Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2282844.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M
  Fandom:
      X-Men:_First_Class_(2011)_-_Fandom, X-Men_(Movies), X-Men_-_All_Media
      Types
  Relationship:
      Erik_Lehnsherr/Charles_Xavier, Logan_(X-Men)/Charles_Xavier, Erik
      Lehnsherr/Raven_|_Mystique, Emma_Frost/Erik_Lehnsherr, Azazel/Raven_|
      Mystique_(X-Men), Armando_Muñoz/Angel_Salvadore, Angel_Salvadore/Alex
      Summers
  Character:
      Charles_Xavier, Erik_Lehnsherr, Logan_(X-Men), Raven_|_Mystique, Sean
      Cassidy, Angel_Salvadore, Alex_Summers, Emma_Frost, Kurt_Marko, Cain
      Marko, charles_xavier's_mother
  Additional Tags:
      Incest, Sibling_Incest, Half-Sibling_Incest, Underage_Sex, Underage
      Drinking, Drug_Use, Underage_Drug_Use, Self-Harm, Swearing, Rape/Non-con
      Elements, Rape, Dubious_Consent, Dubious_Morality, Dysfunctional_Family,
      Child_Abandonment, blowjob, Face-Fucking, Violence, Swallowing, AU,
      Alternate_Universe_-_No_Powers
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-09-10 Words: 14239
****** Scar Tissue ******
by jesslikesthebeatles
Summary
     "And Charles realised that he had always thought that he got the got
     the better end of the bargain, but he hadn't. There wasn't a better
     end of the bargain. Erik had spent the last eight years feeling
     unloved and abandoned, and Charles had spent the last eight years
     feeling invisible and replaced."
      
     PLEASE double check the tags and read the notes before reading.
Notes
     Okay! Hopefully you have double checked the tags, but I wanted to
     give fair warning of the content of this fic, because there's a lot
     to it. This is the stuff I feel is worth warning so if any of it
     bothers you I would recommend you don't read. If not, carry on!
     - Charles and Erik are half-brothers and have sexual relations that
     are explicitly described; they are are also romantically interested
     in one another
     - Charles is sixteen and has regular consensual sex with someone who
     is eighteen/nineteen
     - Charles drinks and takes drugs (as do other characters)
     - There is a rape scene in this fic which is explicitly described
     - There is a self-harm scene in this fic which is explicitly
     described
     I hope this has outlined the content enough to warn readers, if you
     don't think it has, PLEASE let me know.
See the end of the work for more notes
Soft spoken with a broken jaw
Step outside but not to brawl
Autumn's sweet we call it fall
I'll make it to the moon if I have to crawl and
With the birds I'll share
This lonely view...
"Scar Tissue", Red Hot Chili Peppers
 
 
Charles doesn't understand it.
One day, he has everything he could possibly need: two loving parents and a
protective big brother, Erik. They live in a nice house in the suburbs and they
have a tree house and a swing set. Charles wants to be just like his big
brother: Erik is a year and a half older but he seems much more to Charles, he
seems so big and strong and wise and brave.
When Erik starts school, Charles cries and cries, and sits by the front door,
waiting for his return. Their reunion is heart-warming, but Charles is not
impressed when the same thing happens the very next day.
Then, suddenly, everything changes. Suddenly Charles is eight and his parents
are shouting at each other. They've had their arguments before, but not like
this: their mother is practically wailing, and their father is loud and harsh,
angrier than the boys have ever heard him before. Charles sits in Erik's lap
even though he's getting a bit big for that now, and usually Erik would call
him a sissy, and push him away, but his dad's shouts and his mother's cries
make him tug Charles in to him, protecting him.
It seems to go on for hours but it stops very suddenly and the house is silent.
Charles' breathing is hard and shaky against Erik's chest as he hides his face
in his big brother's sweater. Erik is defiantly sitting up straight and waiting
for something to happen. When there is movement upstairs, both boys jump; their
father comes crashing down the stairs in a rush and stands there, looking at
his sons, before he lets out a strangled noise and leaves the house. They
listen as his car starts up outside and drives off.
Their mother's cries drift down from upstairs, but the boys stay together,
holding on.
.
.
.
.
Charles finds out the truth when he is thirteen. He asks Auntie Louise, his
dad's sister. She is a "cool aunt", according to Charles' grandmother, because
Auntie Louise is only twenty-four when Charles talks to her about his brother.
She treats Charles like a young man, not a child, and tells him.
Charles' dad isn't Erik's dad. Charles' mum lied. Auntie Louise says that his
mother isn't a bad person; she just made a mistake, and that is something
Charles needs to remember. He needs to try and understand that people make
mistakes and that makes them human. His mother thought she was doing the right
thing by pretending her two sons had the same father; she wanted a happy life
for them all, and, Auntie Louise reminds Charles, up until Charles was eight,
that's exactly what they all had.
That's why Erik was taken away. Charles' dad was so angry, he couldn't stand
the thought of being a father to a son that wasn't actually his, and he said
that Charles' mum had to choose between him and Erik. So she did. Erik was sent
to live with their mum's sister, Aunt Rebecca, who lived on the other side of
town. But Charles' dad couldn't forgive his wife, even though he tried, and he
left. Then when Erik was asked to come back he refused and so he stayed at Aunt
Rebecca's.
Aunt Louise pats her nephew's arm and tells him to remember that his mother and
father still love him even though they aren't all together. Charles smiles at
her, but the unanswered question hangs in the air.
What about Erik?
.
.
.
.
"Stop it, I'll crash the fucking car," Logan groans, taking Charles' hand off
of his thigh and putting it back in the younger boy's lap. Charles smirks,
rolling his eyes, and leans back in the open top sports car, letting the wind
mess up his hair. It's cool for early September, but Charles never had a
problem with cooler weather; it was a nice break from the stifling heat of
summer.
"Am I parking over on Mason Avenue?" Logan asks, making a right turn. "Can't
let mommy see her precious baby boy with a guy like me, huh Chuck?"
Charles smirks. ''I don't want her to have a heart attack just yet, so Mason
Avenue it is."
Logan parks them over in the quiet, leafy suburb, and Charles bites at his lip
in anticipation as the engine stops. Logan is smirking and Charles barely gives
them time to breathe before he's unbuckling his seatbelt and sliding over in to
the drivers seat, or more precisely, in to Logan's lap.
"C'mere, let me at that ass," Logan groans, squeezing Charles' backside hard
enough to make the younger boy squeak. "You always give the best kisses
goodbye."
Charles just kisses him, and Logan opens up for him, pushing his tongue in to
Charles' mouth. Charles whimpers lightly, grinding a little against Logan's
lap, and gently runs his hands through the older boy's hair. Charles knows that
Logan likes it when he's eager. Finally, Charles pullls away, and Logan hums
appreciatively.
"Please do your assignment tonight,'' says Charles as he hops out of the car,
still a little breathless. "You can't get kicked out of college on the first
week, Logan."
"Didn't we have a disussion about nagging being the type of thing a boyfriend
does, and you not being my boyfriend?" Logan asks, and Charles cringes.
Luckily, Logan sniggers, and Charles reaches back toward the car, swatting at
him.
"Don't do that, I thought you were really mad," Charles pouts.
Logan starts the car up again. "Baby, if I was mad, you'd know. See you next
week."
"Bye," Charles huffs, and heads in the opposite direction of the car. He hums
to himself, thinking about the homework he has to do over the weekend, and as
he turns on to his street, he spots a cluster of cars on his driveway, which is
unusual. As he gets closer, he spots his mother and stepfather, and then his
stepbrother, who he immediately glares at. There is a woman and a boy, though,
who Charles does not recognise until he is outside the house.
"Charles! Sweetheart, this is your Aunt Rebecca, I'm sure you remember her,"
his mother calls out, as Charles reluctantly makes his way up the driveway. She
looks pretty much the same, Charles figures: short and slightly overweight,
with a bad haircut. She was always pleasant enough, but Charles much preferred
his Aunt Louise.
Then he is looking at the boy. Erik, he knows now. His big brother. It's been
years since Charles saw him properly: there had been arranged visits, at first,
every weekend, then every few weeks, then it was only at family gatherings.
Charles thinks back and realises their last meeting was nearly two years ago
when their grandmother died. They hadn't really spoken, though: two teenage
boys, surrounded by grieving family members, hadn't really had the opportunity.
And being honest, Charles didn't want to speak to Erik. He had no reason to.
The last time they saw each other, Erik looked odd, like his body was growing
too fast and he hadn't caught up with it yet. He didn't quite fill out the
dusty black suit that he had been made to wear for the funeral. Now, though, he
seemed to have filled out. His shoulders are broad and wide, and his arms
looked fit and muscular underneath a white t-shirt. He seemed very tall,
although Charles had always been petite, and his jaw was sharp and covered in
stubble.
Charles knew he himself was at least marginally attractive - he was told often,
and he never had much trouble finding someone to make out with or have sex with
at parties - but he knew that Erik was a different level; Erik was the type of
guy Charles would flirt with and hopefully get on his knees for.
