Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/634216.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      X-Men:_First_Class_(2011)_-_Fandom, X-Men_(Movies)
  Relationship:
      Erik_Lehnsherr/Charles_Xavier
  Additional Tags:
      underage_porn, reduced_powers, post-apocalyptic_setting, Alternate
      Universe_-_Modern_Setting
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-01-11 Words: 4172
****** perhaps tomorrow ******
by fealle
Summary
     post-apocalyptic travels. charles asks a million questions. erik can
     only answer "no" or "maybe".
Notes
     underaged porn. descriptions of sex.
There is a Beautiful Creature
Living in a hole you have dug.
- Hafiz, "We Should Talk About This Problem"
 
 
 
Not for the first time in weeks, he asks him again: "if I told you I want it -
"
"No." Erik's answer is absolute, but the tone varies from day to day depending
on how cruel he feels. Charles bites his lip, feeling a lot more childish the
more the silence passes in between them. He is not partial to Erik's silences,
but Erik is, and more often than not he uses them often against Charles because
he knows that Charles hates the silence, the lack of human contact amidst the
hum of the car as Erik drives. The metallic hum calms Erik while it only makes
Charles claustrophobic; and yet, for all that Erik claims to love him, he knows
that the choice of the car was deliberate on his part.
Charles is sixteen. He's fair and pale and thin, but then again after the end
of the world, who wasn't. He supposes, as he glances at himself on the mirror,
that he looks pretty. This presents a whole array of complications that Erik
isn't prepared to deal with. He glances at the way Erik grips the steering
wheel and he knows that as much as the matter has already been settled by
Erik's no, the man hasn't forgotten what he wanted to say in the first place.
Charles reaches over and sets his hand cautiously on Erik's leg as he drives,
and Erik tenses underneath his touch, but otherwise says nothing. Erik has the
kind of fortitude to ignore overtures, innuendo. What Charles wants was for him
to be wrecked by his slightest touch and be branded otherwise, but this is
something that neither he nor Erik could agree on because to do so would be to
acknowledge a truth and a responsibility that Erik doesn't want to be culpable
of, that Charles doesn't give a damn about. Charles leans over to him in a fit
of coquetry and decides to press a kiss on the edge of his shoulder as he
drives while his hand remains on his leg, and he whispers, maliciously, "all
your talk about us being the better men, but look at you, look at how you
adhere to their laws regardless. Don't tell me I don't understand what I want
from you because I do. What I don't understand is why you're perfectly willing
to carry out a genocide, but you draw the line on having relations with your
companion who also happens to be of the same gender as you."
Erik grips the handle of the wheel and nearly threatens to crush the car with
his anger, and Charles thinks, good, while moving his hand over his shirt to
ruck it against Erik's chest, slip his nimble fingers in between the buttons
and slowly pull them apart one by one. "Has it never occurred to you, you
goddamned brat, that maybe - just maybe - I've no intentions of hurting you?
Has it never occurred to you that in the off-chance I said yes and the
inevitable happened - "
"Why is the inevitable always the fact that I will be hurt?"
"- and why wouldn't it be? For fuck's sake, Charles, I'm not a hero. I'm
perfectly comfortable in drawing lines across your back where the hilt of a
knife would suit you just fine." Charles frowns, attempts to open his mouth and
cut through Erik's logic with an innuendo of his own, but Erik waves him off.
"I can hurt you, and I will. And you're asking me to do worse. In the event
that I hurt you, I will never be able to forgive myself. Are you willing to
live with that? Because I rather doubt that you understand - "
"All I want," Charles says, his voice soft, tired, knowing that he's pushed
Erik into another corner again - another corner within their relationship, for
however it's defined, which the two of them have made for themselves out of
cowardice, or whatever, "all I want, is for you to look at me like you do with
those other women - for you to hold me like you would with them - for you to -
"
His voice falters, and Erik sighs.
"You treat your whores with more equality than you give me, all because I'm
sixteen, and yet I've done a lot worse than most children my age, because I'm
fairly sure none of them are psychopathic, murderous telepaths who travel with
a genocidal maniac in their spare time, whom they also happen to be - "
"Stop."
Charles shuts up.
Erik keeps his eyes on the road and drives in silence for the rest of the time
as they look for the motel. Charles looks out the window against the ruins of
the world, the light from the setting sun blinding him and making his eyes
watery as he closes his eyes. It's the sun, he reasons. It's the bloody sun
that's making him cry because it's too damned bright.
 
