Erik and Charles

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This work contains spoilers for “X-Men: First Class”. All characters are the property of Marvel.

This is my first time submitting to Literotica, so I’d greatly appreciate feedback, from grammar/spelling to structure/plot. I hope you enjoy this!


I nervously hold the gun to Erik’s temple. “Are you sure about this?” I ask, panting.

Erik takes a deep breath. “Of course I’m sure. I can do it.”

“Even if you’re not angry? I know you usually draw strength from your anger.”

“I can do it. Just pull the trigger.” His smoldering gray eyes stare intensely into mine as his whole frame vibrates with energy. I take a deep breath.

And switch the safety back on the gun, pointing it away from Erik’s head and down. “I can’t do it,” I say. “You always use your anger for your strength, and you don’t have that now. I’m not going to kill you.”

Erik looks at me, his face falling in dismay. “Aw c’mon,” he protests while taking the gun from me. “You know I can do this!”

I just walk away back towards the mansion. He might be able to do it. But not if he isn’t angry. “Damn you, Charles!” Erik yells at me. Well, he’s angry now. “You don’t even care about what I can do unless it helps you and your CIA friends!” I hear him and feel his anger, but I’m tired of this old argument. If he doesn’t want to help this nation, if he doesn’t want to help me, he doesn’t need to be here. I have never made him stay. Never.

I stride down the corridor of the mansion towards my study, and I hear Erik’s heavy footfalls behind me. He only stomps when he’s angry; usually he’s silent as a cat. “Stop!” he yells at my back, but I keep walking. And then my shoes stop walking and my belt buckle pushes back on my center of gravity, and I’m lifted off my feet by the zipper and button of my tan khakis. Some days I think I’d be better off eliminating all metal from the mansion, and other days I want to get through to Erik so such steps will never be necessary. My mood is rapidly turning towards the former now as I hang in the air by the seat of my pants, all on Erik’s whim.

Erik’s steps have stopped, and I turn my head to look at him and roll my eyes dramatically. His tall frame fills the hallway from top to bottom, but his muscles are lean and swift. His power and energy bring bullet trains to mind. “Really Erik,” I chide as I cross my arms. “Using your power against me, when you know I can’t do anything physical to defend myself? Isn’t that a bit childish?” I deliberately refrain from mentioning the non-physical things I could do to defend myself, and they don’t seem to occur to Erik on his own. I wouldn’t use my powers against him, though Erik freely uses his against me.

His piercing grey eyes shift towards the ground guiltily, then back at my face. His eyes harden. “Fuck you,” he says and drops me on my ass. I rub my behind as I rise to my feet.

“Really?” I ask, arching one eyebrow and straightening my button-down shirt. “Is that all you’ve got? ‘Fuck you’? Some show of strength.” I don’t know why I’m pushing him. Maybe it’s because he’s been pushing me so hard for the past couple weeks. Throwing these temper tantrums whenever I’ve been trying to help him grow, saying that I’m only using him. So many times I’ve been tempted to peek, to see what’s going on inside him. But after that first meeting when he chased the submarine, I have never done that again. I scan everyone I meet, it’s automatic, but once I saw what he had been through, how he had been used and manipulated in his past, how much he had lost in the Holocaust, I promised myself I would never peek or tamper with his mind unless I received his permission. I haven’t told Erik that of course, he wouldn’t believe me, but my actions I think have shown it. I hope.

“You keep thinking you’re so strong,” I go on. Even though I haven’t peeked into Erik’s mind again since that first time, I still remember everything I saw then. And I remember exactly which buttons to push. “You think you’re so strong, but really you’re afraid of losing control. Control over your own life, control over others, and control of yourself.” And that did it. I don’t know what I was hoping to achieve, but Erik snaps at that last sentence. The door at the end of the hallway slams open, the door to Erik’s room I realize, but as my gaze flicks back from the door to Erik, he barrels into me and forces me into his room with nothing but his physical strength, no powers. The door slams shut behind us.

I swallow around a sudden lump in my throat as I roll out from under Erik’s strong body. I feel the adrenaline pounding through my veins, and don’t know if it’s fear or excitement. I don’t feel anyone else in this wing of the mansion right now. Nobody’s nearby to hear me calling for help. I back away from Erik and stumble as I feel the bed against the backs of my legs. Nobody to hear me begging Erik to stop. The metal bedposts suddenly bend from their usual job of serving as headboard and footboard and wrap around my legs and wrists with a groan Beşiktaş Escort of twisting metal. Nobody to hear me begging Erik for more. Now where did that come from?