"Charles," Aunt Rebecca says after there is no response from either boy. "This
is Erik."
Charles slowly lifts a hand and offers it to Erik. He isn't really sure what
the protocol is for being re-introduced to the older brother you've spent half
of your life without, but a handshake is pretty custom. The older boy frowns
slightly at the gesture but reluctantly shakes his hand. His hand feels big and
solid in Charles' and he gulps.
"Erik will be living with us from now on," their mother says, as if she's
telling Charles what time she'll be home from work or what her plans are for
the weekend. She remains calm and collected and shifts her gaze from her eldest
to her youngest son before walking Aunt Rebecca back to her car. With a
displeased grunt, Kurt heads back inside, followed by his son.
 And that, it seemed, was that.
.
.
.
.
Aunt Rebecca's husband, Uncle Jasper, had a stroke and needed full-time care.
His wife had taken it upon herself to be his carer and this meant that Erik had
to go. Aunt Rebecca says that she has grown to care for Erik as a son, but she
can't afford to look after him any more, and she has to put her husband first.
Kurt and Cain are not pleased. Charles was twelve when he gained a stepfather
and a stepbrother, not that he cared for either. Kurt is a strict, boring man
who only cared about his business, his son, and his alcohol. He and his wife
barely speak except when she wants to use his credit card. Cain hated Charles
from the word go, despite him being only a year older, and they had never had a
proper conversation.
Their house is more than big enough to accomodate another person, but when Aunt
Rebecca leaves, and the five of them stand awkwardly in the hallway, it
suddenly feels very cramped. Everyone looks pissed off except for Charles'
mother who looks worried. Charles knows she'll be hitting the wine as soon as
she could be.
Finally, Kurt sighs. "Cain, start taking Erik's stuff upstairs. He's in the
bedroom next to Charles."
This set things in motion. As Kurt grabs a trunk and Cain grabs two suitcases,
Charles glances at Erik, to find his brother already looking at him. Erik looks
away, grabbing another suitcase, and heading upstairs.
"I know this is a lot to take in, darling," says Charles' mother, gently
stroking her son's arm. "But give Erik a chance."
 Charles watches his brother make his way upstairs and sighs.
.
.
.
.
"C'mon, just let me have the rest of the fucking joint, I rolled it," Charles
begs, leaning from the backseat of Alex's shitty old car to try and grab the
half done joint from Emma. Emma squeals and dodges away, giggling to herself as
she resumes toking on it, looking smugly at Charles.
"You've had enough, Charles, and we're at your house now, so get the fuck out,"
says Alex as they pull up outside Charles' house. He groans, struggling to get
out from in between Angel and Sean, mumbling a drunken goodbye to them as the
car rolls off, music playing.
He stumbles a little as he climbs the driveway and then once inside he tries
his best to be quiet. There really isn't much point, though; his mother and
Kurt drink enough every night to be dead to the world, and Cain is out at his
girlfriend's place, even though they're both supposed to be home by midnight
and it is currently approaching four a.m.; they have an unspoken agreement that
they don't tattle on each other when it comes to breaking curfew, but in all
honesty, Charles isn't sure Kurt or his mother would give a shit if they found
out the two boys were out until the early hours.
He's just about to open his bedroom door when the light flicks on. Charles
jumps a foot in the air and then breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Erik
looking pointedly at him, shirtless and with his hair a mess from laying down.
Charles can't help but think how attractive he looks.
"What the fuck, man," is Charles' response.
Erik glares at him. ''You wanna be a bit fucking louder? How do you get away
with this shit?"
Charles rolls his eyes. "Kurt and mommy dearest are drunk out of their wits,
dumbass. I do this every week."
He opens his bedroom door with a flourish, leaving it open, and pretends not to
trip over a belt on the floor. He isn't totally wasted; he shared a bottle of
vodka and a few joints with Sean, but that was a couple of hours ago now, and
it's starting to wear off. He shrugs off his jacket and then tugs his white t-
shirt up and over his head. He looks back, expecting Erik to be gone, but he's
leaning against the doorway, and his eyes aren't on Charles' face. Something
twists in Charles' stomach and he's not sure if it's the booze and weed or the
result of Erik's gaze.
"Like what you see, big bro?" Charles purrs, and Erik stands up straight, with
a face of thunder.
"Don't be disgusting."
 Charles shrugs. "You're the one watching me undress," he reminds him, and then
starts taking off his jeans. This time, when he looks up, Erik is gone, but in
the morning, Charles remembers the way he looked.
.
.
.
.
"About time, as well," Charles' mother huffs as Charles wanders in to the
kitchen, ready for school. "Honey, Erik is starting at your school today, as
you know, and I want you to take him to the principal, and then show him
around." She's dashing around the kitchen, tidying up before she goes to work.
She stops, and as an afterthought, she asks, "How are you two getting along,
anyway?"
Charles wants to ask her who the fuck she thinks she is, asking about their
feelings, when she doesn't give a damn. He wants to ask her how much fucking
wine she drank last night while he was out getting high. He wants to tell her
to look closer at him because he feels so fucking alone.
Erik looks at Charles.
"Oh, great," Charles grins. "It's been lots of fun. It's like we were never
apart. Anyway, mother, aren't you going to be late?"
She dashes off, then, saying sometihng about them having a good day, and the
slam of the door is followed by dead silence as Charles eyes Erik carefully.
Hatred flares up Charles' spine as he thinks about his mother.
Erik is sitting moodily at the breakfast table. Finally, with a sigh, Charles
hitches his backpack on his shoulder and tells Erik they're going to school
now.
"I wonder what mommy would say if she knew what her son was really like," Erik
ponders aloud as they walk to school side by side. It's another chilly day for
September, but ahead of them a couple of girls are in ridiculously short
skirts, and Charles doesn't miss the way that Erik's eyes stick to them for a
few seconds before returning to Charles. Charles feels a tiny spark of
jealousy, but mostly he watches Erik's eyes, enjoying seeing him in a different
light, sexual interest clear on his face.
The younger boy rolls his eyes. "I couldn't give less of a shit, frankly,"
Charles says, and he's aware of how much of a dick he sounds, but it's the
truth. "And besides, you don't know the half of it."
Erik looks curious despite himself. "Oh, really?"
Charles smirks. "Yes. Really."
"Like what? If it's the pot, I smelled that."
"Oh no, what am I going to do?" Charles giggles. "It's not pot. I mean, yeah,
she'd probably freak if she knew about that, but she hasn't got a clue about
anything I do," Charles explained. His smile fell as he realised how true the
statement was. "In case you haven't noticed, Erik, she doesn't give a shit."
The air between them is slightly tense now. Charles wonders what Erik expected
his mother to be like, after all this time; if he expected her to be cuddly and
kind and affectionate. Charles isn't expecting a response from Erik, so his
question throws him off.
 "Is that why you do it?"
.
.
.
.
Word spreads quickly. Charles' friends have never heard him mention a brother,
besides Cain, whom he loathes, so for Erik to just suddenly appear and be
enrolled at their school is a hot piece of gossip. Charles has third period
drama class with Angel and Raven and when Mr. Martin tells them to get in to
groups and prepare a short action scene to present to the rest of the class,
Charles instead spends the time begrungingly answering the girls' questions
about his big brother.
"It's funny," says Raven, sneaking a piece of candy from her pants pocket and
popping it in to her mouth, "but if Erik wasn't, you know, your brother, you'd
probably wanna fuck him, wouldn't you?"
Angel sniggers. "He probably still does."
"Wait, isn't he only your half brother?" Raven asks, tilting her head to the
side in thought.
Charles opens his mouth to answer, but Angel snaps, "That doesn't make it
better!"
Raven shrugs. "I'm just saying, if I was gonna fuck either my brother, or my
half brother, I'd go for the half brother."
"I would go for neither, because it's disgusting," scoffs Angel, tossing her
black hair over her shoulder. She looks at Charles. "He is hot, though. What's
his deal? Straight, gay?"
 "You are with Armando," Raven reminds her friend, nudging Angel in the ribs.
This leads Angel to rant about her boyfriend's latest wrongdoing, and then Mr.
Martin asks to see everyone's scene. They improvise on the spot. Charles isn't
really there, though; he's thinking about Erik, and wondering if wanting to
fuck your half-brother really is slightly less disgusting than wanting to fuck
your brother. He's not so sure.
.
.
.
.
As Charles practically crawls out of school, exhausted, Erik is waiting on the
brick wall outside, backpack resting on the ground between his calves. They
agreed that they'd walk to and from school together, at their mother's request,
at least for the time being. Erik murmurs a greeting, and Charles is tired from
classes, and agitated from being asked about his hot big brother all day, so he
merely grunts in response and they head off through the car park to go home.
When he hears his name being called, Charles turns back, groaning when he sees
the majority of his friendship group heading towards them, most of them
sporting shit eating grins.
