Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/5284736.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      X-Men:_First_Class_(2011)_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Erik_Lehnsherr/Charles_Xavier
  Character:
      Erik_Lehnsherr, Charles_Xavier
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Teenagers, Alternate_Universe_-_Still_Have_Powers,
      The_Blue_Lagoon, Underage_Drinking, First_Time, Desert_Island_Fic,
      Alternate_Universe_-_Shipwrecked
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-11-26 Words: 3270
****** in this paradise ******
by annejumps
Summary
     Charles and Erik have been alone together on this island for many
     years. But things between them have changed recently, and Charles
     wants to know why.
Notes
     This is a Blue Lagoon AU. If you're not familiar with the '80s
     (softcore) movie The_Blue_Lagoon, here's a summary from Wikipedia:
     "The film tells the story of two young children marooned on a
     tropical island paradise in the South Pacific. With neither the
     guidance nor the restrictions of society, emotional feelings and
     physical changes arise as they reach puberty and fall in love." Be
     advised, Charles and Erik are in their mid to late teens in this.
See the end of the work for more notes
If he’d been back home all this time, Charles figured, he’d still be as pale as
his mother, skin like fresh cream. As it was, though, he was very freckled and
slightly tanned -- his mother would be absolutely appalled, not only by his
complexion but also by his long, messy hair and the beginnings of what was (as
Erik described it) a surprisingly ginger patchy beard.
She’d be appalled by much about him these days. For instance, after years on
this island, gone were his illusions of their family’s superiority, that their
name, lineage, and manners protected them against the ravages of the world.
She’d be aghast at his attire too: most days, he wore just what was left of the
trousers he’d found in a trunk that washed ashore with them. Oh, there were
plenty of pairs of trousers; it was just that at this point, they were worn
down to essentially loincloths, hanging off his hips. He kept them up with
ropes sometimes, and other times simply didn’t bother with clothes at all. That
is, when Erik wasn’t around.
When they were younger, they didn’t seem concerned at all about what they wore
around each other, and although they didn’t run around the beach during the
heat of the midday sun, they thought nothing of strolling around together nude,
as long as they avoided nettles and stinging things.
That was the case until a few years ago, when Erik, who was a couple of years
older, started ducking his head and blushing and looking away when Charles was
around. He turned his back to Charles and scooted away from him when they
slept, when they’d once clung to each other with a lack of self-consciousness
like that of a pair of napping pups.
It bothered Charles a great deal to not use his special mind-reading abilities
to find out what his dear friend was thinking, but he’d pledged long ago to
stay out of Erik’s mind unbidden, and after all, if Erik had a problem he could
bloody well tell Charles about it. He never did, and they still slept in the
same lean-to (for safety), but they didn’t touch.
As for Erik, he too had special abilities: he could manipulate metal. It had
its uses, the most significant one being that Erik could cast makeshift metal
spears into the water to catch fish. Generally, Erik did the hunting and
catching and Charles did the cleaning and preparing, but on occasion they
switched off. There was a small herd of wild pigs on the island -- they usually
ate fish, but one day Charles convinced Erik to try pork for supper, and they
were both so hungry and tired of fish that it seemed like a good idea. Erik had
been successful in hunting, but that had been a hard day. Their hands and arms
had been stained with blood for days, and Charles had nightmares about being
able to hear the animal’s thoughts as it died. Erik had wrapped his arms around
him and tried to soothe him back to sleep. That had been before Erik’s behavior
toward him had changed.
Charles looked down from the little outcropping of rocks he was standing on and
watched Erik, who was in a tidepool, hunting for fish.
Erik was lean and lithe. Technically, compared to the doughiness he’d have had
in the life of leisure he’d been intended for, so was Charles, but Erik was
something else altogether, elegant and sculpted like the statues Charles could
still vaguely remember having seen in the gallery of their estate.
Erik liked to keep his own hair cropped short, using some blunt scissors he
found and managed to keep from rusting, but he had a sparse beard as well,
almost as ginger as Charles’. Charles had once asked if he ought to cut his own
hair, like Erik had been doing, but Erik had looked at him and shook his head.
“I like your hair like that,” he said, a sudden and unusual intensity in his
sea-green eyes. Charles had run a hand self-consciously through his hair, which
he felt was getting messy, and Erik had snapped back to himself and looked
away, clenching his jaw. That had been around the time Erik had started acting
strangely. Years ago, now.