Much like it did when Erik was interrogating Emma Frost, the metal of the bed holds me immobile. Then, the gold plated metal gripped her cruelly, twisting and squeezing her chest and throat, trying to force her to acquiesce. Now however, the metal moves into place around my limbs and lifts me off the ground with a firm but not painful grasp, and then holds me spread-eagled onto the mattress.

Erik’s cold gray eyes bore into mine. “I’ll show you strength,” he mutters, half at me and half at himself, and I cannot tell for sure if he is actually seeing me or some scene from his past. It briefly flashes through my mind that I could know for sure if I peeked, but I do not, and it is to my shame that I do not know whether it is from my continued respect for Erik, or my fear of what I might see there.

My belt buckle and the metal buttons and zipper of my pants undo themselves slowly, at the same time as Erik’s undo as well. I had never realized until now that all of Erik’s clothing has metal elements. His polo shirt buttons are metal and are already unbuttoned, shamelessly exhibiting his fine collarbones, and now the buttons rise into the air, pulling his shirt up off his head. The bed’s metal bars that were holding me pinned to the mattress suddenly jerk me into the air as well, and more bars whisk my pants and boxers off my legs and my rip my shirt off my torso, all before I can land again on the bed. My breath catches in my throat at the sudden jerking pain through wrists and ankles, and before I can stop myself I instinctively force some of the pain onto the person who caused it, Erik.

His eyes narrow and his face contorts, not with the secondhand pain but with rage at my intrusion into his mind. “And here I thought you respected me,” he growls, almost animalistic in his growing anger. “You almost convinced me. You and your ‘sister’ are just the same, never showing your real face.” He puts a twist on the word “sister” that makes me realize suddenly that he has feelings for Raven. But despite my realization, his snug white boxer briefs strip themselves from their taught clasp on his muscled thighs, the metal woven into the elastic responding to Erik’s mental commands. My eyes follow the boxer briefs down, but when they are unceremoniously dumped on the floor, I dart my gaze back at his face, desperately avoiding looking at anything between his feet and slate gray eyes. I suppress the urge to lick my lips in nervousness or anticipation.

I work hard to keep my eyes focused upon his, to validate who he is as a person, as a man. Even so I cannot help but struggle in my restraints and I blurt out, “I do respect you, I didn’t mean to do that, you just startled me is all,” but he is already on the corner of the bed, his cock erect and pointing towards me, and now my eyes are fixated on it, I cannot tear them away. Erik’s anger is beating against my mind, so hard that I cannot keep it out, but underlying it all is a need, a hunger, that I find terrifying, hungering both for acceptance of who he is, and a need to dominate, to be in control. I had read about these sorts of feelings, but only as pathologies, and I had never experienced them in real people, let alone in people that I cared about. In the ebb of a wave of Erik’s need, I am startled to realize that I am beginning to reciprocate the feeling, that despite my fear my own cock is beginning to stiffen.

“No,” Erik whispers in a dark and throaty voice. “You do not respect me. You see me as a tool to use. Well, now I’m going to use you,” and the metal bed work on my ankles suddenly pulls my legs even farther apart with a creaking noise, then up from the bed away from the mattress. My legs are splayed open and apart, giving him an unrestricted view of everything from my still mostly soft prick to my anus. He spits on his hand and begins to rub his still growing member. With his eyes fixed to his view of my thoroughly exposed body, Erik continues “I’m going to take you and use you and show you what it feels like.”

As I realize that he intends to take things all the way, I feel fear beginning to dawn in me, not at the impending event that Erik thinks will be a rape, but at what it might do to his psyche. Although in normal circumstances, I would certainly enjoy this, Erik views me as his one confidante, the one person he can tell his deepest darkest secrets, and if this encounter takes that relationship away from him, I have no clue what that will do to him. Erik kneels down on the bed, and drinks in the sight of my naked form held helplessly to the bed by his powers, and revels in the sight of how his strength seemingly overwhelms me.