♥♥♥
 
The world ended 85 hours and 32 minutes ago, which Charles has tallied because
that had been from the last time he and Erik were in a party in his house, full
of old money and other distinguished notables. Erik was there because he was
one of Cain's, but Charles knew better, knew that he was there because Cain was
nothing more than a thug and that Erik's true pursuit was one of Cain's
contacts, a man named Schmidt.
85 hours and 32 minutes ago Erik leaned down and kissed him in the mouth and
Charles presses his tongue against his lower lip, hesitating, and Erik smiles
at him, the kind of smile a man has when he knows he's doomed, and then Charles
whispers, "I - there's an empty room right around - "
And that's where they ended up, a locked guest room in the west wing of his
house, Charles lying down on the plush carpet with his legs spread out and
arched, grinding, against Erik's crotch while Erik kisses him over and over
again, moving down to his neck and his chest to bite and suck on the skin hard
enough to leave bruises. Charles can't be faulted for thinking that they want
the same thing 85 hours and 32 minutes later when the world declared a nuclear
crisis while the revelry in his house goes and on and on and on. The only thing
he takes responsibility for was telling him about the room, but, as he reasons
to himself later, it could've been somewhere much worse.
But in that room, with both of them absolutely drunk with lust and alcohol and
secrecy, nothing was so absolutely complicated and everything was just all
about them, how Erik tilted his head to meet his own lips over and over again
and how Charles willingly parted them for him every time; how he opened his
legs at the slightest suggestion from Erik and how he allowed Erik to pull down
his trousers and even helped him unzip his own. Erik didn't fuck him. But what
Erik did do was rut in between his legs from behind, and Charles loved it,
Charles loved Erik being filthy and saying filthy things to his ear that made
him burn out of shame while Erik keeps hold of him by his waist and thrusts in
between his legs, his cock long and hard and slick with his own cum, Charles
reaching below him to play with his own cock and wank off Erik's as well.
Charles remembers him push up his shirt and feeling a thrill as he does so
while he ruts between his legs, his heavy hand coming down on his ass whenever
Charles made so much as a whimper, which lead to his ass red and wet that whole
night.
And when Erik had come all over the carpets and Charles' legs and his stomach,
he spat on Charles' ass, played with the whole and his perineum with his thumb,
and kneeling down on his arms and knees he began to lick Charles' ass. Charles
had to bite on his wrist to keep him from making sounds, but it was so good, he
loved it, that Erik had to shut him up by wrapping his necktie around Charles'
mouth while licking and tounging his asshole, squeezing his cock and playing
his balls all the while until Charles cums, as well, gasping Erikerikerik and
god, oh - yes - yes as he came right behind the neck tie around his mouth.
That was 85 hours and 32 minutes ago and Charles still remembers every detail
even as he drifts off to sleep and Erik wakes him up to tell him they were in
the motel's parking lot and he'd registered them for a single room (it was so
clicheed, but he had no choice, everything else was full); he can continue his
rest there. Charles grabs at his arm sleepily and begs him to carry him there;
Erik rolls his eyes and concedes. Charles is carried to his side of the bed and
he stays there while Erik leans against the window, smokes, leaves the
television on for background noise. He glances at Charles sleeping on the bed,
notes how pretty is, notes how the world is doomed to hell outside of the motel
but Charles is here and god does he look lovely, just as lovely as when he'd
first met him as a sad boy in Westchester when he'd pretended to be a chauffer
because it was convenient to observe Cain's dealings with Schmidt that way. But
Charles was dangerous, because not only does he know about Cain's sidelines, he
also makes Erik realize that there might be something more than a life of him
chasing Schmidt forever, and he's not sure what to make of that, regardless of
something stupid like love or otherwise being involved.
Before Charles drifts off to sleep again, he murmurs, "I dreamt about that time
in Westchester again."
And Erik only says to him, "That's not a guarantee of anything. Go back to
sleep."
 