"Hey, you must be Erik." Alex is the first to reach them. It could have been
worse, Charles thinks as Alex shakes Erik's hand, it could have been-
"Hello gorgeous," Raven practically purrs, pushing past Alex and getting up in
Erik's personal space. Her tank top is pulled down to show off her breasts, and
she's wearing a fresh face of make-up, smile wide. Her blonde hair is flowing
freely down her back. Charles has to admit she looks gorgeous - he loves her
and can never quite stay mad at her - and judging by his facial expression Erik
agrees with this assessment.
"Have you met many people yet?" asks Sean, a rolled but unlit joint hanging
from his lips. "Dude, come to the party on Friday, we're all going to get
wasted, it'll be fun."
Erik raises an eyebrow at them all. "You guys are the ones Charles went out
with at the weekend?"
"We look innocent, don't we?" Angel winks at him, and Raven glares at her,
standing closer to Erik.
"You sure do," laughs Erik. "I can't believe you're the ones being bad
influences on my baby brother," his hand comes out then, and ruffles Charles'
hair; the first time they've had physical contact in years. Charles jerks back,
surprised, as the others laugh.
"Hey, man, if it's not your thing, it's no problem," says Alex, shrugging. "We
just let go and have fun. Some of us drink, some of us get high, some of us do
both."
"And some of us," says Raven, pointing at Charles, "try to suck off every guy
in a twenty mile radius."
They fall about laughing, then, and Charles rolls his eyes. Erik agrees to come
to the party, smiling at them all, and they talk animatedly about what will
probably happen and how drunk they'll all get. Charles tries sending them all
"fuck off" signals but it doesn't seem to work. Then Raven says something about
Erik being built like a Greek god, and the next minute he's flexing his arms
for the girls, who giggle and touch his muscles. Erik meets Charles' eyes as
Raven is rubbing his arm and Charles glares at him.
 They eventually leave, Raven looking back at Erik, who smiles even harder at
her, and then he and Charles walk home in silence.
.
.
.
.
The music flows in to Charles' mind, triggering memories, and he frowns as he
blinks against his pillow, confused. The first thought is of his father, and he
can see the memory as clearly as if it were happening right in front of him,
his daddy, sitting at his oak desk in the smallest room of the house. It
smelled of old books and dust because his father hardly used the room. There
were two photos on the wall: one of Charles and Erik and their mother at the
beach when Charles was a baby, and one of his their mother by herself, young
and fresh faced.
His father had a beat-up old cassette player on the shelf that was cramped
behind the door. Charles, aged five or six, wandered in to the study on a
boring rainy weekend, and heard his dad singing softly along to The Smiths. The
songs sounded funny to Charles' young ears, not fun or happy songs that he was
used to hearing at school or on the television, but sad and whiny. He asked his
dad why the man was sad and his dad laughed and said Morrissey was a miserable
bastard. Then he cringed and told Charles to never say that word or tell his
mother that he said it.
They sat and listened for a while, until Charles' mother called them for
dinner. As Charles sat up in bed, he realised he had fallen asleep after school
and it was now dark out, but most importantly, somebody was playing The Smiths.
He could hardly imagine Cain listening to them. He climbed off his bed, and
through his open bedroom door, where the music was louder. Soon enough he was
outside Erik's bedroom door, which was open ajar.
"To die by your side is such a heavenly way to die," sang Erik from inside the
room. He was doing a half-decent Morrissey impression. Charles wasn't sure what
made him push the door open, but he did, and he found Erik lounging on his own
bed doing homework, his iPod dock playing away at his desk.
"You like The Smiths?" Charles asks, and then realises it's a pretty stupid
question seeing as Erik is sat listening to them.
Erik shrugs. "A little," he answers. "I'm not crazy about them like your dad
is."
The words hit Charles like a tonne of bricks and he gulps as he looks at Erik.
"He's your dad, too," he says, and Erik glares at him. "I-I mean, I know he
isn't, but-"
"What do you want, Charles?" Erik snaps. He looks tired, Charles realises, but
sad too. His mouth seems to be permanently pulled down at the edges.
Charles closes the bedroom door. "They remind me of dad," he says softly.
Erik sighs and looks down at his homework. "Do you still see him?"
All of a sudden, Charles feels a tight clench on his throat, like he wants to
cry. He thinks about how it was for the first few months after Erik left, when
his dad was still there, and it wasn't how it used to be because there was no
Erik, but he still had both of his parents. He still felt normal. Then his dad
left and that was it. Charles felt angry all the time. Both parents remarried.
Charles gained a stepfather, a stepbrother, a stepmother, a stepsister and two
half sisters and yet he felt alone alll of the time, unwanted, cut off. He
would go to visit his dad on a Saturday and watch him chase his wife's daughter
around the garden, and hold his baby daughters in his arms, and he wondered if
those little girls would sing The Smiths with his dad, now, and if his dad
would remember that he did that with Charles once.
And Charles realised that he had always thought that he got the got the better
end of the bargain, but he hadn't. There wasn't a better end of the bargain.
Erik had spent the last eight years feeling unloved and abandoned, and Charles
had spent the last eight years feeling invisible and replaced.
"Not really," says Charles. "He has three girls now. One that he's adopted and
two he had with his new wife. I used to see him every weekend, then it was once
a month, and now it's a birthday card and some money at Christmas,'' he laughs
bitterly.
Erik pauses. He looks at Charles. "I'm sorry."
"Seriously?'' asks Charles, eyebrows raised. "After all the shit that he caused
you, you're sorry he doesn't give a shit about me?"
"He isn't my dad," Erik says softly. "I can't forgive what he did but I
understand it. I'm not his flesh and blood. All those years he thought I was
his kid and I'm not. I used to fucking hate him for it," he runs a hand through
his hair, sighing, "But I get it, now. He didn't owe me anything. Some men
could do it, they could carry on being a dad to a kid who isn't theirs, but he
couldn't do that, so he didn't." He looks at Charles again, then, and there is
genuine pity in his eyes. "But you are his. You're his son, and you said it
yourself, he doesn't give a shit, and you look so fucking sad, Charles."
 Charles doesn't know what to say so he just stands there. Erik goes back to
his homework and The Smiths play on.
.
.
.
.
The week goes quickly. It's only September so the classes are still quite new
and the routine hasn't quite set back in yet. Charles and Erik walk to school
together in the mornings, and Charles plays The Smiths on his cell phone and
they talk about which songs they like and which they don't like, and which
bands they prefer and which bands they hate. Erik has a thing for Green Day and
Charles jokes that he also has a thing for Green Day but his thing is in his
pants and isn't so much about their music. But Erik tells him to listen to
Dookie and Nimrod, which are his favourite albums of all time, and that if he
thinks American Idiot is a good album, he'll love those.
Raven tries to seduce Erik at every opportunity and the group have taken bets
on how long it'll take them to fuck on Friday night. Charles has between ten
and eleven, but he doesn't really care that much. He isn't so annoyed, now,
that Erik is going to be there on Friday. Maybe it would be nice for Erik to be
part of their group. He can deal with the subconscious attraction that he feels
towards his big brother. It's not even as if Charles understands it. He just
feels electric whenever he's alone with Erik, or when Erik laughs, or when he's
talking excitedly about a band or a song. He feels it in his stomach, like
butterflies, like he's missed the bottom step of the staircase and his heart
gives a little yelp. He hopes that it will lessen after time.
By Friday night, everyone is well and truly ready to party. The party is at
Sean's house, because his parents go away like ten times a year, and for some
bizzare reason they trust Sean to look after the place. Sean has pretty much
told everyone and anyone to turn up as long as they bring their own booze and a
spliff for him as a thankyou. Hardly anyone ever actually brings him weed, but
it isn't like he hasn't got enough of the stuff.
"Potheads, outside, alcoholics, inside!" Sean calls, rubbing his hands together
gleefully as the group mills in to the kitchen. Angel is already half-cut,
angrily texting Armando as she pours herself a vodka with a dash of Coke. Alex
is hijacking Sean's Mac to put on some music, and Raven is already clinging to
Erik's arm, telling him how nice his legs look in tight jeans. Emma and Hank -
the unlikeliest of friends - are sharing a bottle of wine in the living-room.
"What about those of us who aren't pussies and partake in both?" Charles
teases, holding up the bottle of vodka in his hand, and wiggling the unlit
joint that was sitting in between his lips. He keeps his eyes on Sean and
ignores Raven giggling at something Erik muttered in her ear.
"We can go outside for a joint, then come back in to start drinking," laughs
Sean, snatching the roll-up from Charles' mouth and dashing outside. In the
living-room, Alex finally puts on some music and there is laughing and
cheering. Charles glances at Erik before settng down his bottle of vodka and
following Sean outside. He can get high and then find someone to fuck later.
After sharing a couple of spliffs with Sean and debating whether pirates or
cowboys are more badass, Charles stumbles back in to the house, grinning softly
as he poured himself a large vodka and orange juice. He downs a glass quickly
and efficiently before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and heading
upstairs to take a piss. The music is loud - somebody has put on Marilyn
Manson, what the fuck? - and as Charles shakily climbs the stairs he is trying
to figure out which of his friends even likes Marilyn Manson.