Of course I know that I am not helpless. Just as I could have stopped Erik from leaving the Division X facility those weeks ago, I could stop him now with just the slightest of efforts. I could be direct, blanking Beşiktaş Escort Bayan my actual location from his mind, or delivering pain until he gave in and released me. Or I could be subtle, making him lose desire for me and break down in remorse, an emotion that would seem completely natural to him in this situation and which only I would ever know had been imposed upon him. But I cannot do that to Erik. His strength and the integrity of his mind are so valuable. If I went in without his permission, that would change who he is, and I am certain it would not be for the better. No, I must endure this as it is, and hope that the effects are cathartic upon him, rather than breaking him.

Not that it will be too hard to endure. Erik is beautiful. Firm abs, toned thigh muscles as he slides across the bed on his knees to position himself between my outstretched legs. He grips my calves with his strong hands, not because he wants to hold me in place, his abilities are already doing that through the medium of the bedposts, so it must be because he wants to touch my skin, and the sensation sends a shock up my spine that is almost electric. Erik takes his right hand back off my ankle to gently stroke his cock again. It is long and hard, the head red and swollen. He spits in his hand again and strokes his hand along the shaft, lubricating it, and I am glad. As much as I now want to feel him inside me, this is my first time with a man and I know it will hurt.

Erik shuffles closer towards me on the bed, and now his dick is pointed straight at my virgin ass, though still a few inches away. He looks at my rosebud intently for a moment, and I think that perhaps he will reach his hand out to touch me there, to help ease his imminent entrance, but then his piercing gray eyes travel upwards, seemingly unseeing as they pass my balls and my now hard cock, and to my eyes. Erik places the head of his penis against my opening while watching my face intently and again I feel that jolt of electricity. “Well, ‘Professor’,” he says mockingly, his eyes cold, “let’s see who does the teaching tonight,” and thrusts forwards with his hips.

I feel a searing pain in my bum, but at the same time I feel a wave of pleasure from Erik so strong that it overwhelms my own sensations and I feel my own cock pulse in response as he bottoms out inside me. This time his sensations subsume my own, and the pain of my own body fades away and I ride on the tide of Erik’s pleasure as he slowly draws his shaft back out again. It is not being held to the bed by Erik’s power, with my legs spread open for his access, that makes me feel helpless now, nor even the warm thrust of Erik’s shaft invading deep inside me, but the sensations that Erik himself is experiencing which I am unable to keep out of my mind.

Thrusting in again, he holds himself deep inside me for a moment, my hot tunnel grasping his shaft firmly, then slowly withdraws himself. When he pulls back out it is delicious torture for him, leaving the close tightness of my anus for the cool air of the room, but then just before his head pops out, he quickly pounds deep inside me, and both he and I feel a sense of his belonging within me. Above his sensation of being surrounded and caressed, I can feel floating my own sensation of being fulfilled and completed, but as he growls his need at me, I work hard to keep my feelings from feeding back to him.

Erik begins to thrust faster inside me, pulling in and out rapidly. On each out stroke I feel myself emptying and miss his shaft filling me up, and on each thrust inwards I feel the pressure of his length and worry it cannot all fit inside me. And then on a deep thrust inside me I feel his glans rubbing against my prostate and I begin to feel dizzy. My entire world has narrowed to the sensations inside me, of his shaft moving inside of me, and of the sensations radiating off of Erik. Up until now although I have been experiencing what Erik is, I have been able to keep my own feelings in check. But now as Erik’s long shaft rubs my prostate the pleasure is so intense that finally I cannot keep from sending my sensations out somewhere, and in my passion I focus them on Erik.

His gray eyes widen and warm slightly, then close with our mutual pleasure, and then we are both lost in the feedback loop, feeling our cock thrust deep inside our anus, warm and tightly wrapped around us, every spot inside us touched and filled. This is something I have never been able to experience with a woman, we don’t have the same anatomy, the Charles part of us knows, and it is something the Erik part of me would never want to feel with a woman, he would never want to open himself up to another person the way that he has inadvertently done with me. We ride the cresting wave together, and we explode together, our pleasure geysering out of our cocks as we gasp together.

