Erik had always relished the hunt. Tracking gave him focus, purpose, a reason to go on. It had been so since he began his search for the men who escaped, those who deserved to die. The regularity of it was soothing to his nerves. The promise kept him afloat. Today, as he poured over print-outs tracking across the Eastern seaboard, following the movements of those who did not know they were being hunted, the chase felt wrong.

His mind was far from the quarry, distracted by the figure across the table from him. Charles did not speak as he studied his assigned pages, nor did he move overmuch, but Erik could still hear his soft breathing and his quiet movements as he noted repetitious coordinates with a bright yellow pen. He could smell the ink over Charles's cologne but resisted asking how he could stand the fumes. It was better to not give in to any of his urges, even the smallest ones. To give into one, would be to give in to all, and he was having trouble resisting the impulses he felt; to look, to touch, to thrust the stack of printouts onto the floor and set about unwrapping all of Charles's layers…

He reminded himself that he had set these parameters to accelerate their mission. They needed to track the coordinates, to find the places these mutants frequented. It was a good plan, but Erik felt his attention drawn again and again to Charles. His own pages were barely marked, so great was his distraction. Sighing, he set his pencil down and pushed the paper away from him.

"Erik? Is something wrong?" Charles asked, his eyes not lifting from his work.

"No, nothing."

"Mmmm…perhaps some coffee would help?"

"Perhaps."

After another moment of silence, Erik stood and stared down at the top of Charles's head. They'd fucked like teenagers and gotten drunk. They'd spent the night together, slept in that small, miserable bed pressed so tightly against each other that they both had marks on their bodies in the shape of the other. The next day had been a quiet one, spent mostly nursing hangovers with aspirin and quiet talk of their pasts. It had been…peaceful, a feeling Erik found foreign and agreeable.

This day, the second day hence, saw them back on track. The goal was to narrow down the closest of these drifting mutants and interact with them as soon as possible, but now Erik was…longing. He wanted to run his fingers through those soft curls, to rub his face against them. He needed Charles's skin against him and around him. It was an ache that traveled from his head to his hands, back to his mouth and down to his cock. Only one thing would ease the terrible craving.

Charles did not look at him. "Coffee, Erik. Did you forget?"

Considering him a moment more, Erik moved quietly around the table, stopping when he was beside Charles's chair. The locking of the door was audible.

Now Charles raised his head. He managed to keep the humor from his lips, but not his eyes. "I take it you'll not be going for coffee?"

With a smirk, Erik cleared the detritus of their effort from the table with one slow sweep of his arm.

"That was quite a lot of work you just pushed onto the floor," Charles scolded, still managing a sober set of chin. His lips quivered when Erik slipped one hand into his hair and the other began to loosen his tie.

"Shut up, Charles," Erik said. He bent to take Charles's mouth, whispering, "It's not going anywhere."

Charles chuckled but the sound was smothered by the kiss. He responded fully, opening and surrendering to Erik's demanding tongue. Moaning his approval, Erik abandoned the tie to thrust his arm under Charles's and lift him from the chair. He then bent Charles backwards, laying him on the table. He pulled away to prop up on his elbows and felt the table wobble. Charles said nothing, but looked up at him with lust and amusement. A shuffling of legs caused a more pronounced shudder, to which Erik made a disapproving face.

"I'm afraid this table was not designed for what I have in mind," Erik said.

Charles laughed and carefully wrapped one leg around Erik's trunk. "Probably not, but one can hardly blame them for it. You know," he slipped his fingers into the top of Erik's turtleneck sweater and pulled; "we could go back to my room. I haven't replaced the Glenfarclas yet, but at least there's a bed."

"The bed is only slightly less comfortable than this," he whispered into Charles's mouth. He pushed his hands up under Charles's shirt to find another undershirt. "Must you wear so many clothes?"

"I think you like them," he teased, breathlessly, arching up to allow the garments to be pushed off and away. The table top was cold against Charles's flesh, causing a small shiver and chill bumps from shoulder to belly. Erik watched it spread; fascinated by the ripple. He saw the tightening of Charles's pale pink nipples and did not resist the desire to put his fingers on them. Charles clenched his leg around him and thrust his own hips forward.

