Got Your Tongue Tied in Knots

Title: "Got Your Tongue Tied In Knots"

Summary: Five times Erik tied Charles up, and one time Charles returned the favor. Warning for bondage, obviously. This is pretty much pure, unadulerated smut, set (appropriately, IMO, because I'm pretty sure they were just banging constantly after they met) during "First Class." Title is from Britney Spears' "'Til The World Ends." Rated NC-17.

1.

It shouldn't surprise him that Erik has even found a secondary use for the towel rack in their shared hotel room bathroom, but he's mostly interested in what Erik plans to do him once his arms are secured just above his head. He finds out soon enough when the taller man braces himself with a hand pressed near Charles' head against the wall, the other snaking down to play with Charles' cock. Erik's hand is large and warm, his deft fingers curling around Charles' member with well-practiced finesse, and Charles squirms and bucks happily even as he protests: "I've just, aaahh, taken a shower, you know."

Erik just smirks. "You're not paying the water bill," he replies, his voice low and smooth in the other man's ear. They exchange kisses for a while, and then Erik watches Charles' face raptly, smiling with his own satisfaction when he finally makes Charles come.

2.

Charles never thought his office chair would be used for something like this. He stares at the ties - his ties - wrapped around his wrists. It makes him a little nervous when he feels just how tightly he's bound, but he trusts Erik, he tells himself, and also --

-- he loses his train of thought as his and Erik's gazes meet. The other man's eyes are clouded with arousal, his lips parted, lids low, and Charles thinks he's never looked lovelier. Then Erik takes out his cock, rubbing it with one large, flat palm, and Charles feels his own arousal level skyrocket.

"Yes, Charles," Erik groans when he gets close enough for Charles to take Erik's dick into his mouth. He smiles as best he can, and then gives himself over to laving his tongue over the head, swirling it along the swollen flesh, glancing up every so often to see how Erik's facial expressions evolve. "Fuck," Erik moans. "Fuck, seriously, Charles."

'You're welcome,' Charles thinks cheekily, and when Erik comes, he affectionately wipes at Charles' face, but tells the other man in no uncertain terms that he's not leaving his chair until Charles has been brought off properly, too. 'I suppose, when you put it that way ...' Charles sends, but then Erik starts to make good on his promise, and he decides that he might be talking too much.

3.

There's no good reason for Charles to be hogtied on his own bedroom floor, nude as the day he was born, his arms and legs wrapped in tight coils of rope, no matter how Erik sputters about Charles needing to know how to recognize and use different kinds of knots. "Fairly certain I'm not going to be tied up naked and molested in the course of fighting for mutant rights," Charles remarks, wiggling unsuccessfully.

"Shush, Charles," Erik replies swiftly. He pats Charles' lower back soothingly when he playfully fingers Charles' entrance, making the other man buck and squirm. "You never know," he says conversationally, and rubs at Charles' hole lightly ('oh, God,' he hears Charles think). "Somebody might use such a method to get information out of you."

"Only if that somebody is a perver - oh, Erik," Charles gasps. He receives the image that Erik sends to him through their mental link, the one where Erik's tongue is lapping gently around his ass hole, and groans. "D-don't think they'll be doing ... this, either," he says, and then there's no more time for coherence. Erik's tongue presses into him, thick and hot and wet, and Charles sobs a little as it slides in and out of his most sensitive area, slowly and just a bit slimily. Erik rims him for several minutes, at which point he's keening and crying a bit and can barely remember his own name. Erik barely has to touch his cock before he's coming, spurting into the other man's hand, the ropes biting into his limbs with delicious pressure.

He can hear Erik chuckling as he luxuriates in his aftermath. "So that was a square knot," Erik tells him, and he sighs.

4.

Erik's manipulating Charles' metal bed frame to wrap gently around the smaller man's wrists is a particular favorite of his, and a rather common tactic that Erik uses, once their love-making becomes a regularity. It's so frequent, really, that Charles can't resist calling him on it. "Just a little more, love ... aaahh, perfect. As always," Charles offers, his arms spread and bound by the wrists at the head board. When he feels the metal grip tighten, he blinks. "Erik, what ..."

"Have I gotten predictable, Charles?" Erik's face, his voice aren't angry, per se, but there's something pointed and dark and decidedly non-innocent about the query, and it makes Charles squirm.

"You still have plenty of secrets, my friend," he manages to smile. He feels the metal loosen once again to a more comfortable grip, and sighs with relief. "All the same," he continues, "you must realize that it's difficult to keep things from a telepath." Instinctively, his fingers work their way into their tell-tale gesture, but his hand remains chained to the bed, and they eventually slacken.

Erik's face is yet indescribable. "Hmmm," he says absently. He brushes a hand down Charles' chest, and it brushes the smaller man's side. Charles squirms as the fingertips ghost over a particularly sensitive spot. Suddenly, Erik is much more focused. He repeats the action with more intention on Charles' other side, and Charles bucks rather violently. "Charles, are you ticklish?" Erik asks, his voice wondrous, his face taking on a positively wicked grin.

