"Well, I think you should suck me. And then fuck me," Charles said, glancing suggestively at the sofa. Charles, who was considerably taller than he'd been three hours ago. Charles, who had hair on his head again, and long skinny arms. Charles, who was younger than Erik had ever known him. He couldn't possibly be older than fifteen. "Actually, I'm probably about twenty. Maybe. I mean, sure, I looked fifteen until I was twenty-five, but when I was fifteen I looked twelve, so I couldn't possibly be any younger than seventeen right now." He paused, as if waiting for Erik to comment, and when Erik didn't, said, "Seventeen is the age of consent in the state of New York, by the way."
As if that made it any better, or Erik any more likely to believe him. Charles had always been a terrible liar, and, even when he was making sense, the more he talked, the less likely anything he was saying was true.
"No," Erik said. "It's not happening this time."
It had been one thing for them to take advantage of the situation on the occasions when one or both of them had run afoul of sex pollen on one of these vacations they'd taken together away from their respective duties and lives. It had been different when they'd been kidnapped by aliens, or when one or both of them had been transformed into a woman's body for a day or two at a time. Erik had always been willing to be convinced. As for the times Charles had developed surprising physical mutations, a pair of wings in one instance and cat ears and tails in the other—Erik hadn't needed Charles to tell him they ought to take advantage of that while it lasted. All those avenues had been worth exploring—but this, Erik felt, was taking it too far.
"Well, you're wrong." Charles took a step toward Erik, whose back was already to the door, requiring him to step sideways to evade him. "Not that that's news."
"I'm not interested," Erik gritted out, keeping his eyes trained on Charles' face so he wouldn't notice anything else. He'd noticed too much already—Charles' flushed face and the all-too obvious bulge in the front of his trousers, the curve of his collarbone under the sagging neckline of a shirt meant for a man with much broader shoulders, the shell of his ear peeking out from under his hair.
Charles rolled his eyes. "You liar. Fine. Have it your way. I'll just take care of myself, then."
So saying, he threw himself down on the couch and began massaging himself through his trousers, with a groan so theatrical it could only have been meant for Erik's benefit.
For his part, Erik turned around so quickly he felt whiplashed, and decided he'd be better off elsewhere.
****
Unfortunately, 'elsewhere' wasn't anywhere speak of. Erik was still a wanted fugitive, so they'd always vacationed at secluded locations, even before realizing the way trouble tended to follow them whenever they were together. They were up in the mountains now, at a cabin Charles had rented for the purpose—or perhaps it was one he owned. Erik didn't know. He usually didn't care to ask, and he hadn't asked this time.
There was nowhere to go, but Erik wandered down the driveway to the chained gate anyway. There, he smoked several cigarettes, watching the road and pointedly not thinking about what Charles was doing a hundred yards away. He was vindicated in that decision when Charles' presence dipped into his awareness, lazy and sated and not in the least bit stealthy. He had a habit of doing that, as if coming in shouting would make Erik believe that Charles' silence always indicated his absence.
It's safe to come in now, Charles projected, stressing the sarcasm much more strongly than he needed to.
Erik finished his cigarette, then took Charles' word for it and headed back in.
****
"For God's sake, no. You're not sleeping on the couch," Charles said around eleven, after they'd eaten dinner and played a few rounds of chess, Erik constantly forgetting that Charles had changed whenever he was at the stove or looking down at the board, only to be startled when he looked back up and found a teenager looking back at him. "That's ridiculous."
Erik would have doubled down on his stated intention, but then he remembered what Charles had been doing on that couch earlier. He wouldn't be able to think of anything else if he exiled himself there by himself. So he lay down beside Charles in the bed, tensing up when Charles tried to cuddle up next to him underneath the blankets.
"Oh, come off it, I can't even touch you now?"
"Only if you can behave," Erik said, resigned.