He feels light and peaceful and happy. Pot used to just be an occasional thing,
when he first met Sean, but now it's pretty much every party or gathering, and
sometimes Charles goes over to Sean's and gets high with him during the week.
Raven warns him that getting high and drunk at the same time isn't doing him
any favours but he ignores her. He can do what he likes.
Charles fumbles with the bathroom door and then he's at the toilet, about to
undo his flies, when he glances over by the bath and spots Raven on her back,
leaning up against the side of the bath, her skirt pulled up to her waist.
Erik's head is nestled between her thighs, and Charles can hear what he's
doing. Suddenly, his stomach lurches.
 "Oh shit," Charles gasps, turning, losing his balance due to the pot. He falls
back on to the toilet seat with a grunt, and Raven and Erik are struggling to
their feet to help him. Charles' head feels so floaty and light, he thinks it's
going to fly away from his shoulders. He briefly registers Erik saying
something to him before he slumps forward and vomits all over the bathroom
door. There is a shriek from Raven and then Charles blacks out.
.
.
.
.
"He's fine, Erik, honestly. This happens a lot," Raven is saying. Charles
recognises her voice despite it being behind him. He's laid on a bed on his
side - in the recovery position, he realises - and the light is on above his
head, too bright and borderline painful. It comes back to him, the bathroom,
the puking. He wonders how long he's been out.
"He fucking faints 'a lot'?" Erik asks, outraged.
Raven sighs. "I can tell you don't smoke weed," she says. Charles wants to
laugh, because she's right, Erik sounds seriously boring, but his face feels
numb and strange, like it isn't his. He's used to this, though. It's happened
so many times he's lost count. He has to wait it out, wait for the drugs to
wear off, and then get some goddamn water and he'll be fine.
"I've smoked pot before," Erik argues, but he doesn't sound very convincing.
"He whitied," Raven explains. "It can happen whether it's your fist spliff or
if you smoke it every day of your life, it doesn't make a difference. Sometimes
it just kind of catches you and fucks you up. Especially as he's been drinking
so much too. It happens a lot, we're used to it, Erik. Charles smokes too much
weed and drinks too much booze too fast, and then he pukes, or faints, or
cries, or all of them. Then he lies down, has a nap, has water, or some food,
and then he's okay again."
Erik sighs. "It's fucked up," he says. "Why does he do that if he's going to
fucking pass out?"
There's a pause. Charles wants to speak, wants to say, please don't discuss how
fucked up I am, but he can't find the energy. He feels like the conversation
between Erik and Raven is in his head and not happening a few metres away from
him.
"He doesn't talk," Raven says, sounding close to tears. "Your mom doesn't give
a shit, his dad abandoned him, he has sex with any guy that wants him because
he wants... Affection, I guess. It has to come out somewhere, Erik," Raven
sighs.
There's rustling and Raven's sniffling. Charles figures they are probably
hugging. He mentally sighs, wondering when the hell it got to this, when the
hell did he become a fucking sob story? When did his life go from "rebellious,
promiscuous kid" to "fucked up, depressed young adult"?
After a while, Raven heads back downstairs, and Erik sits on the bed beside
Charles. He isn't sure how much time passes, how long it takes, but eventually
Charles comes out of it; he turns on to his back and stretches, looking bleary-
eyed at his brother on the bed next to him. Erik rummages in his jeans pocket
and passes Charles something - a single mint. Charles rolls his eyes and pops
it in his mouth, chomping on it.
"You fucking idiot."
Charles frowns at Erik and then rubs his forehead. "No sympathy then?"
"Sympathy?" Erik barks, sitting up. "You want fucking sympathy for smoking
drugs and downing vodka and then fucking puking on your friend's floor? I
cleaned that up, by the way, you're welcome."
Charles shakily sits up and swings his legs over the side of the bed. "Fuck
you, yeah? I didn't ask you to clean up my puke, I didn't ask you to sit with
me all night while there's a fucking party downstairs, you fucking loser."
He's barely got to his feet when Erik grabs at him, a large hand at his
shoulder pushing back on to the bed. Charles goes limp, falling on to the bed,
and Erik pushes at him again, snarling.
"I fucking care about you, you piece of shit," he hisses. He's on the bed,
then, and Charles tries his best to fight him off, but he's still not back in
the real world, he's still shaky and feels half asleep.
They shove at one another, hurling insults, until Charles finds his way on top,
straddling Erik and holding him at his shoulders. Later, he will realise that
Erik probably let him - Erik is a lot stronger anyway and Charles is still a
little out of it - but it doesn't occur to him then, as he glares down at his
brother.
"You need someone to care," Erik murmurs, looking up at him, "I care, Charles."
"No, no, you don't-"
 "I do," Erik swears, and then he's leaning up, looking in to Charles' eyes.
And Charles doesn't know who kisses who. He doesn't know if he leans down or
Erik leans further up, but before he realises it, they're kissing, and Erik has
his hands on Charles' hips and his tongue in Charles' mouth, and they both have
a whole new thing to deal with now.
.
.
.
.
Charles tugs Logan's hand, practically dragging him up the driveway to his
house, and then up the stairs to his bedroom. It's Monday afternoon, and
Charles is going to do something he's never done before: he's going to have sex
with Logan in his house.
"You sure they're out?" Logan asks once they're in Charles' bedroom. He
watches, one eyebrow raised, as Charles starts taking off his clothes.
"For fuck's sake, yes," Charles groans, shirt flying over his head and on to
the floor. He peels off his skinny jeans and then he's in his boxer shorts. The
look he gives Logan vaguely resembles a lion looking at its prey.
He's on his knees, Logan's back pressed against Charles' bedroom door. Logan
doesn't seem so interested in where Charles' family are any more as he threads
his fingers through Charles' hair. Charles eagerly undoes Logan's belt and then
pulls down the zipper, grinning when he reveals boxer shorts and a half-hard
cock hidden underneath. He leans forward, nuzzling Logan's erection, which
makes the older boy groan, and then he's reaching in and pulling down the boxer
shorts so Charles can get his mouth on Logan's dick.
"Oh, fuck," sighs Logan. "Oh god. I'd ask where you got so good at this but I
kinda already know."
Charles chuckles around Logan's cock and deepthroats him, holding him at the
base as he slides up his length and then taking his hand away when he's got all
of his cock in his mouth. He pulls back a little, swirling his tongue against
the sensitive head; blinks up at Logan, eyes wide. Logan always likes that.
Charles knows that Logan is close when he starts with the dirty talk so he
keeps going, bobbing his head, hand and mouth moving in time.
"Fuck," Logan pants. "God, you like sucking my cock, don't you, gorgeous?
Little cockslut."
Charles speeds up, swallowing Logan down and then hollowing his cheeks as he
pulls off, licking at him. When Logan's hands tighten in his hair, Charles
dives forward, just in time to swallow down Logan's come. When he's finished,
he pulls off, leaning back and opening his mouth so that Logan can see it's
totally empty. The older boy groans at this, still panting.
"You are the sluttiest kid I've ever met," Logan tells him. Charles' cheeks
flush but he doesn't know if it's from embarrassment or pride.
He climbs to his feet, then turns around, pushes his ass in to Logan's crotch
and his back against Logan's chest. Logan hises a little - his cock is still
out and it's sensitive now he's had his orgasm - but he obliges, reaching one
hand to pull Charles in closer by his hip as the other hand dives in to
Charles' boxer shorts and starts to jerk him off. Logan's hand is fast and sure
as he makes a fist and pumps him. The noises are obscene as Logan works him and
Charles groans helplessly, leaning his head back so that Logan can kiss his
throat as he gets him off.
Charles tries desperately not to think of Erik. He tries not to think of how
Erik's hands are a bit bigger, how Erik kisses, and how Erik looked after they
had finished kissing, like Charles was a Christmas present that Erik had opened
too soon. Guilt, but curiousity; disgust, but attraction.
He tries to focus on Logan but it's Erik that makes him come, the thought of
Erik fucking him, touching him, anything. As Charles pants, coming down from
his orgasm, Charles hears the front door slam.
''It's my brother," Charles explains after a few seconds. "It's fine."
Logan is doing up his jeans while Charles pulls his own clothes back on. "Cain?
He'll go crazy, Charles, are you stupid?"
Charles shakes his head. "It's not Cain," he says, and pushes past Logan to jog
down the stairs.
He finds Erik in the kitchen, reaching in to the fridge for a can of soda. Erik
looks over at him, then his face darkens as he spots Logan, looking very
obviously post-coital. The soda is placed on the kithen island with a loud
bang.
"Erik, this is-"
"Charles," Logan cuts in, putting a hand on Charles' shoulder, "skip the
formalities. I'll see you later."
He's out of the door, then, and Charles can only stare at Erik, the two of them
left in the kitchen. The clock on the wall ticks loudly and Charles can hear
Logan's car starting up outside.
"Your boyfriend seems like an asshole," Erik snorts, picking up the soda again
and taking a sip.
