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Erik is kneeled on the floor, naked with his hands tied behind his back, his head bent. He exhales harshly when the flogger makes its heavy impact on his shoulder, but apart from that, makes not a single sound. Footsteps whisper around him, and he sees the toes of brown leather shoes. They hold still right in front of him, and he keeps his eyes on the point between those shoes, as if the deep persian carpet is the most fascinating thing he's ever seen.
There's no metal in the room, or on Charles. He is bound with rope. There is a chilling echo in the position, a trickle of memory. Helpless on his knees. But the carpet is soft under his knees, as far from cold concrete as could be, and he can smell, distantly, the bread Raven is making.
The moment stretches out. He can feel that Charles is looking down on him, and the tension mounts as Erik resists the urge to meet his eyes, to end this maddening waiting. He wants to look up, wants to silently plead Charles to flog him harder, to stop, to do SOMETHING, to read his mind and give him what he wants, even if he doesn't know what he wants.
He can't hide his gasp when a hand digs into his hair, pulls his head back. Charles is looming, larger than life in shirtsleeves, cuffs open and top button undone. The intensity of his eyes makes something inside of him quail. Erik feels like he fills his whole world, leaving room for nothing else. It shouldn't surprise him that Charles can be dangerous, but it does. His other hand goes to Erik's throat, so gentle, yet so threatening.
Yield
He fights down the impulse to relax his neck, bare his throat further. Finds his shark-like grin instead.
Make me
A slow smile blooms on the other man's face, and Charles bends forward, bringing his face close to Erik's, until their breath mingles and their lips are so close, so close--
"Oh, but I will," Charles says softly, and Erik feels the words against his lips. A shiver crawls down his spine and settles into his stomach. He strains for the contact, aches for the kiss, but Charles straightens up, hand still gripping his hair. Erik can't quite stifle the low sound of disappointment.
Charles smiles a predatory smile and pulls him forward, slowly, so that he loses his balance in a long, drawn out moment and tips forward. Erik twists so that his shoulder takes the impact, but a quick hand lands between his shoulderblades and stops him from rolling onto his back.
"Scheiße!" he curses softly.
Face down on the carpet, he feels cold apprehension settle in. What has he done, to hand another man this much power? The brown leather shoes come into his narrow field of vision, and he freezes, trying to swallow down images of boots and laughter. His breath is fast and flat. How on earth did he put himself in such a vulnerable position?
There is a soft rustle, the feet are replaced by knees. Erik feels his head being turned, and then he is being kissed, hot and insistent. He sighs his receding panic into that warm mouth and feels his resistance crumble. Feels himself teeter on the edge of something, some place he hasn't been before and isn't at all sure he wants to go.
Charles doesn't let him kiss back. When he tries, the other man withdraws and gets to his feet. He has kicked off his shoes at some point in the last few minutes, Erik realises dimly. And Charles is carefully, skilfully as only a telepath can, inching him along the razor thin edge between fear and anger and arousal.
He grumbles his protest at the end of the kiss and is answered by a sharp swat on his ass. Charles must have changed to the stingy flogger. He grunts, and there's another swat, and another, until his ass is burning and he is hard pressed not to squirm in a futile attempt to get away.
"Ah! Fuck!" he grits out, teeth clenched.
"Pardon me - what - was - that?" Charles says in his cultured accent, in that infuriatingly mild voice. It's punctuated with the flogger.
"FUCK you," he growls.
Suddenly his head is turned, none too gently, by the hair, and then Charles is kissing him again, and Erik whimpers because this feels like drowning, and he wants nothing more than to melt into Charles. He loses his hard-fought balance and plummets into the warm, quiet haze. He makes a small, desperate sound, and then Charles is stretched out next to him, pulling him onto his shoulder. A warm hand settles in the nape of his neck, somehow steadying him, and Erik floats along., face turned into Charles' neck. He can feel the calm, steady beat of the other man's mind against his own, and sighs in relaxation.
"I have you, I have you," Charles is saying, over and over.
You do, Erik thinks vaguely, and surrenders.