****
Charles didn't behave. Neither of them did. Things were fine before they went to sleep, Charles curled up next to Erik, his head on Erik's shoulder and Erik's arm around his—but sometime in the middle of the night, Erik woke up to Charles' legs wrapped around him, his fingers in Charles' hair, each of them kissing the other sleepily.
It had been a long time since they'd woken each other up like this. The last time had probably been in 1962, when everything between them had still been so new and bright.
"What's going on?" Charles murmured when Erik pulled away. "Where're you going?" He grabbed after Erik in the dark, then stopped. "—Oh. Sorry."
"You should be," Erik said. Whoever had started it while they were both sleeping, it had gone on long enough before they'd woken up that Erik was hard. He knew Charles was, too (twice in one day for him, now, a novelty neither of them had experienced in many years), could practically still feel Charles' cock pressed into his thigh.
Neither of them said anything for a minute, the only sound their harsh breathing in the dark. Then Charles said, "I don't understand why you're being so stubborn about this. I'm here. I'm me. I'm willing. Who cares if I look a little younger? What does it matter? For all you know, I really am twenty-five and I'll have stubble by the morning. Anyway, I know you want to. I know you'd like it."
"You always think you know everything."
"That's because I do know everything," Charles said, sidling up next to Erik again, kissing him on the neck. Erik stiffened, but didn't move away as Charles spoke quietly into his ear. "You feel guilty for how much you want me the way I am right now, don't you? I'm not an old man. I'm not in that chair. You think being excited about that makes you a bad person. It doesn't have a thing to do with whether or not I'm legal, does it?"
If there was one thing Erik truly hated, it was Charles' habit of telling Erik what he was thinking and feeling, when he neither wanted to think or feel it, nor acknowledge it in any way. He didn't want to worry about any of this. And he didn't want to have to look at Charles and see the way he'd been, long before Erik had stained him.
"Well, if you're a bad person, then I am, too," Charles said, thankfully skipping the lecture about how he was somehow, despite everything, happier to have Erik in his life than not, "because it excites the hell out of me. And if you won't cooperate, then tomorrow I'm going to go off and find a twenty-one year old in a bar somewhere who will."
Somehow, Erik always ended up giving in to Charles—never on the big things, the things that kept them apart months and years at a time. But the little things Charles wanted that Erik didn't want to want too—there, he always ended up following wherever Charles wanted to lead. And now, as Charles kissed his neck again, and started sliding his hand down Erik's chest, he gave in once again, even waving the bedside lamp on so he could see Charles as he was.
"Do you remember," Charles said between kisses, "what I said before," his hand ran over Erik's erection, then around to his ass, "about what I wanted?"
"I remember," Erik said. To prove it, he pulled Charles' shirt up, then began kissing his way down Charles' chest and stomach. There was no little dissonance there, Charles' upper body too skinny, his legs skinny too but still with much more muscle mass than he'd had when they set out on this trip the day before.
"Hurry up," Charles said, his fingers finding Erik's hair now. "God—I'm about to go off already. I'm not sure I'm going to make it."
Erik took the hint, and helped Charles pull his pajama bottoms down, after which he lost no time taking Charles' cock into his mouth. Charles groaned, his hips thrusting up—a motion so surprising to Erik that he nearly choked. He was used to Charles being still and petting Erik's hair when he had his cock sucked, humming to himself and acting all but unaffected, as if he were only humoring Erik. Erik hated it. Erik loved it. It irritated the hell out of him and turned him more than almost anything else could. But now, Charles was groaning with every motion, his hands wound so tightly in Erik's hair that one of them might end the night bald after all, and when Erik glanced up at him, his face was twisted up in ecstasy. There was something to be said for being given the opportunity to take Charles Xavier apart.
Charles lasted only a minute or two before he came at the back of Erik's throat, crying out as Erik swallowed around Charles' jerking cock. He hadn't gotten the chance to taste Charles nearly often enough over the past few decades, and was more than a little reluctant to let him go. But he had to if he were going to crawl over Charles' body and kiss his mouth, share that taste, and so he did.
