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"Please," Erik gasps, "please, please--"
It feels like he's been begging forever. He passed the point of thinking he couldn't bear it long ago, what seems like hours ago, but then Charles put a hand on his hip, paused-- buried deep inside him-- and sent out a thought: «Do you want me to stop?»
«God, no, never stop,» Erik thought back at him, and he could feel Charles's smile in his mind as Charles kept going.
Now, though, now Charles is stopping (fuck), drawing back (no, please), pulling out (no, no, no). When Erik turns to look over his shoulder, face and hair damp with sweat, eyes tearing up from sheer desperation, Charles runs both hands through his hair-- he's flushed from the chest up from the exertion and dripping sweat every bit as much as Erik is. He rolls over, stretching out beside Erik on the bed.
"I don't need to stop," Charles says, "but my knees, they can't take it." He raises one eyebrow in a challenge-- can yours?, Erik thinks that eyebrow's saying-- and given the fact that Erik's not done, might possibly never be done, could theoretically die if he doesn't get Charles's cock inside him again right now, he's willing to find out.
He climbs up on Charles, swings a leg over Charles's hips, and lifts Charles's cock back into position-- and then there, oh, he's sinking down, taking every inch of Charles's cock into his increasingly-sore ass. It doesn't matter that he's sore. He wants it, needs it, won't stop until he's had enough, and Charles gasps and reaches out for Erik's hips as Erik starts to move.
At first, the burn in Erik's ass is all he can think about, but as he keeps going, his thighs start to ache from it, too. He's a runner; his thighs are used to motion, to a rhythm that starts out strong and just keeps going for hours at a stretch. But this is different, of course-- this blissful exhaustion, the pleasure radiating through his body, the stretch and strain that comes from supporting his whole body weight with his thighs, levering himself up and down to get Charles's cock inside him, deeper, deeper.
Charles's fingers dig into Erik's hips, and Charles braces his feet on the bed, giving Erik a little boost: the angle changes, pushes Charles's cock a little further in, and Erik gasps, falling forward, catching himself on Charles's chest. He hangs there, suspended above Charles, letting Charles use his hands (which are pulling Erik down, moving him like he can keep this up for-- if not hours, then for long enough-- his forearms tight and hard from the strain) and his hips (rocking, rocking, pushing his cock in over and over) and his legs (the strength in them slamming Charles's hips up against Erik's ass, and it's perfect, perfect) to hold Erik in place and fuck him, fuck him, use him like no one else has ever dared.
As if Erik would ever have allowed anyone else to see him this filthy, this desperate. From the beginning, Charles has gotten in where no one else has been permitted. He meant it when he said he knew everything about Erik, and he's proven over and over again that he wants Erik anyway. It means Erik has no secrets from him, and at times like these, he's glad.
One of Charles's hands comes off Erik's hip, his fingertips going to his temple. «Put your hand on your cock,» Charles thinks at him, and before Erik really knows what he's doing, his hand is curled around his cock, stroking off. He looks up at Charles, half-alarmed-- he is far too close to stroke off now, not if he doesn't want to come-- but Charles isn't letting up. It's now, Charles has decided it's to be now, and Erik nods sharply and follows along with it, closing his eyes and letting himself feel every ounce of pleasure Charles is giving him.
Having Charles stroke him off with his own hand-- there's a thrill to it unlike anything else. He feels the familiar sensation of his arm working, his hand twisting, all happening in the rhythm he likes, and yet it's shocking, each stroke a surprise, not automatic or built on habit but directed, given to him as an order and a gift. Erik can't possibly hold out, has never been able to hold out through this, and so as Charles buries his cock in Erik's ass over and over again, Erik gasps out loud and comes, streaking Charles's stomach and chest with it. His grip-- Charles's grip-- tightens, stroking Erik's cock past the point where Erik would have stopped, if it were up to him; Erik shudders and gasps, certain that this time he's going to go blind from it. His pleasure sends Charles over, too: Charles groans, long and loud, half in voice and half in thought, pushing up into Erik one more time and then coming with a soft, bitten-off cry.
As soon as Charles lets him go, Erik falls forward, collapsing onto Charles's chest. Charles lets out his air in a whoof, and he carefully pitches Erik off to the side, but Erik doesn't mind. He stretches out his arms and legs and lies there, sweat cooling on his back, already beginning to stick to the sheets.
Charles runs his hand down Erik's back, from his shoulder to the dimples just above his ass-- Erik never had occasion to notice them before he got involved with Charles, but Charles has spent enough time touching them and licking them and generally being obsessed with them that Erik knows exactly what Charles is up to now. He traces Erik's right dimple with a finger, then moves to the other side and gives the left one similar treatment; Erik doesn't quite have the energy to squirm.
"You're beautiful," Charles whispers. "How I ever manage to do anything else is beyond me."
Erik laughs, muffled by the pillow. Just now, the idea of even rolling over is daunting; doing anything other than lying in bed having Charles touch him seems absurd. And Charles doesn't seem inclined to stop touching him; in fact, his hand is moving lower, and... lower, and... his fingers are slipping between Erik's cheeks, his fingertips pressing gently against Erik's sore, reddened hole. Erik whimpers, but spreads his legs, and Charles sinks two fingers into Erik's ass, drawing a pained, pleased moan out of him. He shifts backwards, trying to get Charles's fingers a little further inside him, just a little further, «please, please, Charles, just a little more...»
