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Erik pants into the thin hotel pillow, dragging in deep shaking breaths through his nose, stifling his gasps. Charles' cock is inside him. Charles' cock is inside him.
Charles purrs close to his ear, breath hot on his neck as he fucks into him, steady and excruciatingly slow, or so it seems to Erik, whose nerves are aflame. Charles is a solid weight on him, pinning him down, in some echo of how he'd locked himself around Erik in the cold night ocean. But neither of them are shivering from cold now, rather from the press and glide of their sweat-slick skin.
Erik moans despite himself and is immediately met with Charles' lips at the curve of his shoulder, then a firm nip of his teeth, surprising Erik into rocking his hips up and back against Charles', nearly rutting where he's pressed against the bed, a sudden spurt on his belly. "Come on, darling," Charles murmurs, low.
Everything is Charles, on him, in him, over him. Erik can even feel him at the back of his mind. Yet there's nothing about it that's not gentle, and something in Erik quakes in awe and despair at that regard, focused on him. There's no hesitation or uncertainty, however, in the way he touches Erik, assured and a little proprietary; there's something else there, but no shyness. The shyness, strangely, was all Erik's, but it vanished at some point after Charles took off Erik's clothes.
He'd been angry all evening, sullen as they'd walked back to the room from the bar, and Charles had boldly teased him about sexual frustration; Erik had growled and Charles had kissed him, and in his surprise Erik's mind had failed to hide his secrets.
"Let me, Erik. Let me," Charles had said, and Erik just wanted, wanted, wanted, and -- "You can have, darling." But Charles didn't understand, it wasn't that simple--
Charles had kissed him all over, wicked and thorough, tip of his tongue stroking over Erik's bruises, his scars; he never said a word about them, never seemed shocked. Charles, it appeared, had some scars of his own. Erik didn't ask.
Charles had stretched him on his fingers until Erik was almost begging, head lolling on the pillow. "I know what you want," Charles had told him.
He's a knot of frustration now, being fucked -- he wants, wants, wants, and he's so close to having but he--
He's full, so full -- his body had adjusted in time but he's still reeling at the fact of it all.
Charles shifts their weight slightly to the side, wraps an arm around Erik's chest. "Come on my cock," he tells Erik, rough, rubbing the tip of his nose against the side of Erik's neck, just under his ear. Erik curls his fingers tightly in the sheets. Charles is deep and it almost hurts, but it's a sweet ache. Charles snaps his hips again and tightens his arm around Erik's chest, and a choked cry escapes Erik's throat.
He doesn't even need a hand on his cock.
Charles fucks him through it, coming too, and Erik feels wet with it, with their sweat and come and slick. All for Charles, only Charles, who's stroking his fingers through Erik's damp hair, breathing hard against his skin. Erik’s a fortress and Charles has plundered him--
Charles chuckles softly, and Erik looks over his shoulder at him, is shocked anew by how gorgeous Charles is. He's flushed pink, eyes bright. "That's a poetic way of putting it," he comments, shifting minutely in preparation for pulling out. Erik reaches quickly to grasp his hip, keeping Charles right where he is.