♥♥♥
 
He has a fantasy regarding him and Erik, and he finds that the more Erik
continues down his path of self-flagellation via avoidance and prostitution,
the more elaborate and filthy it becomes:
It'll be in one of the rooms in the mansion, probably in Charles' study, where
Erik would have him seated on a chair against the window. His hands will be
tied over his head and around the window, while his legs will be spread apart
and held down over the arm rests. There will be a dildo involved and it will be
shoved up in his ass for a while, before Erik comes back, but only to lick at
his ass and play with his hole and fuck him with the dildo before he leaves
again. There will be no gag over his mouth and he'll be allowed to scream as
much as he wants, and in his fantasy he murmurs Erik's name over and over while
the dildo is shoved up in his ass.
Then Erik will come and pull the dildo out, slick himself with lube and rip off
a condom with Charles' teeth, and after teasing his hole with the head of his
cock (in his dreams Erik is always hard), he will fuck him slow and hard and he
will tease him mercilessly until Charles practically begs to be fucked hard
enough for bruises so that he can feel Erik for days.
Erik will fuck him hard in that study and Charles will struggle while being
bound the chair, practically begging for Erik to fuck him again and again,
begging Erik for more, begging him not to stop, telling him that he loves his
cock, calling himself his slut -
and then Erik will cum over his chest, over his mouth, and Charles will lick
every drop -
- and then he will beg him for more, noch mal, he'll tell him -
- and Erik will agree -
- and Erik -
 
♥♥♥
 
Erik goes to their bed later on, and Charles is woken up the moment he feels
Erik beside him and he goes to rush towards him, pulling all the blankets
around them as he rests his head at the crook of his neck, "When Schmidt is
dead .... would you consider being with me?"
He doesn't know how to phrase this in a way that would make Erik question
himself without adding the stupid question in the end, as if being with Erik
was something he himself was never entitled to - and the truth was, he wasn't,
but he never understood it, because Erik has always been with him, has always
been doing his bidding at his call - at no time was he bound and chained in
school. But it's also the most honest he's asked him ever since the world ended
(90 hours and 15 seconds). But it's a question in which the possibilities are
too great, and Charles wants at least some sort of yes - he'll even settle for
a maybe --
Erik is quiet for a while, and then he presses a kiss on Charles' forehead.
"I'll have to see him dead first, before I make any promises. But .... it's
something I can consider, maybe."
'Maybe' doesn't automatically preclude 'together'; one can be in love and never
have to look at a lover's face. There was a word for that, somewhere at the
back of Erik's mind, and it slithers into his tongue when he looks at Charles,
almost out of his reach but never quite, and Erik shakes his head.
He doesn't need to read Erik's mind for that, but the stray thought he catches
are good enough for him. He tries for another one: "will you let me suck your
cock?"
He hears Erik growl. "Charles."
"Or, well, I could subject you to my fantasies of you and me." Charles sighs.
"It was worth the try, anyway." He's quiet for a moment as he seeks Erik's
other hand, fits his own with the spaces between his fingers. "I'm lying again,
I'm sorry. I'm so lonely with you. I hope you forgive me for being honest, but
it's true. I feel lonely even when you're here because you're always on the
verge of leaving, and I feel it's ridiculously unfair of you to be like that,
but I've no right to make you stay or change your mind, and I'm sorry for even
considering that." He presses a kiss on Erik's collarbone and relishes the feel
of Erik shivering underneath him as his tongue traces the edge of the bone.
"I'm very selfish, I suppose."
"It has its purposes."
"But is no less difficult for you or me. I don't mean to make it - "
"Charles Xavier, shut up." Erik snarls. "Shut your goddamned mouth. You have
every right to ask me to stay. I just - I reserve the right to decide how long,
if you're going to want this arrangement between us for whatever reason."
He's quiet for a while before he replies, "of course, I'm so sorry." And it's
not so much as a promise but it's a start, it's something to work with. He
thinks he'd be a lot more terrified if he and Erik started off agreeing with
each other constantly instead of the mess that they are in right now, because
then the betrayal once Erik leaves - and of course he'll want to leave
eventually, of course, Charles thinks bitterly, as if there's no-one in the
world who'll want him to stay more than just for some ghost that drives him to
revenge - it will hurt a lot more, and Charles doesn't think he could handle
that; or perhaps, he could, but is somehow terrified with how changed he would
be afterwards. But this, he can work with. This, he'll be okay with, and
against Erik's anger he can measure his desire and come out with an answer he
could possibly be satisfied with. Somehow.
 