Charles folds his arms. "He's not my boyfriend, we're just fucking, you know
that."
 Erik smirks. "How romantic," he sniggers, walking past Charles to go upstairs
to his room. Anger bubbles in Charles' chest and there is so much he wants to
say, but he can't find the words. He doesn't know what needs to be said. He
just knows that something does.
.
.
.
.
Erik is due to turn eighteen at the beginning of November and Charles will turn
seventeen in the following May. Towards the end of September, their mother asks
Erik if he would like anything specific for his birthday, or if there is
anything he'd like to do. Erik remains polite but vague: he doesn't much care
for birthdays and doesn't want anything in particular, either as a present or
as a celebration. Their mother looks irritated, but doesn't speak any more of
it: she tells Erik she'd like to take him for a meal - "with the other boys, of
course" she says, smiling at Kurt, Cain, and Charles - and he will of course
receive presents, but if he doesn't want any more fuss, that is fine.
The two boys keep each other at arm's length. They walk to and from school
together, each listening to their own music, occasionally commenting on a band
or an album. At school, they sometimes hang around with Charles' friends, but
Erik has made some other friends in his own grade, so it's not an everyday
occurance. It's okay, though; Charles talks to Raven and Angel the most, and
Erik prefers the company of Alex and Sean, apart from when he's fucking Raven.
Slowly, some sort of balance is formed. Erik will knock on Charles' bedroom
door to ask for help on a question for his physics homework, because he hates
science and Charles loves it; and Charles tells Erik he's listened to Dookie
and Nimrod, repeatedly, and he prefers Nimrod, but he likes both. Some nights,
when nobody else is in, they make dinner together and then do their homework
while they watch Lost or Game of Thrones or Supernatural.
And it's good, it is, but it's not enough, and Charles wonders if it's eating
Erik up the way it's eating him up. He wonders if Erik watches him when he's
talking and laughing, like Charles watches Erik; he wonders if Erik thinks
about their kiss when he's jerking off in the shower or when he's having sex
with somebody else. Because Charles does. Charles doesn't know when Erik began
to take up every single thought in his head.
Charles doesn't know what he's hoping to achieve when he buys the vinyl record.
It's a signed copy of Dookie, which Erik had stated is his favourite album of
all time, and Charles tries not to think about how much he's paid for it. Not
that he's particularly short of money - his mother may not seem to care all
that much about him but she keeps his bank account reasonably full - but still.
Erik's birthday is on a Friday. They're being forced to go out for a meal with
their mother, Kurt, and Cain after school, but straight after they were being
dropped off at Sean's for a "sleepover" - Charles intended to get as high as a
kite - so it was worth a couple of agonising hours to be practicially given
permission to get drunk with their friends. On Thursday night, while Erik is
showering, Charles slips in to his bedroom and puts the vinyl on the bed. He
considers writing a note but in the end he just leaves the present and goes to
bed.
He tells himself not to think about Erik. He does his homework, listens to some
music, chats to some of his friends on Facebook, and he pretends he doesn't
care about Erik's response, but it's at the back of his mind constantly, the
look on Erik's face when he finds the record, the realisation that it's from
Charles, the implications.
Charles turns in around midnight, turns off his bedroom light and gets in to
bed, cell phone put on charge. He's barely gotten comfortable when there's the
sound of a door opening in the hallway and then his own bedroom door is
opening. Charles' heart thumps loudly in his chest as he sits up in bed.
"Did I wake you?" Erik asks, edging in to the room like he isn't sure if he
should. He closes the door softly behind him. Charles can only see him because
he forgot to close his blinds and the moonlight is shining on him, but it just
makes him look even better, shirtless and pale. And Charles can't help but
stare.
"No," he says honestly. He bites gently at his lip. "Did you get your present?"
Erik shuffles awkwardly on the spot. "I.. I did. Charles..."
"It's alright," Charles sighs. "I wasn't declaring my love for you or
anything."
Erk groans at that and comes to sit on the edge of the bed, turned slightly
towards Charles. It's the first time this - and Charles doesn't even know how
to describe it or what to call it, short of highly inappropriate incestuous
crush - has been mentioned by either of them despite it happening almost a
month ago.
They look at each other and to Charles it feels like the type of things he's
read about in Raven's girlie magazines: the shiver up his spine, the pound of
his heart like it's going to burst through his ribcage, the hot pool of desire
low in his stomach. The boy - no, man - he sees before him doesn't register as
"brother" in his brain. He doesn't see a family member, a guy who is off
limits, he sees a hot, interesting man who has been hurt and abandoned just
like Charles, who understands the world the way that Charles does.
He wonders what Erik sees when he looks at Charles. He wants, desperately, to
ask.
"It's a very thoughtful gift, Charles," says Erik after a while. His gaze
moves, briefly, to Charles' bare torso, but goes back to his face quickly. "I
really appreciate it. But I just can't accept it and I think you know that I
shouldn't."
Charles huffs. "Why not? It's not- I'm not trying to buy you, Erik-"
"I didn't say that," Erik's voice is quiet but calm. "But this is... It's
just..."
What? thinks Charles, staring at the back of Erik's head. What is it? Can you
explain it? Because I haven't got a clue.
"This can't go any further," Erik says finally, and he stands, gulping.
Before Charles has thought about it he's pushing his sheets away and scrambling
towards the edge of the bed, grabbing Erik's forearm and attempting to pull him
back toward the bed, pained expression on his young face. Erik is clearly
surprised by this action as he simply looks at Charles, his mouth open.
"Please, stay," Charles begs, and he gives a tug, so that Erik staggers to the
bed again. Charles expects him to pull away but he doesn't, he goes willingly,
crawls on to the bed in his sweatpants. Charles kicks the sheets away so that
they can both lie under them, their legs covered but their bare torsos exposed.
The bed is a double but it feels so much smaller with another body in it, with
Erik laying there, curled on to his side so that he and Charles are facing each
other.
There is so much that Charles wants to say but he doesn't understand it enough
to trust himself to speak. He wants to know how Erik feels, wants to understand
where Erik is at, but he has no way of knowing and no courage to ask.
"I shouldn't have let you kiss me," Erik whispers, and Charles blinks at him.
He didn't expect Erik to mention the kiss.
"I wasn't sure who kissed who, really," admits Charles. He looks at Erik's
face, so chiselled and masculine, sharp features and beautiful eyes. Charles
remembers him from before, but not like this, not so perfect.
"There were so many reasons why it was wrong," Erik says, and he looks so
pained, so ashamed of what happened. "As if the... As if the incest isn't bad
enough, you were out of your fucking wits from the weed and booze, and you're
underage."
Charles rolls his eyes at that, inclining his body slightly away from Erik's.
"For fuck's sake, this again? Erik, are you seriously telling me you've never
done anything with anyone under seventeen?"
"Not since I turned seventeen myself, no," Erik answers him, jaw set. "I know
you think it's fucking impressive, Charles, that you're not legally old enough
to consent to sex and yet your college boyfriend is fucking you every night-"
"You fucking listen to me, now," Charles cuts in, turning back to face Erik
completely. "I don't know why this is so fucking diffficult for you to
comprehend, but Logan is not my boyfriend. We fuck. There are no feelings
involved on either side. It's just sex. Stop calling him my boyfriend."
A heavy silence follows. Erik sighs and Charles just glares at him. Charles
thinks of when they kissed, and how it was afterwards, with barely a word said
between them, and certainly nothing of importance. He figures that if that
happens again he might as well use this opportunity to actually say what he
needs to say instead of letting the chance slip away again.
"It seems to me that my age bothers you more than the fact that I'm your
brother," Charles tells him, and Erik's eyes are hard and cold as he looks back
at Charles.
"Of course that bothers me. You're my little brother, Charles, and the thought
of what we did-"
"But do you see me as your brother?" Charles interrupts. "Because I don't see
you as mine. Obviously, I know that we have the same mother, but when I look at
you, Erik, I don't see the little boy that I used to play Lego with. I don't
see you and think 'oh, there he is, my big bro'. As far as I'm concerned, I
don't have a brother."
Erik's breathing is heavier as he asks, "What do you see when you look at me,
Charles?"
And Charles thinks, this is it. This is his chance to tell Erik how he feels.
And it might not work out - it probably won't, he thinks bitterly - but Erik is
asking and Charles is nothing if not truthful. He's never been like this; he's
never shy or awkward, especially not with guys who he finds attractive. He's
always so sure of himself, so cheeky and bold, but with Erik there's more than
just sexual attraction there, there are feelings, too.
He tries to talk to Erik the way he'd talk to a guy at a party, but even as he
speaks, he struggles to maintain eye contact, and his voice wobbles just
slightly. "I see... I see someone I care for," Charles tells him. "Someone who,
someone I find attractive, somebody I would really like to h-have sex with.
Someone who understands."
Erik's cheeks are slightly flushed, even in the pale moonlight, and Charles can
hear both of their breathing now, and it sounds so loud in the quiet bedroom.