"No," Charles says automatically, and he has just enough time to look wary before Erik is upon him, tickling him mercilessly. "No, Erik, no, please, I'm very ... Erik, no," he gasps, trying unsuccessfully to move away, to curl in on himself. "Erik, please," he begs, nearly crying after several relentless moments where Erik's fingertips dance purposefully over his sensitive and very much indeed ticklish bare flesh. "I - I'm going to pee or something ..."

Finally, blissfully, Erik ceases his ministrations. He glanced down and then back again, meeting Charles' eyes. "You're hard, Charles," he announces, looking extremely pleased with himself.

"Yes, well," Charles huffs, and he sees his own flushed face and wild, skittish eyes through Erik's mental gaze, and winces. He tugs once more at his bonds, which, of course, do not budge. "It's your fault, you know," he complains, and Erik smiles and brushes a stray lock of hair from Charles' eyes.

"I'm sorry," Erik smirks, and then, without fanfare, shoves his face into Charles' lap and sucks his dick into his mouth. Charles' head falls back and he moans at the sudden, delicious pressure enveloping his cock.

"You're, oh, forgiven, my friend," he gasps, and the bed frame rattles when his orgasm overtakes him.

5.

"So good, Charles. You're so good at this."

Charles smiles around his mouthful. His wrists are tied comfortably around his back with his own tie - Erik has told him on numerous occasions that he finds it utterly ridiculous and adorable that Charles remains in full Professor X mode right up until he goes to bed, even during their nightly chess games, and seems to have finally found a better use for Charles' professional chic - and he sits on his knees in front of Erik on the fluffy, wine-colored rug in his study. He glances up and Erik is watching him, and Charles thinks intentionally that, if this is what happens when he loses a game, he ought to let Erik win more often.

"Liar," Erik scoffs, rolling his eyes, but his hand remains affectionately fisted in Charles' thick, auburn hair. Charles lets Erik face-fuck him a little bit, and swallows everything swiftly when Erik comes. 'Checkmate,' he thinks, a bit smugly, and Erik shakes his head. "You're an impossible man, Charles Xavier."

"As are you, my friend," Charles says, and licks his lips.

1.

The prospect, the utter control he'll have over Erik makes Charles nervous, but Erik assures him that, in fact, it's what he wants. "You'll know if I want you to stop," Erik insists, and he lays on the bed, nude and lovely.

Charles sighs. "All right," he says, and acquiesces to the task at hand. Within seconds, he has Erik completely at his mercy, his mind controlling Erik's ability to move, to breathe. With two fingers at his temple, he glimpses Erik's prone form and tries to swallow his own arousal. "Okay, then, Erik?" he asks, still anxious about what they're doing.

'I'm fine, Charles.' Charles can see the other man's muscles strain momentarily against invisible bonds. 'Wow, I really can't move at all,' he comments idly.

"No, you really can't." Charles shifts a little in his seat, getting more into this, now. "I want you ... to touch yourself, Erik," he continues. "One hand. Slowly."

It takes a moment, Erik still instinctively struggling to disobey, but eventually, Charles watches delightedly as Erik begins fisting his own cock, pumping it languidly up and down. In his mind, he can feel Erik's heart begin to race, and resists the urge to begin jerking himself off, finding the image and the heady power trip unbearably arousing. "That's very good, Erik," he manages. "Now, I want you to wet your fingers, and then insert them into yourself."

He feels Erik's mind shiver, but watches Erik do as he's told, watches Erik feed two and then three fingers into his mouth, suckling on them for several minutes, getting them good and wet. "Yes, good, Erik. Now open yourself up for me," Charles whispers. This command is acquiesced to even more quickly, making Charles suspect that, in fact, his hold on the other man isn't quite as complete as he originally thought. He won't complain if this is the end result, however, Erik lifting his pelvis off of the bed enough to accommodate shoving his fingers into his own rectum. 'Hurts,' he hears Erik think to him, his mental voice laced with desperation and arousal. 'Good, but hurts.'

"Slowly," Charles says soothingly. "More slowly." He lets this continue for several more minutes, and then realizes that he could come just from this. Instead, he stands up, coming over to the bed. "Turn over, Erik," he orders. "Turn over so that I can fuck you."

Erik does. Charles feels him quivering, and places a steadying hand on the other man's back. His own arousal and Erik's stretched ass hole make him reckless: Without fanfare, he sinks himself into the other man in one go, slicked with his own pre-come and Erik's spit, and Erik's mental voice growls. 'Fuck, Charles,' Erik tells him, and Charles gives himself over to his arousal, rocking back and forth inside of Erik, mumbling wordlessly and scrambling for purchase against Erik's sweaty flesh. "Keep touching yourself, Erik," Charles orders, and Erik begins masturbating himself furiously. He's coming when Charles finally tips over the edge, sobbing and eventually collapsing against Erik's broad back. Just before he allows himself to rest, he releases Erik from his mental bondage, and the other man smiles and rolls over, collecting Charles in his arms.

Erik kisses him squarely on the mouth. "Thank you," he says softly. "You were perfect."

Charles dips his head. "I didn't think I would enjoy that so much," he admits sheepishly. "So much power ... and so much trust that you gave me, Erik."

Erik's face is fond, yet pensive. "You're a powerful man, Charles Xavier," he says softly, and he pets Charles' back soothingly. "Maybe one day, you'll believe it."