Warnings: Underaged sex. Various flavours of awkward.

.

Title: This Time

Summary: In which a fourteen-year-old Charles is petulant and Erik can't escape him.

It's dark, and the room is cold.

He can't move, and there's a cold, hard liquid snaking up his body. It feels like metal, and he pushes at it, but it refuses to budge, just keeps slithering up his torso. Panic rising, he tries to fight it off, but the harder he struggles, the more it tightens. He feels something looking at him from behind, and when he turns, there are eyes.

Glassy, vacant eyes. Huge and unseeing, yet somehow staring right at him.

He's seen them before, somewhere.

He screams and squeezes his eyes shut, still pushing at the bonds. There are more tendrils now, pulling him down, crushing him. One wraps around his neck in a vice-like grip, and he can't breathe—

"Erik!"

Suddenly, he's blinking up at Charles whose fingers are firmly wrapped around his wrists where his hands are outstretched.

"Charles? Was t—What are y—"

You were having a bad dream. It woke me up. Charles lets go of his hands. I came to wake you. Are you all right?

"Yes." Erik rubs his eyes, relieved. "Yes. I'm sorry that I you woke."

"That I woke you," Charles corrects. And that's all right. I've been woken by worse. He climbs into bed beside Erik. I can't be bothered to go back to my room now. Do you mind?

Erik shakes his head. Charles shouldn't have to ask; it's his house, after all. But over the last week, Erik has been made to feel like it is his as well. He moves over on the bed to give Charles more space. In response, the younger boy moves closer. Charles is asleep in seconds, and it doesn't take long for Erik to drift off as well.

This time, he doesn't dream.

There is movement next to him, and he shifts. His head feels heavy, and his limbs are oddly sluggish. When strong arms wrap around him, he smiles. It feels like it's been a long time. Lips press to his neck, and he buries his fingers in soft, short hair. A hot hand slides up his thigh, and he welcomes it, opens himself up to the searching touch. Skin slides against skin, and it sends a tingle of pleasure up his spine. In a husky breath, he hears his name.

"Sharon..."

Charles gasps, sitting up in bed with a lurch. Oh God. He buries his face in his hands. This isn't the first time he's found himself in his mother's head when Kurt comes to her in bed, but it normally takes him less time to realize.

Next to him, Erik stirs. "Charles?"

"I'm fine," he whispers. "Just need the bathroom. Go back to sleep."

His legs are unsteady when he slides off the bed. It's difficult to walk like this, but he makes it to the bathroom anyway. Closing the door behind him, he leans against the nearby wall and slides to the floor. It feels warm, and there's a dull, yet insistent throbbing between his legs. At first, he only awoke feeling disturbed. These days, when they wake him, the sensations he has picked up leave him bothered and unsatisfied. He doesn't dislike having his powers, but some days, they are awfully inconvenient.

Well, best to get this over with, he thinks, slipping his hand beneath the waistband of his pajamas. He inhales sharply. This is only the third time he has done this, but it still surprises him how good it feels. Resting his head against the wall, he lets his eyes close as he speeds up his movements, biting his lip to keep himself quiet. Experimentally, he ventures lower, and he barely manages to hold in a whimper as his hips jerk from the pleasure.

He stills, panting. If he continues, he knows Erik will hear. He can sense it. Erik is awake, concerned about him because he isn't back yet. Concentrating, he subtly suggests that Erik wait a little longer instead of coming to take a look and sighs in relief when the idea takes hold.

When he starts moving again, he can't help wondering what this would be like with someone else. After all, everyone else does this in pairs, touching each other instead of themselves, and usually in bed. The thought of bed brings Erik to mind, and he has to cover his mouth to stifle a moan from the rush of pleasure.

Good lord, he thinks, stopping once more. Do I really—?

A knock sounds, and he jumps.

Shit.

"Charles? Is everything all right?" Erik asks from the other side.

