went to the restroom while Erik got their drinks. He flipped the blower
on the hand dryer and let it blast his face and hair. When he emerged his hair
was standing on end, but at least it was dry. Erik was sitting on a big,
squashy sofa. He looked up as Charles exited the restroom. Fuck, Charles
couldn't remember the last time someone had looked so pleased to see him.
Charles sat down beside him. His hot chocolate was topped with whipped cream,
marshmallows, chocolate drops, cookie crumbles, fudge sauce, butterscotch sauce
and praline pieces. He started laughing.
Erik grinned. "Well, you did say you wanted all the extras."
"And I certainly got them."
They chatted as Charles worked his way through his hot chocolate. They talked
about the weather, the latest political insanities, reality TV - Charles was a
bit of an addict, Erik, who didn't watch much TV anyway, switched off the
instant a Kardashian appeared on the screen - and social media - Erik anti,
except for business use, Charles pro, with reservations.
It was all so normal. And Erik was so handsome. He was by far the handsomest
man in the coffee shop. Charles was pretty sure he was the handsomest man in
the city. Erik went to get himself another espresso. He came back with his
drink and a huge white chocolate and raspberry cookie for Charles.
"Just in case the extras weren't extra enough," he said, lips curling in an
affectionate grin, eyes crinkling with fond amusement.
Charles leapt to his feet.
"I've got to go."
Erik's smile faded.
"Oh, OK, I'll drive you back."
"No, it's fine, I'll make my own way."
"But it's dark and raining. You've only just got dry and warm. It's no
trouble."
"No!" yelled Charles.
Everybody stared. Erik looked hurt. Then the hurt was replaced by a cool,
neutral expression.
"Fine. Goodnight."
He sat down and sipped at his espresso, face and body turned away from Charles.
Charles bolted from the coffee shop. He ran and walked and ran and walked,
stumbling and gasping for breath. He could have got a bus or taken the subway,
but it never occurred to him. All he could think of was the way Erik had smiled
at him when he'd held out that fucking cookie, like Charles was someone
special, someone he was fond of.
He was soaked and shivering by the time he got home, water dripping from his
hair and clothes. Janos tutted and shoved him into the tiny, grubby bathroom.
Charles showered and dried off and put on his pink, fluffy bathrobe. He
wandered into the lounge. Janos took one look at his face, sat him in the sofa,
sat down beside him, wrapped his arms round him and said:
"Talk."
"I've fallen in love with a trick," said Charles, and burst into tears.
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