♥♥♥
 
Sometimes he's allowed to share a tub with Erik in the dark, where he leans
back against Erik, naked, feeling his cock on the cleft of his ass while Erik
slowly tilts his head backwards so he can wet his hair with water, his fingers
moving to trace the curve and dip of Charles' face, as if he were learning to
see him for the first time. Charles closes his eyes and relishes the press of
thumb against his eyes, the hesitant move of the pads of his fingers over his
lips, skin roughened by the water and the cold. His hands move to his chin,
down to his throat and lingers over his adam's apple, and back again to his
lips, where Charles kisses his fingers again, and again, and again.
Charles murmurs against his skin, "I dream of Westchester often."
Westchester is different for him as it was for Erik and as it was for the
Charles that he'd been before he met Erik. He doesn't remember a mansion with
its empty rooms, now; he remembers just a room, just a floor, just a man that
he was entangled with, and for all of the awfulness that Westchester had built
inside of him, that was a spark that he'd lovingly nourished despite Erik's
protests, despite Charles' assurances to himself that this was a one-sided
affair where Erik will prevail because his sense of shame about the whole
affair is much greater than Charles, despite his indulgences. Trotzdem,
trotzdem, trotzdem alles.
Erik leans his head against the tiled wall of the shower, and sighs. In the
small space of the bathroom his exhaustion is magnified in that small sound,
and Charles thinks, I'd love to hear that again. "I don't dream. I'm too
tired."
"You could try sleeping more," Charles tells him. "You can teach me how to
drive. You could eat more. You could try living a lot better."
Erik's tragedy, Charles' despair, and they both know that while Charles will
say these things and Erik will nod neither of them actually know exactly how
far will they heed each other's call to live more. Both of them were too
selfish to do so, anyway. "I was so close to Schmidt, back then."
"Well, darling, you'll just have to try your luck again," Charles replies, and
he touches Erik's legs spread behind him, powerful and lean and beautiful to
see, and Charles thinks of how many women and men had seen him this vulnerable,
and he thinks that probably not too many given how Erik hates how vulnerable he
actually is, because it makes him seem too human and that's all he really is.
Charles presses a kiss over his knee and tells him, "you have to take care of
yourself, you're growing old."
"I'm not that old, Charles."
"Well, you will be. Your hair will turn grey and they'll fall off eventually,
and you'll have a respectful patch on your head that makes you look like a
severe but rather wise Opa." Charles turns to him to press a kiss over his
nose; Erik doesn't kiss him back but there's a slightly upward turn on the
corner of his mouth. "I will love you even then, it's alright."
"I'll forget you eventually."
"That's even worse, isn't it, love," Charles leans over to cover his ears and
lean his forehead against Erik's. At this distance he can't hear anything but
his breathing and his heart and Charles' words magnified in the bathroom.
"You'll have no choice but to believe me every time I tell you I forgive you,
because you'll keep forgetting you said no to me a million times."
Erik frowns. "You've grown trickier."
"I haven't," he says, and he kisses him. "But I prefer it when things go my
way. Don't you?"
 