After a few final thrusts inside me, Erik supports himself above my body with his lean muscled arms for a moment, then collapses onto me. We are still connected, Escort Beşiktaş both with his shaft inside me and his skin against mine, and with our minds cradled together, sharing the afterglow. We are two separate people again, but I can still feel his sensations as his prick begins to soften within me. I realize that my stomach is sticky between us and my bowels are overly full with his come and I will need to use the bathroom soon, and as soon as I am aware of this latter urge Erik’s head jerks upright, startled.

He yanks his cock out of me with an emptying feeling, and with an inarticulate cry he slaps me across the cheek with his hand and with his power the bed posts thrust me onto the floor, violently recoiling from contact with my skin. Erik winces and flinches as I hit the carpet and slide an inch. I will have rug burn along my right arm, to match his slap across my left cheek. Erik’s left hand grasps at his right biceps, and I realize consciously what I should have earlier: that our minds are still connected. I yank my awareness out of his mind, and we both gasp with the emptiness and solitude as I do so. But before my consciousness entirely leaves his behind, I can feel Erik’s mind denying what it had just experienced, asserting at me or himself, I cannot tell, “I raped you. I’m stronger than you. You can’t have enjoyed it. My power is greater than yours.”

His unspoken words echoing in my mind, I grab what’s left of my clothing and flee his room. As I do so, I feel no temptation whatsoever to peek at whatever damage I might have done.


“I want you to turn that radio dish towards us,” I tell Erik.

We stand a discreet meter apart – not an intimate half-meter apart, not a distancing two meters. Erik leans against the stone banister looking between the radio dish and me, searching my face. I resist taking a step closer towards him as his eyes meet mine. The only thing I can see is him: strong and proud, but worried about testing the limits of that strength, worried that he might be lacking.

The events in his room are always at the top of my mind every time I encounter him, be it physically in person like now, or when mentally sweeping the grounds as I always do to keep tabs on everyone. Even when I am not in Erik’s physical or mental presence, the experience still keeps floating to the surface without my bidding, and I have been jerking off to fantasies of Erik constantly. But I never come. It’s just not the same, not feeling him with me. Not feeling his feelings. It’s so alone.

Neither of us have said anything about that night however, so I don’t know if it’s constantly in Erik’s thoughts as well. And I haven’t peeked. I had done that with girlfriends before, even ones I was crazy about, and I was never happy with what I saw. Even if I didn’t respect Erik the way that I do, even if I weren’t terrified of what I might see in his mind after that night, even then I wouldn’t peek into a lover’s mind.

“Are you kidding me?” Erik blows out in a quick breath, skeptical of my demand, drawing me back out of my thoughts.

“You have the strength,” I tell him. What I don’t tell him is how to access it.

He looks at me, at the dish, then back at me. “Fine,” he says and shrugs a little. He stretches out both his hands towards the dish. For small things he doesn’t usually gesture, but much like touching my temple, it helps him to focus his strength or finesse when it’s truly needed. And he needs it now if he’s going to try to do this one with his anger alone. Erik’s face contorts with the effort, beads of sweat break out across his brow, and I can feel him trying to be angry at something, but it just doesn’t come. I have to say I am relieved to learn that he does not have any anger against me to tap into.

Finally he drops his hands with a sharp exhalation of breath, as if he had been holding it, and I too let out my breath. Erik shakes his head. “I can’t do it. I’m not strong enough.”

I look deep into his piercing gray eyes. He is strong enough, I know it, I felt it in him the very first day I met him. It is the backbone of why I respect him so much. But just as I have known of Erik’s strength from that very first scan, I also know that anger is not the way for him to access it. And I know that the learning of how to access it will hurt him.

“Well?” Erik’s eyebrows rise as he watches my face in turn. “What aren’t you saying?” he thinks “at” me. Although Erik himself has no telepathic abilities, the main thing that has changed since our “encounter” that night is that he has realized I keep myself open to the stronger feelings and thoughts of those around me, as a method of self-defense that I learned in my childhood. Erik has figured out that when he thinks particularly “loudly,” I can’t help but hear it, it’s not something that I can turn off, or would turn off even if I could. We all need to have our defenses after all, such as Erik lacing all his clothing with metal elements and surrounding himself with metal objects. Once the existence of mutants becomes public knowledge, as I am sure it will, knowing the surface thoughts of those around me might save my life. I in turn accept that he is willing for me to hear these directed thoughts of his, and do not try to block them out as I would his other thoughts.

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