There’s a thrum of what he wants to call adrenaline but knows is unreasonable fear thrumming alongside the pleasure now, because nobody has ever done that to Erik, opened him up and pushed into his body instead of the other way around, made him vulnerable like that.
There have been men, before Charles, of course. Erik hadn’t come to him a virgin, and he knows Charles has had others before him, faceless men and women Erik tries not to think about too much. But Erik has never allowed anyone to fuck him. It would be too much like intimacy.
The idea of it is…
Charles had said Erik was his, he thinks, and wants with a desperate urgency to be closer, to be his.
“Okay,” he hears himself say, and the look of astonished disbelief on Charles’ face is enough to make him say it again, more firmly, before he can change his mind.
Charles smiles then, soft-edged, and looks at Erik like he’s - like he’s something special, something precious. “Oh, darling,” and his voice is hardly above a whisper in the quiet of the night, the endearment like a brush against Erik’s naked skin, “oh, sweetheart,” and Charles kisses him, kisses him like he wants to be here, hands cupping Erik’s face where Erik has unfurled his grip and let him reach out to him. The kiss itself is the strangest mix of tenderness and aggression, like Charles is trying to hold himself back but can’t, quite. Then Charles sits back and reaches for the bedside cabinet drawer.
Erik has a minute, first, to freak out silently, before Charles has finished slicking up his fingers.
When he brings his oiled hand to touch between Erik’s legs it’s impossible not to flinch, but Charles is still sat where he can hold Erik down and he presses forward anyway, waits for Erik to settle before laying his fingers against Erik’s hole and waiting for a moment while Erik swallows down the urge to throw him off entirely. His touch is hot and slick, a gentle pressure that nonetheless feels bizarre. “Sssh,” Charles says, and starts moving his fingertips in a slow circle, rubbing at the puckered skin as though they have all the time in the world, though Erik can see how hard Charles is, the way he’s biting at his lip this time not to tease himself but to stop himself from pushing too far too fast.
Erik tries not to move, shifts under him, restless. There’s nowhere much he can reach to touch Charles without getting in the way, and his hands flex where they’re laid on the mattress at his sides, longing to reach out.
After a minute or two the muscle relaxes enough that Charles dips the first knuckle of a finger in, and Erik hisses and tips his head back so he can stare anywhere but at Charles, because it feels so strange, and unwelcome, and he both wants it and doesn’t want it, his body flexing around the intruder unable to make up its mind whether to expel it or draw it further in, and Erik is in no state to help with the decision. Part of Charles is inside him, is pushing further on a sleek trail of oil that Charles is working into him as he loosens Erik up, fingers dragging where they’ve never been before…
“No, look at me,” Charles orders, and it is an order, his voice firm as it’s ever been and firmer than it’s been in a while; Erik’s chin snaps down to his chest so that their eyes lock, and that’s when Charles finds Erik’s prostate, fingertip pressing in against it and jolting hot electricity straight up his spine.
Erik makes an incoherent noise halfway between a scream and a moan, and his body convulses of its own accord, shoving against Charles’ fingers in him as the second one joins the first, easing its way in while Erik is too busy trying collect the parts of himself that have scattered around the room, draw them back together enough to process that feeling -
Charles does it again.
“Aagh!” He’s half-sobbing now, trying not to look away from Charles’ eyes, which are fixed on his face in something like fascination, mouth half-open and breath heaving in and out as though he’s the one with the fingers up inside of him, being - oh -
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timeasmymeasure
FILL: Everyday Love in Stockholm 182/?
Date: 2012-03-16 10:40 pm (UTC)There have been men, before Charles, of course. Erik hadn’t come to him a virgin, and he knows Charles has had others before him, faceless men and women Erik tries not to think about too much. But Erik has never allowed anyone to fuck him. It would be too much like intimacy.
The idea of it is…
Charles had said Erik was his, he thinks, and wants with a desperate urgency to be closer, to be his.
“Okay,” he hears himself say, and the look of astonished disbelief on Charles’ face is enough to make him say it again, more firmly, before he can change his mind.
Charles smiles then, soft-edged, and looks at Erik like he’s - like he’s something special, something precious. “Oh, darling,” and his voice is hardly above a whisper in the quiet of the night, the endearment like a brush against Erik’s naked skin, “oh, sweetheart,” and Charles kisses him, kisses him like he wants to be here, hands cupping Erik’s face where Erik has unfurled his grip and let him reach out to him. The kiss itself is the strangest mix of tenderness and aggression, like Charles is trying to hold himself back but can’t, quite. Then Charles sits back and reaches for the bedside cabinet drawer.
Erik has a minute, first, to freak out silently, before Charles has finished slicking up his fingers.
When he brings his oiled hand to touch between Erik’s legs it’s impossible not to flinch, but Charles is still sat where he can hold Erik down and he presses forward anyway, waits for Erik to settle before laying his fingers against Erik’s hole and waiting for a moment while Erik swallows down the urge to throw him off entirely. His touch is hot and slick, a gentle pressure that nonetheless feels bizarre. “Sssh,” Charles says, and starts moving his fingertips in a slow circle, rubbing at the puckered skin as though they have all the time in the world, though Erik can see how hard Charles is, the way he’s biting at his lip this time not to tease himself but to stop himself from pushing too far too fast.
Erik tries not to move, shifts under him, restless. There’s nowhere much he can reach to touch Charles without getting in the way, and his hands flex where they’re laid on the mattress at his sides, longing to reach out.
After a minute or two the muscle relaxes enough that Charles dips the first knuckle of a finger in, and Erik hisses and tips his head back so he can stare anywhere but at Charles, because it feels so strange, and unwelcome, and he both wants it and doesn’t want it, his body flexing around the intruder unable to make up its mind whether to expel it or draw it further in, and Erik is in no state to help with the decision. Part of Charles is inside him, is pushing further on a sleek trail of oil that Charles is working into him as he loosens Erik up, fingers dragging where they’ve never been before…
“No, look at me,” Charles orders, and it is an order, his voice firm as it’s ever been and firmer than it’s been in a while; Erik’s chin snaps down to his chest so that their eyes lock, and that’s when Charles finds Erik’s prostate, fingertip pressing in against it and jolting hot electricity straight up his spine.
Erik makes an incoherent noise halfway between a scream and a moan, and his body convulses of its own accord, shoving against Charles’ fingers in him as the second one joins the first, easing its way in while Erik is too busy trying collect the parts of himself that have scattered around the room, draw them back together enough to process that feeling -
Charles does it again.
“Aagh!” He’s half-sobbing now, trying not to look away from Charles’ eyes, which are fixed on his face in something like fascination, mouth half-open and breath heaving in and out as though he’s the one with the fingers up inside of him, being - oh -