Work Text:
Argument after argument, day after day. It was as if Magnus didn’t have a single placid bone in his body. In every sense of the word, he was difficult. He knew it well, and he loved to test the limits. There was nothing more exciting than the visible cracks in Charles’ composure once he pushed him past the brink.
Charles was a patient man, yes, but there were situations in which his tolerance ran thin. He didn’t shy away from discipline either. Sometimes without warning. One has to analyze every sigh, every facial twitch, every adjustment of his glasses. It’s hard to estimate exactly when his anger will unfold. But hey, isn’t that part of the fun?
Another thing about Magnus: he’s violent. Slightest thing and he snaps. The click of his pocket knife, the dilation of pupils, and the daunting red of a laceration. Even if you separate him from his blade, he knows how to fend for himself with bare fists, apparent by his frequent bruised knuckles, or the holes in his wall.
Countered by Charles’ formal combat training and history of fencing, they’re hardly compatible. Essentially nullifying each other’s strengths, they circle each other until one gives in or the other finds a (rare) weakness. It’s quite enthralling, to observe their discordant call-and-response.
The harmonic panting shared between two men; one pinned and seething on the cold floor vs one straddling the former, triumphant once more. His hands found solace on the bare chest beneath, directly feeling the trembles and shakes of physical exertion. He was only glad this ritual was a closed practice, unbeknownst to the rest of the band.
The rush of winning took hold of Charles in an alternate manner, reminding him of his neglected desires of the flesh. A soft sigh followed the feeling of a warm mouth around his fingers, pressing them against his tongue. He was rewarded with an influx of drool, and surprisingly no bites (yet!).
An errant voice in the back of Charles’ head echoed, urging him to stick his nails directly into Magnus’s gums. Make him bleed, make him wail. Make him choke and sputter on his own bodily fluids. He always felt the urge to take it one step further, to let the sadist in him take the reins for once.
He repressed it, choosing to instead lower his mouth to the vulnerable throat below. Magnus threw his head to the side the second those soft lips met his neck, assaulting him with open-mouthed kisses that felt hotter than hell. It didn’t take long for them to dissolve into hard bites, leaving teeth marks wherever Charles pleased.
They clawed at each other, both too stubborn to tear each other’s clothes off yet. They could play that game, Charles thought, as he threaded his fingers through the other man’s coarse mane and began to tug as he kissed up his neck, to his chin, arriving at his lips with fervor. He panted into Magnus’ waiting mouth, chuckling at his futile attempts to come closer.
From the bottom, Magnus began to writhe, feeling achingly empty. His hands mindlessly meandered, ultimately going for the throat in the end. He hardly squeezed, rather dangling the threat in front of Charles. He used the grip as leverage, pulling him forward to strike their mouths together.
Caught off guard, Charles yelped as his bottom lip was caught between Magnus’ front teeth. He bit to draw blood, moaning as he caught that metallic taste in his mouth. They passed it back and forth until the flavor was no longer alluring, pulling away abruptly to breathe again. Both felt hot, heavy, and absolutely disgusting.
Charles couldn’t resist anymore as his hands darted for his belt, tugging his pants barely past his thighs before prodding at parted, bloody lips with his erection. He rubbed against the wetness of spit and blood, groaning at the warmth, until Magnus opened up and took the tip into his talented mouth.
Slowly, shallowly, Charles rocked his hips back and forth, showing some semblance of tenderness. Truthfully, he just didn’t wanna cum before drilling into Magnus like his life depended on it, and the extra slickness couldn’t hurt. Besides, he liked the way Magnus’ eyes rolled back with the occasional deep thrust.
However, Magnus’ patience was running thin as he began to undo his own buckle, needing even the slightest relief. The clatter of the metal alerted Charles, though, who quickly reached back and grabbed the other man’s bony wrists.
“Pathetic,” Charles sneered, pulling out of the wet heat around him with a sigh. “You can’t even hold off for a few mere minutes?”
“Fuck, man,” Magnus panted, fighting the grasp binding his hands together. “Don’t make me wait.”
“Huh. Just can’t stand being empty, is that right?”
“Charles.”
The deadpan elicited a soft chuckle from Charles, letting go of Magnus’ wrists and positioning his body between the other man’s legs. His hands traced the frail physique, running his fingers along Magnus’ hip bones. He couldn’t help but shudder in excitement.
Finally, the belt came off. Charles made a show of pulling Magnus’ jeans down, nibbling at his stomach while tugging the fabric towards him. Rolling his eyes, Magnus covered his face with the back of his arm. He hated to make eye contact during sex, or worse, be seen enjoying himself.
“Ah, ah,” Charles tutted, slotting himself against the other’s slit. He pinned Magnus’ arm to the ground, pressing down hard enough to leave it sore; bruised. “You know better.”
Magnus chewed his lip, turning his head to the side as he winced at the feeling of two fingers inside of him, pistoning in and out as they attacked his sweet spot. He was so wet already, Charles could force a third in without resistance.
“C’mon, get to the good part,” Magnus goaded, raising his hips. “I can take it.”
“Oh?” Charles drew back, replacing his fingers with the tip of his cock. “Show me, then.”
He shoved his whole length in, to the hilt, shocking a gasp out of Magnus as he adjusted to the sensation. Charles waited out of courtesy, unmoving despite every single cell in his body begging for him to thrust like there’s no tomorrow. His self control was aggravating.
“Fucking-“ He wheezed, mouth agape and dry. “Don’t hold back.”
Charles’ eyes widened for a moment before processing. He hauled one of Magnus’ legs upon his shoulder and got to work, slamming his hips into Magnus repeatedly, as deep as possible. His eyes fell shut, concentrated on the all-encompassing delight of a tight cunt.
Magnus wasn’t doing much better, clawing at the floor with his free hand as Charles fucked stars into his vision, feeling dizzy from such harsh movements. He was so glad he spurred him on, because the raw passion behind these thrusts felt like enough to split him in half.
He hadn’t realized he was crying, or drooling, or moaning like a pornstar. He didn’t care. Charles let go of his wrist and instead of covering up, he reached for his clit, rubbing furiously in time with the intense fucking. He was devoid of everything worldly besides the cock ramming into his hole.
They messily thrusted against each other, both completely absorbed by pleasure. Funny, how the adrenaline from fighting could be transformed into such animalistic depravity. Their arousal began to crescendo as they melted into one another.
Magnus grabbed Charles by his face, pulling him down to mash their lips together, letting his moans be swallowed rather than ring free. His cunt throbbed as he got closer to his climax, forcing Charles over the edge.
The warmth of Charles’ cum inside him made Magnus whine, rubbing himself faster. He couldn’t take it anymore and came with a growl, digging his nails into whatever part of Charles he was gripping. He didn’t know, couldn’t tell, too blinded by pleasure.
Charles didn’t want to pull out yet—nothing nearby to clean up with—but he was already softening. He grimaced as he unbuttoned his shirt. Better than nothing.