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Erik's been sitting on the couch watching Charles for over an hour. It's horribly distracting, not least because Charles can't so much as take a peek inside Erik's mind to figure out why all the staring.
Well. He could. But he won't. Even when Erik's thinking so hard at him that it's like a big neon sign saying LOOK RIGHT HERE, Charles won't look. (Besides, what if he did? The last thing he needs is a hard-on in the middle of a jog or a lecture, or a mental image he won't be able to act on for hours.)
Eventually Charles tosses his book on the coffee table and crosses his arms over his chest. "God. What?"
Erik smiles at him. "Is there really a pleasure center somewhere in the brain?"
Charles blinks a few times. "There are studies..."
"To hell with studies. You know why I'm asking. And why I'm asking you."
Groaning, Charles rubs both hands over his face. "It's a very delicate maneuver, Erik--"
"So you've done it."
"And it runs the risk of breaching quite a bit of privacy--"
"I can handle that part."
"And it doesn't supersede the physiological limitations. I mean, there's only so much semen in the human body--"
"You don't have to be crude, Charles," Erik says, smirking. "And besides... does it really make a difference if an orgasm happens in the brain or in the body?"
Charles doesn't answer. His face is burning, and the urge to reach out and take is almost overwhelming. I can handle that part, Erik said, which more or less means Charles would have permission.
Erik unfolds himself from the sofa and walks over to Charles, resting a hand on the back of his head. "You want to, don't you?"
"Erik--"
"You'd like to have that sort of control over my pleasure. Just for a little while." Erik strokes his hand through Charles's hair, teasing Charles's ear with his fingertips. "You'd like to make me feel good that way..."
Charles snatches Erik's hand and looks up at him, swallowing hard. // Yes //, he projects, // but I won't do it every time. //
"Would it really make a difference?" Erik twists his fingers, gets them laced through Charles's. He tugs on Charles's hand and helps Charles to his feet. "What's the difference between making me feel good with your hands or your cock and making me feel good with your mind?"
"It's just--different," Charles says weakly.
"It's not different. It's you." Erik squeezes Charles's hand. "You can't separate your power from yourself any more than you can separate your mind, or your heart." He grins. "Try it. See what happens."
Charles sighs and glances around the parlor. "Not here."
Upstairs, in Erik's bedroom, Charles takes his clothes off. Erik strips down, too, and he climbs into bed, lying on his back, reaching above his head for the iron bars of his bedframe.
"Should I be tied down for this, do you think?"
"No." Charles digs into Erik's nightstand for the lube and climbs onto the bed, too. "Besides, you could just break the bed."
"Would I do that?"
"You have done that."
Erik shrugs and grins up at Charles. "Fixed it, too."
"Hold still." Charles straddles Erik's legs and looks him over. Hard already, and getting harder. Erik's looking Charles over, too, which means he has to have noticed Charles was hard to begin with, hard the whole time he was getting undressed, and now he's all but dripping precome onto Erik's thigh.
He slicks his palm with lube and reaches out for Erik's cock. Erik gasps a little--the lube is still cold, unfortunately--but a few seconds later, he's moaning, rocking his hips up against Charles's hand.
"You sure you don't want me to do it the old-fashioned way?" Charles asks.
Erik laughs at him, but a twist from Charles's wrist makes him stop laughing. "Do it. Do it, come on..."
"I'm not ready," Charles mutters. He lets go of Erik's cock and slides still-slippery fingers into his ass; he's trying not to let it feel too good, not just yet.
When he's slick enough, he holds Erik's cock in his hand and guides it into his ass, groaning a little as Erik fills him. Erik keeps his hands curled around the bedrails, but he's watching Charles's every motion, lips parted, breathing fast.
"You were supposed to get inside me," Erik points out. He rocks his hips up anyway, and Charles presses down on him, thighs tense, holding his balance.
"Are you sure about this?"
"Of course I'm sure--"
"I won't touch anything you don't want me to touch."
Erik tilts his head up and licks his lips. "I know. Come on, Charles, we both know you've been holding out on me--"
Charles nods, not trusting himself to speak, and he moves in.