"You can't, you can't think those things, Charles," Erik whispers. He looks
pained, a frown pulling at his face, like he can't quite believe that this
conversation is actually happening. "The sex stuff is just, it's so wrong. And
as for the other stuff, about me understanding you, well that's probably true,
but it doesn't mean we have to fuck."
"You don't have to tell me it's wrong, you know," Charles snaps. "I am aware of
it. I know that incest is fucking disgusting, and I know that I am a grand
total of six months underage, but it doesn't stop me from wanting you, it
doesn't stop me thinking about you."
Erik lets out a pained sound and props himself up on one elbow, suddenly
looking down at Charles. "I am a terrible person," he says, "because it doesn't
stop me, either."
It takes Charles a few seconds to realise what Erik is saying, that he is being
given the green light, but when it connects in his brain he can barely breathe,
his hands trembling just slightly. He acted out a few scenarios in his brain
before he put the record on Erik's bed - Erik hitting him, Erik calling him
disgusting - but this wasn't an outcome that he had considered. He was almost
certain that Erik was at least partially attracted to him but he never expected
anything to happen, not after the kiss at Sean's party.
"It doesn't matter, to me," Charles whispers. He has never felt so open and
honest in his life, so truthful to himself, not hiding behind crudeness or fake
confidence. "It doesn't matter that you're my-- who you are, it really doesn't.
What matters to me is how you make me feel."
"And how do I make you feel?" Erik presses. He reaches out one hand, gently
cups Charles' jaw, and Charles leans in to the touch, flushing at how intimate
that simple action is, more intimate than so many other things he has done
before with random, nameless men.
"Like I matter," Charles admits, his voice so quiet and uncertain. "Like I...
Like I can stop showing off, and being a dick, and entertaining the crowd, and
just be me. God that sounds lame."
Erik chuckles, his thumb gently stroking Charles' cheek. "It doesn't sound
lame. You've never had this before - neither of us have, really - and it's not
how you're used to feeling. I can't believe I've only been back in your life
for a few months, Charles. I feel like we've been like this for years."
"I feel that way too," Charles whispers, "I feel like I'm better when you're
here."
Erik looks at Charles like he is made of something valuable and amazing. "It
doesn't matter how we feel, though, you know that, don't you? It doesn't matter
that we both want each other. What matters is that we're brothers and nothing
can happen."
Charles concentrates on how Erik's thumb feels, gently stroking his jaw, his
hand big and wide against his face. It makes him shiver, makes him gulp like
he's nervous, like a virgin about to take the plunge. He aches for Erik. He
wants to feel those hands on his backside, wants to kiss him hard and rough
while Erik pounds him, pulling Charles' legs around his waist. He wants to feel
Erik inside him, and in his hand, and in his mouth, and he wants to pleasure
him, and make him forget that there is anyone else on the planet capable of
making him feel like that.
He's edging closer before he realises, drunk on desire, and it takes Erik by
surprise when Charles kisses him. It's only chaste but it's a kiss nonetheless
and the older boy pulls back.
"What did I just fucking say?"
Charles grunts, moving his hand up to Erik's hair. "I don't give a shit any
more, Erik," he says, "I want you. I need you."
The thing is, Charles expects to be pushed away again. He expects Erik to get
up and leave. Charles can't carry on pretending that their relationship is
purely platonic any more, he needs more than that, but he doesn't expect Erik
to go with it.
When Charles pushes his tongue in to his brother's mouth, he is met with no
resistance; Erik lets him. Charles doesn't understand - wasn't Erik just saying
they can't do this again? - but he isn't going to ruin it. He isn't going to
stop when Erik is clearly acting with his dick instead of his brain for once.
He runs his fingers through Erik's hair as they make out. Erik is a fantastic
kisser: he nips at Charles' bottom lip, which makes the younger boy groan, and
he still has his hand on Charles' jaw, still holding him in place. When Charles
daringly reaches down to rub at Erik's half-hard dick through his sweatpants,
Erik breaks free of Charles' mouth to groan, and Charles darts forward,
peppering hard little kisses over Erik's throat.
Charles can feel Erik swelling under his hand. If he's going to show off his
skills, he's going to show Erik exactly what he can do, and how good he is at
it.
He pushes at Erik's shoulder until the older boy lays on his back, his toned
chest heaving slightly as he pants. Charles takes a second to admire him -
seriously, he's so hot - and then he grabs the waistband of Erik's sweatpants
and tugs them down.
"Huh," says Charles. "So you came here to tell me we can't do anything sexual
together, and you decided to do that without wearing any underwear?"
"Fuck you, I never wear underwear to bed," Erik scowls. Charles wraps a hand
around Erik's dick. It's big, and Charles isn't usually much of a size queen -
he's rather fond of the "it's not the size but how you use it that matters"
motto - but he can't help staring at the length of him, the flushed head, the
little drop of precome at the tip.
"Well," Charles breathes, and then he leans down to lick at said precome. Erik
yelps, brings a hand to cover his mouth, his hips bucking up and pushing his
cock in to Charles' face. Charles manouvers himself on the bed so that he's
kneeling between Erik's spread knees, grabs Erik's hand to put in his hair, and
then sets to work.
Charles loves anal sex, but his favourite sexual act to perform is a blowjob.
It's the satisfaction of giving someone that amount of pleasure and doing it
well. He especially enjoys deepthroating and swallowing, not particularly for
him, but for the gratitude he receives from the other guy; the disbelief on
their faces when he gets all of their cock in his mouth, the gasp of amazement
as he swallows down their come, and the aroused groan when he shows them his
empty mouth.
Erik is no exception. Charles takes him to the root on the first go, and Erik's
hand tightens in his hair, his chest heaving. Charles holds him in hand as he
starts bobbing his head, encouraging Erik to grip his hair. When he doesn't
seem to get it, Charles pulls off him with a wet pop.
"Fuck my mouth," Charles orders, licking his lips at Erik. "Put your hand in my
hair and then move my head back and forth on your dick."
Erik is looking at him in pure disbelief. Charles imagines it's all a bit much
for him - five minutes ago Erik was saying they could never do anything sexual
together and now he's being deepthroated - but his own cock is throbbing
between his legs and he needs to distract himself.
He wraps his hand around Erik's hard cock again and sucks him, hollowing his
cheeks. As instructed, Erik grabs a handful of Charles' hair, and starts
bucking up in to the tight, wet heat of Charles' mouth. It's not particularly
comfortable, but Charles focuses on Erik: his short, loud, desperate grunts,
the sound of his cock wetly slipping between Charle's open lips. Charles' head
is startingn to ache but he doesn't care: he knows Erik will remember this for
a long, long time.
Erik's thrusts become faster, and his other hand joins the one on Charles'
head, pushing it back and forth at speed, until Erik lets out what can only be
described as a wail as he brings Charles' mouth to the base of his dick, and
comes fast, shooting out against Charles' throat. Charles swallows quick but
starts to cough despite himself. Erik falls limp, and Charles releases himself
from his spent dick, wheezing a little.
It's silent besides their panting. Erik's face is turned away from Charles'.
Charles is hard, achingly so, and he looks at Erik's body, glistening with
sweat. He's unsure as to what he is allowed to do.
Barely two minutes has passed when Erik shakily gets to his feet and pulls up
his sweatpants. A horrified shiver shoots down Charles' spine. He can tell, by
the look on Erik's face and the hideous tension in the room, that this isn't
going to go the way he hoped.
"This isn't happening again," Erik tells him, and he goes to leave, just like
that.
Charles stumbles off of the bed. "Are you fucking kidding me?" he demands,
reaching to grab Erik's arm. Erik turns on him, pushing him, hard, back to the
bed. Charles falls on to the mattress with an expression of utter disbelief.
"For fuck's sake, do you know how wrong this is?" Erik spits. He looks angrier
than Charles has ever seen him.
"Aren't you over that yet? Jesus Christ, I thought we'd established that this
is wrong. It doesn't matter. I still want it, you still want it, let's just-"
"Let's just what?" Erik hisses, coming close to Charles, eyes wide. "Let's just
fuck anyway? Let's run away together? Do you even understand? This is
disgusting, Charles! It's vile and horrible!"
"You know, it's funny, but it wasn't vile and horrible when your cock was
halfway down in my throat," Charles snarls. "You're a fucking hypocrite. You'll
fuck my mouth but you won't touch me or show any sign of reciprocation? Because
it's wrong, it's wrong, it's wrong. You're a fucking coward."
They stand, simply staring at each other, for a few long seconds. Erik has
little red marks on his throat and jaw where Charles kissed him, and Charles'
lips are a bright pink from giving head. Charles desperately wants Erik to
change his mind and say that they can carry on whatever this is between them.
But he knows in his heart that that isn't what Erik is going to say.
"This is disgusting, and wrong," says Erik. His voice is softer. He doesn't
look at Charles. "It will not happen again. Stay away from me, Charles."
 Those last five words seem to echo in the room long after Erik has marched
out.
.
.
.
.
