On the first morning after it happens, Erik tries to masturbate in the shower.
It should be easy. It's not like he doesn't know what to do with a cunt or a clit. He slept with a woman that one time. She hadn't complained. But when he reaches between his legs, spreads himself and sets to it, he immediately flinches. It's nothing he can work with--not even a good kind of uncomfortable.
He doesn't have time to fuck around with it, so he stops worrying about it and finishes up in the shower.
He tries again that night, with the same result.
When he takes his hand away, he hears, Do you need help with that, by any chance?
No, Erik responds--a little more viciously than he might have if Charles' first response to the situation hadn't been to laugh at him. He won't be subject to anyone's ridicule.
Erik's resolve lasts through four more failed masturbation sessions.
He's jacked himself off in the shower at least once a day for years, the one thing guaranteed to relieve at least some of his tension. Lately, it's been mutual masturbation more than anything else--or at least it was--which had been even better, up until this. Erik can't remember the last time he was wound up this tight. He can't remember the last time he needed to get off this badly. He's never needed to get off this badly without being able to.
Near the end of their drive that day, Erik says, "Fine. Fine. I--As long as you don't-- Fine."
"Marvelous," Charles says. He reaches out and starts rubbing Erik's knee.
Erik's surprised at how quickly, how strongly his body reacts--stabs of pleasure, familiar enough despite everything, and a slickness between his legs. It'd be uncomfortable if it didn't feel so good. It's not long before he's aching inside, and it's strange not to be straining against the front of his pants, but not so strange that he's going to make Charles take his hand back.
He feels himself getting warm all over, especially in the face. It's not the first time Charles has made him blush. He wishes it were; at least then he could try to blame this body, and not just...Charles.
No one else has ever made Erik blush. Then again, anonymous encounters in back alleys don't really lend themselves to that sort of thing; maybe he'd blush for anyone he slept with more than once, anyone he actually knew. But somehow he doesn't think so.
Charles keeps rubbing Erik's knee, then up and down his thigh. Now that he thinks of it, Charles has barely touched him in days, ever since this first happened. Maybe that's why he's reacting so much to something that isn't really anything.
The rest of the drive to the hotel is torturous. Normally, when Erik wants Charles this much, he'd just pull off the main road onto some little-used trail. Charles has given him any number of frontseat blowjobs. They've made use of the backseat a few times. They could do that now, but....
"Hotel," Charles agrees. "More room to...maneuver, as it were."
'More room to show off,' is what he means. Erik doesn't miss his smugness. He chooses to ignore it, too turned on to be as bothered by it as he ought to be.
Erik's never liked fingers in his ass--nothing less than cock will do--so he's surprised at the sound (definitely not a whimper, but close) that comes out of his own mouth, the way he arches into Charles' touch when Charles slides a finger in.
They're tangled together on the bed. Charles is still dressed. Erik is too, except his pants are open enough for Charles' hand to reach.
"...Another one," Erik says. "Give me another one."
Charles says, "So demanding." Smug again, but he does it, slipping a second finger in with the first. This time, there's stretching, a burn along with the pleasure.
Erik squeezes his thighs around Charles' hand, his wrist, and lets him stroke his fingers inside for a minute or two before he loses patience and starts moving against Charles, riding Charles' fingers at his own rough pace until rubs his thumb against Erik's clitoris--
Then Erik comes, hard, clenching around Charles' fingers.
A little while later, Erik's pants are off, and he's riding Charles' face. They'd started with Erik on his back, but he hadn't liked that. It felt too exposed. This, he does like. Charles doesn't seem to mind it either, from the way he held Erik's waist to help guide him over, from the greedy sounds he's making now.
Erik comes again.
When he sees the mess all over Charles' face, he almost comes a third time. He wouldn't have thought he could get wetter, but he'd have been wrong. When he gets his cock back, he's going to have to come all over Charles' face, just for comparison.
He reaches down to the hard bulge in Charles' trousers, gives him a squeeze and then another. Charles groans.
Erik says, "You could fuck me. If you wanted to. Up my--there." He hadn't intended to offer any such thing, but he wants to know what that burn would feel like with more than fingers. And there's more he wants, now that he's thinking of it: "You'd keep your clothes on--" they've always both been naked when fucking before, but there's something he really likes about the idea of Charles staying dressed while Erik himself is half-naked "--just open your pants enough to get your cock out."
"Oh, yes," Charles says.
Erik's bend over the bed, Charles taking him from behind, his hands on Erik's hips, holding him still, denim rubbing the insides of Erik's thighs with each thrust.
When Erik's close--again--Charles reaches around for Erik's clit, then hesitates and moves his hand to stroke Erik's buttock instead. He goes still--Erik will never understand why 'I'm thinking' always translates to 'let's stop in the middle of fucking, even if one or both of us is just about to come' for Charles--then spreads Erik's cheeks, runs a finger lightly over Erik's hole--teasing, not penetrating--and murmurs, "What would you think about finishing up this way?"
There's nothing Erik likes more than Charles' cock in his ass. All this other stuff is good, but new and exciting as it is, none of it's that good.
"What do you think?" he demands. He's never had patience for stupid questions. Especially stupid pausing-midway questions.
Charles pulls out slowly, then repositions himself at Erik's entrance and starts pushing in, working his way into Erik's ass steadily until he's fully seated, his cock already slick and ready from Erik. The burn is just as good as it always is--better than usual, even, with Erik so close already. It's a good thing he's never given a damn one way or the other about his prostate--the good part's always been the stretch, the burn, Charles filling him up.
Charles begins to move, just the way Erik likes it, those sharp, almost brutal thrusts. Erik comes again just as Charles starts reaching around him, before he can get a finger in Erik's cunt or on his clit.
He thrusts into him for a minute or two more, his rhythm going erratic toward the end, until he jerks against Erik and comes with a moan, then collapses on top of Erik. It'll be annoying in a minute, but for now, the solid weight of him pressing Erik into the mattress is exactly what Erik needs.
Later, when they've both showered and the lights are off, Charles says, "I don't suppose you're engaging in any self-reflection."
"What?" Erik snaps, not in the mood for Charles' guessing games now that he's stopped being high on hormones and started being sore. There's no way Charles is touching him again until this thing wears off.
Charles mutters something, too low for Erik to make it out.
"--What was that?"
"Oh, nothing," Charles says. "You're perfect just the way you are, dear. There's no room for improvement whatsoever."
Erik's too tired to work out whether Charles is being sarcastic or not. The sentiment sounds legitimate enough to him, so he decides to let it go.