The brain's a complex place, Erik's more than most. There are shadows, places Charles knows not to probe, and there are places lighting up for him, a whole bright section that's practically turning cartwheels as Charles starts moving. Charles could spend days just looking through those lights, finding out their stories, but he's here for something in particular--a part of Erik's mind that even Erik doesn't know how to access, a piece of his self that comes to the forefront when he's fucking or getting fucked.
There.
Erik jerks underneath him, hands coming off the rails as he sits halfway up and clutches at Charles's hips. He grunts, clenching his teeth.
"Good?" Charles whispers. Erik nods. It's a moment before he can relax his body again, and when he looks up at Charles this time, his pupils are dilated and his expression is full of wonder.
"Do it again," he says hoarsely.
Charles strokes over that spot again, easier this time, the lightest flutter of his mind passing over Erik's pleasure centers, teasing them. This time, Erik's response is a little less desperate; he moans and squirms and twist under Charles's thighs, his nipples tightening to hard little nubs.
"More," Erik pants. "More, Charles--"
A longer caress, easy, deft, tendrils of thought stroking in long movements that trail off gradually. Erik's shaking underneath him.
Charles leans forward and puts his hands on Erik's chest. He rocks his hips down, comes halfway off Erik's cock before taking it into himself, once, twice, again. "Don't hold back," Erik gasps, reaching out for Charles again. "I want all of it, come on, do it--you want to--"
He does, damn it. Charles closes his eyes and lets it all go, lets his own pleasure flow into Erik's mind, his feelings swimming along the same stream as Erik's. Erik gasps, and Charles can feel it; Charles rocks down hard, and Erik can feel the satisfaction Charles gets out of having Erik that deep inside him. No secrets, no lies, no hiding; all the pleasure Charles can feel, all he is feeling, and everything Erik's feeling in return. Charles groans, fingertips digging into Erik's chest.
"Yes," Erik says, groaning, straining against Charles's hands and his ass and his thighs, everything that's holding him down. "Yes, yes, let me, I want to--" He doesn't wait for Charles to back off or agree; he sits up, gets an arm around Charles's back, and then flips them both over. His cock comes free in the move, but Charles gets his hands behind his knees and draws his legs up, and Erik pushes into him.
// Go hard, // Charles tells him. // Fuck me--come on, hard, do it-- // And when Erik picks up the pace, Charles drills into that spot in Erik's mind, holding onto it, squeezing roughly, no more finesse. It's his pleasure feeding Erik's, Erik's pleasure feeding his; his mind fucking Erik's, Erik's body fucking his. Charles is dizzy with it, out of his mind with it, thinks he might have come already, more than once maybe, four or five or six or seven times now, but Erik's still there, Erik's still driving into him--God, Erik's still there with him, mind and body, and it's impossible to tell which thought is whose.
He's dimly aware of it when Erik reaches down to his cock, and then there's so much pleasure the world whites out for a minute. He's come before, he's come doing this before, amping up his own pleasure, but never--not like this, and he clutches at Erik, arms tugging at Erik to bring him closer. He feels Erik's body shuddering, feels it when Erik's cock jerks inside him, and his mind tugs at Erik's, anchoring itself to Erik's pleasure centers and pulling.
He thinks Erik might be screaming, but maybe it's all in their minds.
When Charles comes back to himself, Erik's curled up on him, head resting on Charles's chest, legs tangled with one of Charles's. Charles thinks his arm might be falling asleep, but he doesn't care.
He opens his eyes and glances down--first at the spatter of come on his chest, and then at the bed as a whole. It's completely wrecked, and the bedframe is a ruin. The damage only extends that far, though; the door isn't off its hinges this time, and the grandfather clock in the corner is still keeping time.
"I think I overdid it," he says hoarsely; his throat hurts. Maybe Erik wasn't the only one who screamed, there at the end. Or maybe Erik didn't scream at all, but Charles certainly did. He might be hoarse for hours.
Erik pulls Charles a little closer and mumbles out a vague sound, sort of like a "no" but without the "oh". "Didn't," he whispers. "We'll have to do this again."
-end-