Charles swallows thickly to steady his voice before answering, "Yes. I'll be done soon."

"Can I come in?"

Shit, shit, shit. He has never said no before. Erik will either be suspicious or hurt, and he's not sure which is worse. Carefully, he rises to his feet, flushes the water closet and goes to the sink. "Sure," he replies, turning the tap to pretend he's washing his hands.

The door opens to the right, and Erik steps in, concern written all over his face. He comes to stand behind Charles, and their reflection in the mirror makes the younger boy feel short. Erik has always been taller than him, but in the last two years, the height difference between them has almost doubled. Erik wraps his arms around him, and Charles mentally curses the entire world for the torture as the throbbing feeling intensifies. Outwardly, he forces himself to relax, leaning back to rest his head on Erik's chest as he turns the tap again.

"What happened?" Erik asks, his deep voice gentle.

Charles licks his lips. His mouth is so dry. "I just..." He shakes his head slightly, wiping his hands. "I just picked up some stray thoughts."

Erik frowns, tensing with worry. "Cain's?"

"No. No, not Cain's."

The embrace tightens, one arm slipping to his waist, and it takes every ounce of effort Charles can muster to keep still.

"You're very warm, Charles. Are you sure you're all right?"

"I—I'm fine. It's my mother," he replies honestly in hopes that Erik will let the subject rest.

Erik falls silent. "Let's go back to bed," he suggests at last.

Charles nods, turning towards the door. It's really hard to walk, and he stumbles, but Erik steadies him, and they crawl into bed together. He turns onto his side, curling up a little, and closes his eyes, trying to ignore the throbbing. Erik's fingers card soothingly through his hair, and he shifts uncomfortably.

"Tell me what's wrong."

Right. Because he normally likes it when Erik does that. He sighs. "Kurt is with her. She is intoxicated enough to think it's my father."

"That upsets you?"

"Not particularly."

Erik doesn't know what to say, but his alternative is worse, and this time, Charles can't repress the shiver of desire that runs through him when he is pulled into a tight hug.

"Charles?"

"Erik." He's breathless, and his voice sounds a little weaker than he'd like. He is about to ask Erik to let go when he hears realization click in the other's mind.

"Oh," is all Erik says in response, but he doesn't let go. Charles writhes. Erik's thoughts are so loud, but he's not acting on them. "Charles, I—"

"Yes!" Charles interrupts, frustrated, and suddenly, Erik is atop him, kissing him on the mouth in a way that leaves him moaning into it. Shit. He arches up against the other, and god is it better than he imagined. The buttons on his shirt are being undone, and when Erik's hands run over his bare skin, he barely manages to keep his response to soft keen.

Erik buries his face in the crook of Charles's neck, fingers pausing at the waistband. Look, I know things are different here, so tell me, Charles. Tell me it's all right that I want to do this to you, that I started thinking about it the first time you kissed me out in the garden.

"I'm not a child, Erik, and the world doesn't have to bloody find out," Charles bites out, impatient.

Erik lifts his head to look into blue eyes. "You're fourteen," he points out ruefully.

"I'm going to Harvard at the end of summer," Charles counters.

"Dear God," Erik mutters, and then they're kissing again. Erik's fingers have found the spot he'd discovered earlier, and Charles doesn't even try to be quiet.

Their clothes are somewhere else now, and Charles has a disconcertingly good grasp of how this works. By the time he's inside, Erik is feeling a little more like the younger of the two, and Charles looks utterly debauched beneath him.

"Shit," he breathes as they move in tandem.

Charles smiles, something like innocence shining in his lust-darkened eyes. "I love you," he says simply, and Erik gives up, clasping the younger boy to him as his vision whites out.

Charles is probably going to wake people. Erik finds he doesn't care.

It's dark, and the room is cold.

Tangled in the sheets and already asleep, Charles is beside him, warm and familiar. This time, Erik doesn't really want to sleep.