In the end Charles has to get up to look through the viewfinder to make sure it’s focused correctly and pointing in the right direction, but they manage, Erik slowly relaxing from the stiff awkwardness he had felt in his childhood to a half-smile the two of them charm out of him, and it’s almost reflexive to squeeze the button down when Raven jabs Charles in the side and makes him laugh, eyes creasing shut even as the bright light leaves spots dancing in his eyes and another photograph joins the pile of glossy squares on the floor, slowly developing into something worth looking at.
XXIV
When Charles follows him into the bedroom that evening Erik is kneeling in front of the wardrobe, closing the box he keeps there with a soft thunk that catches the other man’s attention; he wanders over to stand behind Erik as he rocks up onto his haunches and stands, what he was looking for clutched carefully in his right hand.
“This is where I grew up,” Erik says as quickly as possible, handing the photograph to Charles almost dismissively, like passing off a grenade.
“Oh.” Charles takes it from him with the sort of reverence usually reserved for ancient artifacts or mugs of tea, pinched carefully between finger and thumb as though he’s worried he might hurt it. “It looks nice, Erik.”
It feels awkward, showing him, waiting for his - approval? Opinion? Erik shifts uncomfortably, pulling a hand out of his pocket where he’d put it safely out of the way and running it back through his hair, wonders if it needs cutting, ignores the tight little breathless feeling in his chest that’s somewhere between panic and love. “This is after. Someone else lived there by the time it was taken, but I - well. I saw all of yours, earlier.”
“Thank you for sharing it with me.” Charles looks up from the picture to smile at him, and it feels right to reach for Charles in that moment, mimicking that dry kiss earlier, gentler than their mouths have met before, almost soft. Erik presses his lips to Charles’ as carefully as Charles holds the photograph, and it’s like meeting him all over again, mouths and tongues moving against one another slowly, wetting the kiss but not hurrying, not pushing and furious but for the first time… sweet.
Charles’ hands grip Erik’s waist tightly, and for a moment he worries about the photo, but Charles has put it down on the dresser and his fingers are free to curl over Erik’s hipbones, hook through his beltloops and tug, pulling them closer together as Erik touches him in a long caress between his shoulder and the nape of his neck, warm skin under his fingertips that he strokes, careful, and teasing a quiet sound from Charles that tingles in Erik’s chest. He’s almost surprised to find himself stiffening, helplessly aroused by just this simple thing, by Charles’ thumbs rubbing just beneath the hem of his shirt, tracing the skin above his belt and pushing a little under it to trace a scar that tracks from back to front; stranger yet, he doesn’t mind, this time, that Charles has found it. When he tugs Charles closer the other man is hard, too, hips jerking a little against his when they meet, aroused but not urgent.
“Let me,” and Erik pushes him a little, back toward the bed, but Charles goes easily, willingly.
They strip each other, this time, and even this is slow, with pauses for exploration of each new part as it’s exposed until they’re both bared. Erik kisses him once more on the mouth before moving down, and Charles breathes in sharp and shuddering, fingers tangling in Erik’s hair when he takes the swollen head of Charles’ cock into his mouth. He wraps his lips around it and sucks, tracing the leaking slit at the top with the tip of his tongue, his hand stroking and steadying the length of it he hasn’t reached yet. Under him Charles is quivering and moaning quietly, fingers curling and uncurling against Erik’s scalp, each near-catch of his fingernails like the way Erik imagines it would feel to try and harness lightning, all of that electrical energy prickling across his skin and making him shake, too, groaning around the wide stretch of his lips and the cock in his mouth, soft over hard, pulse thrumming on his tongue as he slides lower, takes more, sucks and pushes down the urge to gag.
FILL: Everyday Love in Stockholm 130/?
When Charles follows him into the bedroom that evening Erik is kneeling in front of the wardrobe, closing the box he keeps there with a soft thunk that catches the other man’s attention; he wanders over to stand behind Erik as he rocks up onto his haunches and stands, what he was looking for clutched carefully in his right hand.
“This is where I grew up,” Erik says as quickly as possible, handing the photograph to Charles almost dismissively, like passing off a grenade.
“Oh.” Charles takes it from him with the sort of reverence usually reserved for ancient artifacts or mugs of tea, pinched carefully between finger and thumb as though he’s worried he might hurt it. “It looks nice, Erik.”
It feels awkward, showing him, waiting for his - approval? Opinion? Erik shifts uncomfortably, pulling a hand out of his pocket where he’d put it safely out of the way and running it back through his hair, wonders if it needs cutting, ignores the tight little breathless feeling in his chest that’s somewhere between panic and love. “This is after. Someone else lived there by the time it was taken, but I - well. I saw all of yours, earlier.”
“Thank you for sharing it with me.” Charles looks up from the picture to smile at him, and it feels right to reach for Charles in that moment, mimicking that dry kiss earlier, gentler than their mouths have met before, almost soft. Erik presses his lips to Charles’ as carefully as Charles holds the photograph, and it’s like meeting him all over again, mouths and tongues moving against one another slowly, wetting the kiss but not hurrying, not pushing and furious but for the first time… sweet.
Charles’ hands grip Erik’s waist tightly, and for a moment he worries about the photo, but Charles has put it down on the dresser and his fingers are free to curl over Erik’s hipbones, hook through his beltloops and tug, pulling them closer together as Erik touches him in a long caress between his shoulder and the nape of his neck, warm skin under his fingertips that he strokes, careful, and teasing a quiet sound from Charles that tingles in Erik’s chest. He’s almost surprised to find himself stiffening, helplessly aroused by just this simple thing, by Charles’ thumbs rubbing just beneath the hem of his shirt, tracing the skin above his belt and pushing a little under it to trace a scar that tracks from back to front; stranger yet, he doesn’t mind, this time, that Charles has found it. When he tugs Charles closer the other man is hard, too, hips jerking a little against his when they meet, aroused but not urgent.
“Let me,” and Erik pushes him a little, back toward the bed, but Charles goes easily, willingly.
They strip each other, this time, and even this is slow, with pauses for exploration of each new part as it’s exposed until they’re both bared. Erik kisses him once more on the mouth before moving down, and Charles breathes in sharp and shuddering, fingers tangling in Erik’s hair when he takes the swollen head of Charles’ cock into his mouth. He wraps his lips around it and sucks, tracing the leaking slit at the top with the tip of his tongue, his hand stroking and steadying the length of it he hasn’t reached yet. Under him Charles is quivering and moaning quietly, fingers curling and uncurling against Erik’s scalp, each near-catch of his fingernails like the way Erik imagines it would feel to try and harness lightning, all of that electrical energy prickling across his skin and making him shake, too, groaning around the wide stretch of his lips and the cock in his mouth, soft over hard, pulse thrumming on his tongue as he slides lower, takes more, sucks and pushes down the urge to gag.