The table gave an ominous groan, and they froze. "Erik…" was all Charles had time to say before one end noisily collapsed.

Charles instinctively tensed, preparing for the subsequent fall, but it did not come. He opened one eye, childishly squeezed shut against the threat of the crash. The table hovered neatly, three feet from the floor. "Of course, you were never worried. " He turned back to face Erik, who was grinning rather smugly.

"Of course not, did you really think I'd let you fall?" Erik struggled to look hurt.

Charles laughed again. "You should have. It would have been quite funny!"

Shaking his head in dismissal, unable to quell his own smile, Erik said, "I'd like to take a moment to make this a bit more robust."

"Wait, Erik," Charles interrupted. He took Erik's hands, withdrawn to focus his energy on the table, and put them back on his chest. "Make it while you kiss me. Make it beautiful."

Those words made Erik warm, hot, made his flesh fairly burn beneath his clothes. They were said without fear or distrust, said eagerly, in fact. Charles saw his mutant trait as more than a weapon; he saw it as something to provide beauty, even pleasure. Such trust, given despite his knowledge of Erik's past. It was a revelation. He paused, looking down at Charles for several heartbeats. "You are..."He wanted to say absurd, remarkable, beautiful… "Sure?"

Charles nodded. An image of the flowing design now gracing the foot of Charles's bed drifted into his mind. The intention was clear. If he could do that while causing pain, what could he do while giving pleasure? Yes, please, Erik….Charles's voice was so warm in his mind, wanting him and all he had to offer.

Erik crushed Charles to him, barely registering the roiling of the metal tabletop that lifted them both. The air around them became statically charged and little shocks sparked between them as each helped the other shed his clothes. Erik was amazed and aroused by the sensations he was creating, for both of them. The steel became fluid, smooth like silk but galvanized, sliding around them as it formed and reformed according to their movements. It lifted Charles's legs for Erik to slide between them, dipped to let Charles's head fall back to give Erik access to his throat. Charles appeared to be in ecstasy, shivering, moaning, unresisting to the constant shift.

Erik traced his lips, slipping his fingers into his mouth. "Suck them, Charles. Make them wet." Watching this was nearly unbearable, feeling it caused his cock to jump and spit. He thrust against Charles, their erections crushed between them. Charles's fingers were digging into his arms, bruising him, delicious points of pain to keep him grounded. Erik removed his fingers, mouth wet and sloppy and begging for more. Erik obliged, almost brutally, distracting Charles for a brief moment while his legs were lifted by gentle ropes of liquid steel and Erik pushed his fingers past the ring of Charles's anus.

His eyes flew open, surprised, but not unpleased. He stared into Erik's eyes, letting his reactions show clearly in his face. Erik spread his fingers, twisted them, pressing higher, further, until Charles lurched and screamed. "What…?" he cried, eyes still wide. Erik did not answer, but pressed up again, holding the pressure there until Charles was writhing on his fingers. "What is it, Erik? Oh, God, what is that?"

"Am I hurting you?" It was difficult to get the words out. Charles's motions had become more erratic.

"No…no…"

The warm steel wrapped around Charles's hands and pulled them away from his arms. "Then trust me, Charles. Let me give you this."

Their mouths met again and Erik swallowed his cries, drank his air and drew his tongue into his mouth as if it were the sweetest fruit. Charles was cradled in the fluid metal, arms and legs gently bound. They had settled to the floor but the steel was still moving, changing contours with their movements, holding Charles still without crushing. Erik reared up on his knees and clutched Charles's cock with his other hand and Charles froze. Head flung back, flushed and glowing with sweat, he spilled his seed without a sound.

Erik was nearly crazed with want. He scooped the come from Charles's trembling stomach, smeared it onto his own cock and pushed his slippery fingers back up into Charles's ass. He was relaxing, loosening, and whether there had been time or not, Erik couldn't wait any more. The metal swam again, lifting Charles at the hips and making room for Erik's knees. He did not wait, did not give Charles a chance to dwell on it.