Charles doesn't sleep that night. He calls Logan, but there is no answer, so he
spends the night in his room, turning the events from earlier round and round
in his mind. By morning, he can't stand it any more. He gets to school a little
before seven a.m. and spends the next hour and a half in the library doing
homework. None of it is urgent, but it's better than thinking.
The day passes slowly. He talks to Raven about a new senior, Azazel, who she
thinks is hot. He listens to Angel complaining yet again about Armando. He
laughs with Alex in English Lit, he performs an experiment with Hank in
Chemistry, and he helps Emma with her French homework at lunch. He ignores
Erik, but in truth he hardly sees him; he feigns an overlooked essay and spends
lunch in the library.
After school, Charles doesn't wait for Erik, instead opting to go straight home
and lock himself in his room. He hears Erik arrive home twenty minutes later.
Charles showers and charges his phone. He thinks about texting Logan but he
doesn't want to seem eager so he doesn't bother.
They're leaving for the family meal at six. At five thirty, Charles heads
downstairs, and he knocks back a few shots of vodka. It's not enough for
anybody to notice, especially with his drinking habits, but the alcohol feels
good against his throat, and he feels calmer.
The restaurant is nice. Charles orders the lightest courses he can find so that
the alcohol and pot will affect him more later on. He jokes about being on a
diet while mentally congratulating himself on thinking ahead.
Their mother prattles on about colleges and grades and how important the next
few months will be for Cain and Erik as they're both seniors. Erik agrees and
looks interested in all the right places but Charles can feel his brother
gazing at him whenever the two of them aren't involved in the conversation.
Charles forces himselt not to care.
They are dropped off outside Sean's just after nine. They can hear laughter and
music from inside already.
As they walk up the driveway, Erik stops to look at Chares. "Charles, wait-"
"Fuck you," Charles hisses immediately, approaching the door and walking
straight in, as Sean had told them to do on such occasions. He didn't look back
at Erik. Tonight wasn't about him.
He's barely entered the house before Sean is tugging him on to the back yard,
two fat spliffs rolled and ready to go, and half empty bottle of vodka in his
hand. Charles takes a few large gulps of the vodka as Sean takes the first
tokes. It burns his throat, flowing down in to his stomach.
"Fuck, dunno how you do that," Sean tuts, blowing smoke off on to the garden.
"I know you like your vodka but sheesh, man."
Charles wants to say shut the fuck up and give me a spliff but he doesn't. He
keeps knocking back the vodka. When Sean has had a few tokes, he passes it to
Charles, who in turn passes him the vodka. Charles takes a generous amount of
tokes, holding the smoke in his lungs and closing his eyes at the feel of it
burning.
A little later, Raven comes out to say hi, and Charles tries to act normal but
he's so focused on getting wasted that he honestly doesn't care about her
presence. Raven looks vaguely annoyed but soon disappears back inside. As she's
leaving, Charles' cell phone rings.
"Hello, gorgeous." It's Logan. "Listen, what are you doing tonight?"
Charles glances down at the now empty bottle of vodka. Granted, Sean had a few
gulps, but it was mostly Charles. "Getting absoluely wasted," he answers
honestly, "and hopefully getting fucked."
"Well, you can count on that last one," Logan's chuckle is deep and throaty,
Charles can tell he's already had alcohol. "Come over to Tony's. He's having a
party and we're all getting wasted. Come and play with the big boys instead of
your little school friends."
Charles lets the last comment slide and huffs down the phone at him. "I'm
already high and drunk, Logan, I can't get across town like this."
There's shouting and cheering in the background and then Logan is laughing.
"What? Oh, right, I'll order you a cab, just don't look fucking wasted and
don't bring any attention to yourself. I'll text you the address. Get your
pretty ass over here before I'm too drunk to fuck you."
Charles shivers at that. That's exactly what I need, he thinks as he hangs up,
a nice good fuck, lots of booze, and some random people who don't know me.
He leaves Sean sprawled out on the back yard blinking up at the night sky and
waltzes in to the living-room where he finds Raven making out with her latest
conquest, Azazel, on one couch, and Angel making out with Alex on the other.
The music is loud but Alex reaches over to turn it down when Charles yells that
he's leaving.
"What the hell?'' asks Alex. "It's eleven p.m., Charles, why the fuck are you
leaving?"
Charles' phone vibrates as Logan texts him Tony's address. "I'm going to a
party with Logan," he says.
Raven glares at him. "So a party with your fuck buddy is more important than
spending time with your real friends?"
Charles genuinely laughs at that, which makes Raven angrier, and Alex and Angel
exchange looks. "My real friends? You mean the ones who have spent all night in
here, making out with each other, instead of with me?"
She actually disentangles herself from Azazel then and gets to her feet,
somewhat shakly due to the alcohol. "Are you fucking kidding me? You get here,
you head straight outside to get high, I even make the effort to come out and
say hello to you, and what do I get? Hardly any fucking response. Well you can
get fucked. Your brother is upstairs fucking Emma three ways from Sunday, by
the way, not that you noticed he wasn't here, because you are so wrapped up in
yourself."
She storms past him, and Charles watches her go, bewildered. He always has
Raven, no matter what. Now what?
 Outside, the cab driver honks his horn, and Charles glances briefly at Alex
and Angel before stomping out of Sean's house and getting in to the cab.
.
.
.
.
As soon as Charles wakes up, he knows something is wrong.
The bedroom is dark and quiet but Charles can hear the party still in full
swing outside the door. He's laying underneath the dozens of jackets that had
been carelessly thrown in there earlier. Charles' head is heavy and sluggish as
he wakes, but he doesn't feel right, and as he blinks open his eyes, his ears
pick up on heavy breathing.
All at once, his body wakes up. He realises his skinny jeans have been tugged
down to his knees. His boxers are alongside them, no longer covering his
crotch, and Charles is about to reach down and pull them up when he feels a
single finger circle his hole and then enter him to the root.
He cries out. The first thing he thinks is, I'm being raped.
"S'alright, Chuck."
The voice is incredibly slurred but there's no mistaking who is touching
Charles. His body runs cold. He starts to move, but his body feels limp and
heavy; with a sudden jolt of horror, Charles realises he took cocaine a few
hours ago. Well, he assumes it was a few hours ago; he has no sense of time
now. He just remembers arriving at Tony's, being introduced to numerous people,
making out with Logan a little bit, and a few other guys, and there was so much
booze. Some guys were shotting tequila so Chares joined them even though he
hates the stuff; Logan was drinking his usual Jack Daniels and he let the older
boy pour it directly in to his mouth; he was given a glass of red wine by a
girl in a bra and denim shorts and he happily knocked it back.
He had a few tokes off of people's spliffs here and there, and then some guy
was doing coke. Logan was doing it, too, and when he made a comment about how
Charles probably wouldn't partake because he was only a little kid, he decided
to prove him wrong. He copied Logan. He covered one nostril and then snorted
the white substance up his nose with the other, frowning and wiggling his nose
afterwards. The experience wasn't entirely pleasant. But soon enough Charles
felt even better than he did after a splif, relaxed but not sleepy, in fact if
anything he felt like talking to every single person in the room.
He must have crashed at some point. Now he's in a random bedroom, in the
apartment of a guy he didn't know, and Logan is wasted and touching him.
"I love how tight y'are, Charles, you're so hot and tight," Logan sighs. He
comes back with two fingers, and the drugs and alcohol certainly help conceal
the burn, but Charles still winces. He may like it rough, occasionally, but
there is a difference between rough sex and unprepared sex.
''Logan..."
Logan stills. Charles waits for him to ask if he wants it, if he's okay, if he
should continue. But Logan doesn't speak. Instead, he starts scissoring his
fingers. Charles groans, tries to shy away, but he's too wasted. He can barely
move.
"M'gonna fuck ya," Logan murmurs, and Charles' heart starts beating fast.
"Gonna fuck that gorgeous ass."
Charles tries to speak, tries to tell him that he needs to fucking prep him
first, and if Logan preps him Charles will let him fuck him, he doesn't care,
but he can't fuck him like this, it's too dry and it'll hurt. But all that
comes out is a few mumbles and then Charles is being put on his front, his hips
pulled up so that his ass is at prime positioning for a good fuck. He just
about manage to turn his head so that he isn't going to suffocate.
"Logan," Charles groans desperately.
Logan spits liberally in to his hand and lathers the spit at Charles' hole. He
roughly inserts two fingers, in and out, in and out, in and out, then Charles
hears him spit again, pressumably on his cock this time. There's the obscenely
wet sound of Logan jerking off and then Charles feels the head of Logan's cock
right at this entrance.
It takes all of Charles' willpower to stammer out, "Logan, no."
A pause. Heavy breathing from them both; Logan due to arousal and Charles due
to horror. Then, a grunt, and Logan pushes in to Charles with force. Charles
wails.
Logan fucks him like an animal. It's rough and fast and deep. Charles feels
like he's being split open, like he can't catch his breath because all that he
can focus on is Logan's cock going in and out of him. Logan grips Charles' hips
with the strength of a dying man.