He made his way down to where Erik was, to see if he could help at all. Erik
liked to actually carry out most tasks himself -- they’d fought over it before,
but Erik insisted he could do things more efficiently alone -- but Charles had
realized soon enough that it was very important to Erik for Charles to
participate by being present, watching, or at least approving of whatever Erik
was doing. Few things hurt Erik as much as Charles turning away and leaving him
-- abandoning him, it seemed Erik felt -- or otherwise ignoring him, which made
it all the stranger that he thought it perfectly fine to withdraw from his old
familiarity with Charles.
Right now, for example, he knew Charles had been on his rock outcropping and
was now coming toward him to join him -- he was able to sense the iron in
Charles’ blood, he had once said. Even without probing into his mind, Charles
could tell he was pleased to know Charles would be there soon. Erik tended to
feel things deeply and strongly, and very often, his moods were evident to
Charles. But when it came to his desire for distance between them, he seemed to
do his best to prevent Charles from knowing those thoughts.
Charles was, if he were being completely honest, not overly eager to go
sneaking -- it hurt too much to think about Erik’s rejecting him, to know the
truth about whatever was wrong with Charles, or whatever he’d done, that led
Erik to turn from him the way he had. He was, at the same time, wildly curious,
but continually told himself that if it were such a problem for Erik, all he
had to do was say something.
Erik looked up and smiled as he approached, and Charles couldn’t help smiling
back. Erik looked very pleased with himself, and he’d caught quite a few fish.
They’d resigned themselves long ago to eating a great deal of fish, after the
wild pig incident.
Together, they took the catch back to the place where they usually cooked, and
Erik built a fire while Charles cleaned the fish. This, too, he’d gotten used
to. His father used to take him fishing sometimes when he was little, but it
was the servants who’d always cleaned the catch. His mother certainly would not
want him getting scales and fish guts on his clothes. She wouldn't even
recognize him now.
Good, he thought to himself.
They allowed themselves some time to relax after they ate, watching the sunset.
There was a storm brewing far off, the great thunderheads reflecting red and
gold and purple. Charles, feeling quite insignificant looking at them, was
reminded anew of how alone the two of them were. They’d given up ages ago on
any ship finding them -- they were too remote. They never even saw sails in the
distance. Without Erik, he’d be completely alone. Likewise, without Charles,
Erik would be completely alone.
“What is it, Charles?” Erik’s voice startled him.
“Hmm?”
Erik cleared his throat. “You looked thoughtful, that was all.”
“Don’t I usually?” Charles teased, gently.
Erik chuckled. “You do, yes. But moreso than usual, now.”
“Ah. Well, I was just thinking of how alone we are here. Alone, together,” he
added hastily.
Erik blinked. “I suppose we are.” His fingers toyed with a bit of seaweed. “I
don’t like to think about it,” he added quietly.
“I don’t either, really,” Charles admitted. “But Erik, after all, if we’re here
together, you and I, we’re not alone, are we?”
“No.” Erik smiled and looked down at his hands. “I suppose we’re not.”
Charles kept records, of a sort, and he figured they’d been here for six years.
That was six years of just the two of them. There were times when they were
angry with each other, and spent at least a few hours apart, fuming, until
hunger called, night fell, and they once again they ate together and slept next
to each other. Silent, perhaps, but together once more. Until the next little
spat.
It could be boring. They invented games, read to each other from the books
they’d found in a trunk, and told each other stories. But there were times when
there wasn’t much to do besides lie on the beach or go for a swim.
Tonight, however, they put the fire out and went into the lean-to. Erik dug
through his trunk in the low light, and said, “Charles, I have a confession to
make. I’ve been hiding something.” Charles could catch his smile in the dark,
could hear it in his voice.
“What is it?” Charles was impressed that Erik could have hidden anything from
him in here.
Erik pulled out a bottle. “Rum,” he said proudly.
“Rum!” Charles said in surprise.
Erik pried off the cap, and the little room filled with the smell of it. “You
first,” he said, passing Charles the bottle.
“Oh, well, just a little….” Charles said, and took a long swallow. He coughed,
wincing, and handed the bottle back. Erik, smiling, took a drink and winced in
turn. Charles laughed, and Erik made a face at him, amused.