He pushed into Charles, halfway at first, and then pulled out some to spit and thrust back in. He was fully seated before he stopped again and looked at Charles's face turned away from him, hidden behind his bent arm so only a glimpse of his pain showed. For an instant he thought of apologizing, but he could not. He was not sorry. He was elated.

Charles did not speak, but sent a stream of words and sensations into Erik's mind.

Do it, Erik, fuck me…do it…its good, I'm good…do it do it do it…

Burying his face in Charles's neck Eric thrust, hard, not wholly believing the words but spurred on by the feelings of intense pleasure/pain Charles shared with him. He opened his mind, allowing Charles to know what he felt in return; the velvety hot grip on his cock, sweat dampened hair brushing across his face, the press of Charles's thighs against his hips. The circle drove him faster, harder, beyond knowing anything but what was building between them. Charles's cries were loud in his ear despite the desperate way Charles tried to muffle them with his arm. Erik did not want him to stifle them, he wanted to hear them, see as they passed his lips.

He grabbed the back of Charles's head, gripping so tightly he felt some of the hair pull free. "Don't," he ordered, voice low and harsh. "I want to hear you."

Charles looked at him with heavy lidded eyes. Erik thrust particularly hard, then, and he yelled, trying to turn away again. He was pulling at his wrists, wrenching them, trying to free his hands.

"No, no…don't…" Erik was so close. So close it almost hurt.

"Please, Erik," Charles begged, struggling against the metal restraints. "Let me touch you!"

Erik came as soon as Charles's hands found him. They pulled him down, crushing their mouths together as Erik screamed his release. He felt liquid, as if he were made of the swirling metal still surging around them, and was grateful for the comfort of Charles's skin against his. For a moment, he let himself be kissed, let his senses bathe in the perfume of Charles's breath and sweat. He could barely face leaving the cradle of Charles's thighs, but he knew someone would eventually come looking for them. "We have to clean up," he said in the space between Charles's lips.

"I know." Neither one drew away.

Finally, Erik pushed up, back, onto his knees in a place made just for them. He looked down at their bodies, sticky with come. More than remained before. "Charles, did you…?"

"Yes."

"Again?"

"Yes, it was…unexpected." Charles started to rise, but could not get his shoulders out of Erik's steel cocoon. He was release and propped up all at once, the metal lifting his upper body to meet Erik and then stilling once more.

Erik stared hard into Charles's eyes. "You're not hurt? I did not…"

Charles's expression was a little tired and supremely satisfied. "I feel…wonderful, Erik."

Standing took more effort than either one of them expected. Both had trembling limbs and slippery hands. After a bit of stumbling, punctuated by errant kisses, they were finally on their feet. Before they reached for their clothes, they turned to look at the 'table'. After a moment of silent consideration, they burst into laughter.

"Well, this is…" Charles began.

"Atrocious," Erik finished. "So much for your theory, Charles; it seems I must be a bastard to make great art."

Charles slid his arms around Erik's waist and pressed warm lips to his chest. "I think we need more data before we can make that determination."

"Meaning?" Erik took his chin, tilted his head up.

"We'll just have to try again." He eagerly accepted Erik's kiss.

Two Days Later

Hank didn't know what to make of the chair. Why was it inside Cerebro? How did it get here to begin with? It was lovely; polished smooth, sort of scrolled and wavy, with a high back and somewhat reclined. It was also weird. There were no arm rests, but there were individual supports for each leg. There were spaces, curves in the back that didn't make sense, and the leg rests were spread farther apart than could be comfortable.

He considered it carefully, mentally measuring its proportions, wondered who exactly it would fit. On a whim he lowered himself into it, frowning at the way it tipped him backwards. His feet still touched the floor, but anyone else would have had to use those crazy leg rests. He had a difficult time getting out of it and wound up using the scroll work at his head as makeshift handles. Upon standing, he noticed one of the panels directly across from the chair was missing.

He made a note to tell Charles Xavier that if he was only going to break it, he and Erik wouldn't be allowed back inside Cerebro without supervision. "They call me a kid…" he muttered, going back to the control panel.