Charles doesn't know how long it goes on. Finally, Logan's thrusts grow even
more erratic, until he lets out a loud yell and grabs Charles' hips, holding
himself deep inside Charles as he comes fast. Once he's finished, he pulls out,
panting, and then lays on the bed. When his breathing evens out Charles
realises he is asleep.
Somehow Charles gets to his feet and pulls up his boxer shorts and jeans. He
can't take his eyes off Logan, sleeping blissfully on the bed, jeans aroun his
ankles. For one terrifying, crazy moment, Charles thinks about putting the
pillow over Logan's head and suffocating him. He wonders if he could do it.
He snaps out of it and leaves the party without being noticed. Outside on the
street the cool early morning air hits his face. Charles checks his cell phone
and finds it has just turned four. He has four texts from Raven, one from Erik,
and one from Sean. He thinks about calling one of them, all of them, and crying
to them and asking for help.
 He doesn't.
.
.
.
.
He surfaces around noon on Saturday and ignores Erik when he finds him
downstairs watching Friends. Instead, he heads to the kitchen, makes some
toast, and grabs a bottle of wine. When he turns to go upstairs, Erik is in the
doorway.
He folds his arms. "I would have thought you'd had enough booze for one
weekend."
"You thought wrong," Charles scoffs, attempting to push past his brother. Erik
grabs Charles' arm.
"You're not drinking that now," Erik tells him.
"You're not the boss of me," Charles sniggers. "You could have been, but it's
disgusting, so you don't get to fucking tell me what to do, alright?"
Erik stares at him for a few seconds before grabbing the bottle of wine and
looking smugly at Charles. Charles thinks about how much he wants Erik, what
Erik means to him, what he'd give for Erik to just be honest about his feelings
and give in to Charles. It's too fucking much.
He slams the plate of toast on to the breakfast island and then marches
upstairs. Erik calls after him, but Charles can barely hear him; he feels anger
seeping up his body and he can barely breathe.
When he gets to the bathroom he locks the door. His breathing is loud in his
ears as he glances around the bathroom. He spots the razor, brand new, just
waiting there beside the mirror. He thinks about it. Is his life that much of a
fucking teenage cliche? The sex, the booze, the drugs.
It isn't about that, though. Charles doesn't understand why he wants to do it.
Maybe he wants to feel something, maybe he wants to stop feeling something.
Maybe, deep down, what he really wants is to hurt himself. To cause damage.
The first time he presses the razor against his skin it doesn't do anything.
Stop being a pussy, he tells himself, then bites his lip and presses it down
against his wrist, hard. The instant pain takes his breath away, and the razor
clatters to the floor, startling him. The blood is brighter than he expected
and there is more of it than he thought there would be.
Panic overwhelms him. His breathing is coming in sharp, short bursts, similar
to a panic attack, and though the cut isn't very wide, it's quite deep. Charles
simply stares at it for a few seconds. When some blood finally drips on to the
white bathroom floor, Charles realises what he's done. Before he knows what
he's doing, he has opened the bathroom door, and called for his brother.
Erik appears upstairs after the fifth shout, looking mildly concerned, but when
he sees Charles' wrist he practicially falls over himself to get to him. He
pushes Charles back in to the bathroom, wets a flannel, and presses it hard
against Charles' wrist. Erik motions for Charles to sit on the side of the
bathtub, and Erik sits across from him.
"What the fuck are you doing?" Erik babbles. "Charles, Jesus Christ, do you
realise how serious this is? You could have killed yourself!"
The tears start, then, hot and pained down Charles' cheeks. Erik is quiet as he
dabs at Charles' wound.
With a shaky breath, Charles tells him, "Logan raped me."
Erik stops his movements on Charles' wrist. He is looking at Charles with an
expression that Charles has never seen on anybody in the world before. Charles
starts to shake.
"I mean," Charles stammers, "I was wasted, and-and I was in this room, and I w-
woke up, and he was fingering me, and then I tried to tell him no, but he just-
he just fucked me, and he only used spit-"
"I'm going to fucking murder the piece of shit," Erik snaps. He continues
dabbing at Charles' wound but he's breathing heavily, so angry, unable to look
at Charles.
"If I had been able to, and if he had lube, I would have let him," Charles
murmurs.
"That doesn't mean it's okay, Charles. If he fucked you, and you didn't want
him to, that was rape."
"I was out of it," Charles whispers sadly. "I was so wasted from the booze, and
the weed, and the coke-"
"Coke?" Erik practically yells. This time, he lets go of Charles' wrist, and
moves away from him, standing by the sink. "What the fuck is wrong with you?
Are you seriously trying to kill yourself? What are you, some fucked up teenage
stereotype? Fucking around, getting drunk, and high, and doing coke?"
"I don't know what's wrong with me," Charles sobs, the tears appearing yet
again.
"Jesus Christ, Charles. I know you haven't had the best childhood," Erik sighs.
"All that shit with your dad, and mom barely giving you a second glance, I get
it. But this is just... It's fucking unnecessary."
Charles hangs his head in shame. He knows that he has been putting himself in
serious danger. He knows he's acting like an idiot. But he can't help it.
 Erik checks Charles' wrist and mumbles something about getting a plaster.
Charles stares down at his lap, tears occasionally running down his face. He
isn't expecting Erik to hug him, to cradle him in his arms like a child who has
scraped their knee, but he does, and he murmurs kind words in Charles' ear. And
it isn't sex, and it isn't a kiss, but it's love, Charles knows it is. He knows
that Erik loves him. And maybe that has to be enough.
.
.
.
.
Nine Years Later
Charles held a hand up in front of his face, blocking the fierce gaze of the
July sun. England might not usually be the warmest of countries, but it was
experiencing a summer heat wave, something that had the British very excited
indeed. For Charles, though, it was merely another obstacle to overcome, and
something to make his life more difficult.
He made an unimpressed sound as the moving van finally pulled up outside the
newly built four bedroomed house. The cul-de-sac was quiet and clean, made up
of only nine large houses with spacious gardens and double garages. There was
nobody around, and Charles was glad of this as the moving van parked outside,
the sounds of an old Blink-182 song playing from the driver's radio.
"You were supposed to be here almost an hour ago," Charles huffed at the
driver, who shrugged with uninterest, and passed Charles a form to sign. While
he did that, the driver opened up the van, and went about unloading the
belongings and taking them in to the house.
Charles was so busy reading the form that he didn't notice someone was standing
beside him until he heard an awkward cough. He looked up to see a smiling
blonde haired woman, probably in her mid thirties, who was holding a baby to
her chest.
"Hello, sorry to bother you. My name is Catherine, I live at number two, I
thought I would introduce myself," she offered Charles her hand, and he took
it, shaking it as he smiled at her.
"I'm Charles. Lovely to meet you. And you," he chuckled, reaching forward to
gently stroke the baby's cheek. The baby gurgled, big blue eyes looking at
Charles.
"This is Amerie, she's number four," Catherine beamed.
"Oh wow. Well if I may say, you certainly don't look like a woman who has had
four children."
Catherine blushed and looked down at Amerie. "Thankyou, you're too kind."
"It's true. I bet you have your work cut out, with four children," Charles
said.
"Oh, definitely, but my husband and I wouldn't change them for the world,"
Catherine smiled warmly at Charles. "And what about you, Charles? Are you
married? Children?"
Charles glanced over at the house and then back at Catherine. "My partner
should be here helping me, but he's been called in to work. He owns a vintage
record store in London."
"Oh, marvellous!" Catherine grinned. She hitched Amerie higher on her hip.
"Well, Charles, it's lovely to meet you, and if you need anything, please do
pop round. Hopefully we'll be seeing more of you."
"Absolutely, and I'll make sure of it," Charles called, smiling after Catherine
as she went back home. She had barely closed her front door when a car appeared
on the street, coming to a stop behind the moving van. Charles folded his arms
across his chest, mock-angry, and glared in the direction of its driver.
"It's almost three, Erik."
Erik clambered out of the car, swinging a rucksack over his shoulder. "I know,
I know, I'm sorry. I got held up. Raven fucked up the sales figures again and I
had to sort the damn thing out."
Charles walked towards him, shushing him. "You can't swear out here, darling,
there are children around."
"Are there?" Erik's face lit up. "Oh, good. That'll be nice for when Raven
brings Kurt to visit."
Charles nodded in agreement, but his thoughts weren't with Raven. He took the
time to look Erik over, in his expensive jeans and his nice shirt, his lovely
smile. Then he looked at their new home, their new start, and he felt a pang in
his chest. He had truly never been so happy. It had been a bumpy road, and
Charles had honestly never expected that this would be the destination, but it
was all worth it. It didn't matter to either of them any more. Love is love.
"Come on, love," Erik said softly, reaching out his hand to Charles. "Let's go
and set up the jukebox. I want to play one of my Smiths records."
Charles' face split in to a huge grin. He took Erik's hand.
End Notes
     Thankyou very much for reading my fucked up fic. I hope you liked it.
     Comments and kudos are very, very much appreciated.
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!