The rum almost immediately made Charles feel warm inside. Things seemed sharper
and softer at the same time, and he felt very relaxed. “Pass that back here,”
he said. He’d only had wine as a child, so no doubt the fact that he’d never
had rum or drink in ages accounted for how quickly it went to his head.
“One more,” Erik said, passing it over. Charles took a long drink, and then so
did Erik, before Erik capped the bottle and put it back in the trunk.
“Just a treat,” he said, as Charles stretched out, feeling luxuriant, on what
passed for their bed. “We’ll save the rest for other times.”
“What’s the occasion tonight?” Charles asked.
“No occasion.” Erik shrugged.
“Then let’s celebrate being alone. Here. Together,” Charles said, reaching a
hand toward him. “Come here.”
Erik swallowed, and blinked. He laid down alongside Charles, but didn’t touch
him.
“No, come here,” Charles said, reaching for him, a hand on his shoulder, firm.
“Come here to me. I miss you, Erik.”
“You see me every day,” Erik said quietly. He spoke with care, as if he was
avoiding breaking a spell, saying or doing the wrong thing.
Charles shifted closer, pulling Erik toward him at the same time. It felt
right, it felt good like this -- Charles was warm all over, and Erik was so
near. Nearer than he’d been in ages, and that was even more intoxicating than
the rum.
Charles kissed him.
He’d never kissed anyone on the lips before; neither had Erik, he knew. The
touch of their mouths was soft, hesitant, at first; even so, just from their
brief points of contact Charles felt a distinct tingling that sent a shiver
over him.
He sensed Erik’s total surprise and heard and felt his intake of breath; that
was all the encouragement he needed to press forward and slant his mouth
against Erik’s, not sure what exactly he was doing but knowing he wanted more,
to taste him properly, to be as intimate with him as Erik would allow.
Erik parted his lips, and Charles took his chance, but it felt as natural and
inevitable as the rhythms of every day here felt. He slid his tongue into
Erik’s mouth, and that seemed to bring Erik to life. He cupped Charles’ jaw,
slid his fingers into Charles’ hair, touch hesitant at first, then more
assured.
Charles made a soft sound, shivering as Erik’s fingertips stroked the nape of
his neck, and trailed his hand down Erik’s side, resting on his waist. Erik
started kissing him back, and, restless, Charles slid his hand around to Erik’s
stomach, backs of his knuckles brushing Erik’s skin. Erik inhaled, drawing his
stomach in, as if he were afraid to let Charles touch him there, as if it would
be too much.
“Erik,” Charles breathed into the kiss. Erik made a small sound in his throat,
and Charles stroked his tongue against Erik’s as he slid his fingertips down
under the hem of Erik’s trousers, which, like Charles’, had seen better days.
If Erik was anything like him just now, he was craving touch.
Charles did remember sermons and other warnings against the evils of touching
oneself, but at the time he’d been so puzzled as to what was being talked
about, since the terms were so vague as to be useless, that he’d had to peek
into the mind of the priest in order to even understand what he wasn’t supposed
to be doing.
He’d also learned that the priest didn’t even believe what he was saying.
Largely because of his ability, Charles had never had much use for religion,
and certainly here on the island none of that seemed very relevant, but perhaps
Erik, a Jew, felt differently. Though he’d been willing to disobey the rule
against eating pork, that had been in the face of possible starvation.
Judging, however, from the way he arched and drew in a breath when he felt
Charles’ fingers find his cock, and the sudden flood of desperation coming from
his mind, it didn’t seem to be a concern. The loosely-fitting trousers easily
gave way to allow Charles to wrap his hand around Erik’s cock. Erik was
seemingly undone, falling back from the kiss to breathe, his lashes fluttering.
He stared at Charles as though Charles were not real.
Erik gasped out, “I didn’t -- I didn’t think you’d-- want--”
Suddenly Charles understood why Erik had been avoiding touching him or looking
at directly him for roughly half the time they’d been here, and he felt stupid
for not seeing it before. Erik wanted him a great deal, and was afraid Charles
would be disgusted, that he’d reject him and then they’d be apart. A
misconception Charles could easily correct.