"I bet you're not about to go off early," Charles said after catching his breath, in the same smooth, above-it-all tone he always took when he'd come but Erik hadn't yet. He reached into Erik's underwear and began to stroke him. "See that you don't. I still want you to fuck me."
They kissed for a good long while after that, shedding their clothing a piece at a time, until they were both naked, Charles with his legs wrapped around Erik's waist again, Erik grinding against him, taking his time. He'd had many years to learn to take his time with Charles, beginning with their first time after the beach.
"Yes, yes. Your old man stamina is really something else," Charles said. He was hard for yet the third time, making up for in enthusiasm what he lacked in stamina. "But I need you to fuck me now. Stop teasing and stick it in already."
Charles talked a lot when he was lying, but he also talked a lot in bed, bossy and overbearing. He'd picked up on how embarrassing and hot Erik found it the first time they'd ever had sex, and hadn't shut up since. (Well, except for when he let Erik gag him, which was also incredible.)
"Since you asked so nicely," Erik said, pulling away and going for the bottle of lube on the bedside table. He slicked himself up, making the usual show of it as he kneeled between Charles' legs, and was rewarded by the look on Charles' face as he watched, licking his lips. It was the same look he wore whenever Erik was about to fuck his mouth—greedy anticipation, the furthest possible thing from the detached disinterest that drove Erik so crazy.
When Erik was ready, Charles reached out and reeled him back in. Erik pushed into him, a slow steady slide, Charles' legs wrapping around him again and Charles' hands squeezing his ass to urge him on.
"Oh, yes," Charles said. "Like that—yes."
Erik began to move, long slow thrusts inside that tight heat, testing angles until he came across the one that would let him brush Charles' prostate with every stroke. It took a minute to get it right—Erik was used to fucking Charles over the wedge pillow or in the sling, not like this.
Charles' hands ran up and down Erik's back, urging him on. "Come on," he said, panting into Erik's ear again. His heels dug into the backs of Erik's thighs. "Give it to me. Put your back into it, old man."
Erik had meant to take his time, let it build, but if Charles wanted it that badly, well, Erik couldn't deny him. He picked up the pace, driving into him, and was rewarded by Charles' fingers digging into his back, pulling Erik as close as he could get him and holding on tight. After a few minutes, Erik braced himself with one hand on the mattress and reached between their bodies, working Charles' cock for about thirty seconds this time before he came all over the both of them.
Charles relaxed after that, melting into the mattress, his hands now rubbing up and down Erik's back as he made soft, vaguely pleased sounds of encouragement, which were somehow even more motivating than the earlier urging had been. Erik redoubled his efforts, fucking into Charles even more urgently than before, without worrying about the angle any longer, or anything other than his own pleasure. His orgasm built and built, and finally he stiffened and came.
"Wasn't that nice?" Charles asked as Erik sank down onto him, as if he didn't know exactly how it had been. "I told you so, didn't I?"
****
When Erik woke up the next morning, the first thing he noticed was that he was sore. His throat was sore. His back was sore. His scalp was sore. His knees were sore. There was only one thing he'd used last night that wasn't sore, and if he fucked Charles again this weekend it was going to be.
The second think he noticed was that Charles was back to his old bald self, lying there watching Erik wake up with an incredibly smug look on his face.
"Good morning," Charles said. Charles this pleased with himself was a nigh-on unbearable person, and the rest of what he had to say just proved it. "I hear you cheated on me with a hot young thing last night. I hope you enjoyed yourself."
"He was all right. He didn't have anything on you."
Charles grinned. "Yes. Very good. Turn up the flattery." His placed his hand on Erik's thigh, lowering his voice suggestively. "That's an excellent good start when it comes to making it up to me and clearing your guilty conscience." If Erik had had a guilty conscience, having to listen to this would have cleared it up already out of nothing more than spite. "Tell me, what's your next step?"
From the direction his hand was heading, it was abundantly clear what he wanted Erik's next step to be. And, sore as he was, Erik had no objections.