"A little more?" Charles whispers. He scoots closer, until he can rest his cheek on Erik's shoulder. When he's settled, he starts moving his fingers, rocking them slowly in and out, twisting them when Erik starts to push back against him.
"Charles," Erik moans. «Charles, please.»
«Please what?» Charles answers, mind-to-mind. «You can have anything you want. Anything. Just ask.»
«More,» Erik thinks, canting his hips back again.
«More,» Charles thinks, and the fact that the thought is colored with amusement is mitigated somewhat by the sensations of awe and pleasure that go along with it. «You've worn me out, you know. But I can give you this...»
He slips his fingers out, but when he presses them in again, Erik's lucky enough to get a third. He pushes himself up on his forearms, tilting his head back and taking long, deep swallows of air, rutting forward against the sheet despite being all but stuck to it. With Charles's fingers working inside him, Erik can feel his cock getting interested in this all over again, but it's too soon and the orgasm was too all-encompassing; there's no way he'll come again tonight.
«Beautiful,» Charles thinks at him, and right now Erik believes it. He's sore, he's tired, he's sweaty and sticky and halfway to mindless ruin-- but Charles thinks he's beautiful, and Charles's gorgeous thick cock and his talented fingers have been proving it all night.
Charles presses his fingers in deeply and then presses them against-- oh, God, there. Erik shivers, pressing himself more deeply into the bed. «Please, yes, please...»
«Please what?» Charles asks. He kisses Erik's shoulder. «Does it still feel good?»
«Yes...» There's a but implicit in the word, and Charles draws it out of his mind with relative ease. But it's a tease, I can't come, it's too much, but oh, I want it, I want it...
"Oh," Charles breathes. His hand works a little faster, and he scoots even closer, his whole body pressed up to Erik's now. "Oh, Erik, let me..."
«Yes,» Erik sends, «let you what?»
But by the time he's formed the question, Charles is already inside his mind, showing him.
There are pleasure centers in the brain, Charles has told him that; Erik's never really pursued the idea, because Charles is so damnably good at pleasuring Erik's body. But now, Erik's getting to see firsthand what it's like having Charles go all out, using his incredible power in order to seek out Erik's pleasure centers and caress them.
And it works, oh God, it works, Erik practically feels like he's on fire with how well it's working. His jaw drops, he pants for breath, and all the while, Charles's fingers are still moving inside him, still adding that intense, delicious, almost-too-much sensation to the nearly-conceptual but utterly overwhelming feel of Charles's mind driving him to new heights.
«Charles,» Erik sends out, desperate. «Slow down-- no, faster-- please, I'm going mad, you have to let me-- can you make me, oh God, please, make me come again, please, please...»
«I can,» Charles thinks, giddiness mixed with absolute certainty, but then he goes right back to teasing, the bastard. «But are you sure you want it enough?»
Erik pushes an emphatic answer into Charles's mind, and Charles twists his fingers one more time.
«Now?»
«nownownownownow--»
Charles dials it all the way up, and Erik can almost feel the whole world bending and flexing around him. It's not the same as an orgasm that starts in the body; there's no base-of-the-spine, deep-in-the-balls feel, no heavy pulse from Erik's cock. Instead, it's a high, ringing note, a desperate burst of pleasure that goes on and on, and then it's fading, fading, letting Erik go and wringing the satisfaction out of him until he's loose and weak, face buried in the pillow.
Erik's whole body is still tingling from the mental orgasm when Charles slips his fingers free; Erik hisses as they go, despite the way Charles is trying hard to be gentle. It's not too much, though. Nothing could be too much.
"I'll be back," Charles promises, slipping out of bed; Erik dozes until Charles returns, and when Charles rubs a soft, damp washcloth over Erik's thighs, Erik almost purrs with pleasure. Charles is incredibly gentle as he slides the washcloth between Erik's cheeks, but all the same, Erik squirms; Charles laughs softly.
"You can't possibly be hungry for more."
Erik tries to mumble out his answer, but the pillow and drowsiness have him too muffled. «Try me,» he thinks, instead, and that just makes Charles laugh a little longer.
«Tomorrow,» Charles thinks, bending down to kiss the back of Erik's neck. «Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow, how would that be?»
«It would be perfect,» Erik thinks. Charles reaches over to the bedside lamp, turns it off; he pulls the covers over both of them before curling up at Erik's side.
«Good night,» Charles thinks, letting a trace of his emotion curl around Erik's sleepy mind. Joy, love, passion, wonder... it still amazes Erik that one man can feel so many different things for him, all of them good.
But it's the same for Erik, really. He sends back a soft «Good night» of his own, not trying to hide the affection, the respect, the urge to stay wrapped up in Charles's arms until the world outside them disappears.
Charles kisses his shoulder. «I can't make it go away for good,» he thinks, «but I'm glad I can give you this.»
Erik rolls on his side, pulls Charles close against him. «It's enough,» he thinks, «it's more than I ever thought I'd have...»
And as Charles's hand goes skimming down his back, all the way down, tracing a dimple with all four fingertips, Erik grins and adds, «And you're welcome to have me all you like.»
Charles huffs out a laugh against Erik's chest. «I'll hold you to that,» he promises. «See if I don't.»
«I'll see that you do,» Erik thinks, and he tucks his head down against Charles's, and drifts off to sleep.
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