Rather in opposition to those old priestly warnings, Charles had done this to
himself often enough -- usually in the pool beneath the waterfall where they
liked to bathe, as it got rather messy and if he didn’t want to lick his hand
clean he’d have to worry about washing a rag or wiping off with a leaf -- but
never where Erik could be a witness, as bothered by Charles’ physical presence
as he’d seemed to be. He had an inkling Erik did it to himself as well, and the
thought of him doing so had often crept into Charles’ own thoughts when he did
it.
Surely the priest would have had something to say about them doing this to each
other, but after all, might as well be hanged for a sheep as for a lamb. That
was, if there even was anyone to do the hanging; it seemed as though even
Heaven, Hell, and Saint Peter had forgotten about them, here. Surely it
wouldn’t matter if they afforded each other a moment of pleasure when so much
here was so hard.
Hard, indeed -- Charles was aching, like iron in his threadbare trousers. “Do
this to me,” he urged, demonstrating with Erik’s cock in his hand, giving him a
squeezing stroke that had Erik groaning. Erik fumbled to open his trousers and
take him out and get a firm hold on him, leaving Charles gasping in turn like
he’d run a mile in noonday heat. Oh, it felt even better when it was someone
else’s hand.
Clumsy as they were at this, it didn’t take them long to get into a rhythm.
Erik stared at him, something raw and vulnerable in his expression, unguarded
and all for Charles, who felt a clench of possessiveness and affection for him,
his Erik. Breathless, he smiled, and Erik bit his lip and exhaled sharply
through his nose as his cock jerked in Charles’ hand, coating Charles’ fingers
and his own belly. The deep, intense pleasure he felt seeped readily into
Charles’ mind, pulling at him, taking him closer and closer until he joined
Erik, gasping, their gazes locked.
Erik surged forward and kissed him before he’d even stopped pulsing, and
Charles couldn’t catch his breath like this, not with Erik’s desperate biting
kisses taking his air.
He wrapped his arm tightly around Erik, keeping him close, heedless of how
sticky they were getting each other -- no, nothing like that mattered, Erik had
kept them apart for so long for no reason and Charles wanted his due and
nothing would stop him. They kissed with all the pent-up hunger of the past few
years, pressed so close together it was as though they were trying to become
one person, trying to take every moment they could have had and collapse it all
into this. And Charles wanted more; he knew Erik did, too. Erik murmured to
him, wordless, but Charles understood him.
Greedy, he couldn’t keep his hands off Erik.
They returned to hardness in short order, and Erik held his own cock like an
offering and whispered, “Please, Charles, your mouth.” Charles, though he
barely knew what he was doing, was all too happy to oblige him, to taste him
and to give him what he needed that way.
But evidently there was no great call for finesse. Erik, incoherent with
pleasure, seemed to appreciate every bit of it before hastening to return the
favor. It seemed vague thoughts about this were among the ones he’d been
keeping from Charles.
After that, they were too exhausted to really continue with anything more,
although both of them were reluctant to stop touching each other, not after
they’d denied themselves for so long.
-------
Here, time did not proceed as it had back on the estate, where his future had
been neatly planned. He could easily have expected to grow old in comfort,
surrounded by grandchildren, sitting on overstuffed furniture in quiet drawing
rooms as clocks chimed the hours on sleepy afternoons, a piano playing in the
next room as sunlight streamed through high windows.
Here, they might not even have the next day together; here, the idea of living
here until they were very old seemed both unlikely and strangely dreadful, to
have nothing but this island to see, nothing but fish to eat, the scorch of sun
and the sting of saltwater, terrible risks -- poisonous creatures, storms, wild
animals -- around every corner.
Here, every day was a miracle, and at any time it could all be gone. All they
knew for certain that they had in the moment was each other, and now they had
each other once more, yet on a deeper level. It was like reuniting with the
only other person you ever saw day in and day out.
In the dark, the booming eternal ambient sound of the waves rocking him to
sleep as it had for years now, Charles finally once again pressed himself to
Erik, front to back, arm around him, legs tangled with his. Erik, warm and
close again, at last. And Erik was so relieved, the tension gone from his
limbs, that Charles took comfort from the way he was able to soothe Erik. They
slept deeply like that, never shifting from those positions until dawn.
Their rescue might yet come; more likely, it would not. In this moment, it did
not matter.
End Notes
     Thanks to Liz and niniblack for reading this over!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!