♥♥♥
 
Erik dreams of Charles, as well, and they are just as filthy as the ones that
Charles dreams of, but he doesn't want to tell Charles of this because he
doesn't want to prove him right. For this reason he doesn't go easy on him
while he wanks himself off in the bathroom afterwards, while Charles dresses up
outside and Erik locks the door.
His dreams are uncomplicated as they are filthy. He dreams of pushing Charles
down on his knees and making him open his mouth so that he can fuck his mouth
again and again. Charles' hands would be bound behind his back. His legs would
be spread below him. Sometimes he dreams of letting some other whore fuck
Charles while his cock is in Charles' mouth.
He dreams of pulling his cock out before he cums, but just when it's slick and
wet, so he can smear it all over Charles' face, and then he will slap his face
and humiliate Charles even further. He will bend him over his lap and slap his
ass, make it sore and red before he fucks him. And when he fucks him, he'll do
it while --
-- Charles enters the washroom anyway while he's wanking off, smiles at Erik
while his cock is in his grip, and he purposely doesn't look at his eyes but he
bites his lip and doesn't say anything as he hangs his towel back on the rack.
Charles moves towards him - and for a moment Erik was afraid -
But all he does is to lean down and kiss the head of Erik's cock, lips
momentarily wet and shiny with his cum, and then he leaves, and Erik cums hard
after that, swearing.
 
♥♥♥
 
Not for the first time in weeks, Charles asks him again: "if I told you that I
want you to stay, would you listen to me?"
To his credit, Erik pauses, and considers before he replies, "no, I won't."
Charles looks small and terrified in the passenger's seat, his hands clutching
the leather underneath him in anger. "Would you come back for me?"
"No."
He doesn't look at him when he replies.
"Are you lying?"
"Don't ask me that. A better question would've been: do I regret it? Ask me if
I regret it, Charles."
It has been 90 hours since the world ended and Charles cries. He hates not
knowing on the account of being forced not to know, because Erik values the
isolation of his mind sometimes a lot more than he does his craving for human
touch. "Do you?"
".... no." Erik takes out his handkerchief, creased and worn from his pocket,
and wordlessly gives it to him. "But I could think of worse things."
"Oh?"
Erik shrugs. "I could've decided, back then, not to exist in your world at
all."
Charles wipes his eyes dry and he feels that he knows nothing, understands
nothing, other than the world was indifferent to what he wants for them and
what he wants for the rest of it: not much. A chance to carve a place for
himself, which apparently, demands everything out of him overall, when he only
has so much to give and he can never estimate how much of a price is exacted of
him.
"I don't want to leave you."
"You will eventually," Erik says. "You'll realize you'll want your own crowd,
you would probably scope out the few remaining schools in the country to see if
they'll take you, you'll learn what you can, you'll be brilliant and you'll
have other dreams. And you'll always have Westchester, and that's probably the
worst of it, but none of that will matter eventually."
He wants to hate him. He wants to hate him so badly as he watches his forearms
when he lights the ignition and the powerful metallic hum of the car fills
their space and Erik drives them out to a future where a man is waiting to die
so that he can look for his absolution somewhere. He wishes he can still accuse
Erik of wanting to kill himself, that his righteous crusade had nothing to do
with his mother but more about his own story of revenge, justified rather than
by a hatred grown beyond his reaches, but with the death of his mother who by
now is no longer but a prop in his Oedipal play. He wishes he can hate him, and
accuse him of all of these things. But Charles looks at the veins on his hands
and the lines on his face and knows that Erik already has, even without his
help, and the most he could do is to lean his head against his shoulder and
wrap an arm around his waist as he drove on and on, Charles saying, "I wish you
would trust me."
Erik tells him, "trusting you is the easier part, Charles."
He closes his eyes and dreams of Westchester again, because Erik there never
leaves, and that Erik wouldn't kill, though he pushes him down and pins him on
the floor, etherized by a possibility he cannot acknowledge and which paralyzes
Charles with a perpetual want, much how butterflies anticipate the puncture of
a pin.
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