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Charles Xavier was the most infuriating person that Erik had ever met.
He just kept talking; droning on, and on, about the same, stupid, pacifist ideology. Erik groaned internally, barely stopping himself from slamming his head onto the desk. He wanted so badly to interrupt his spiel, but he’d already been reprimanded by the professor twice in the past hour for arguing with Xavier in the middle of class.
God. How could one person be so annoying? So naïve, so maddeningly innocent… And he wouldn’t fucking shut up.
Erik wanted to punch him.
On the mouth.
With his mouth.
Okay, so maybe Erik wanted to kiss him, but could he really be faulted for that? Xavier was gorgeous. His eyes were impossibly blue, and Erik couldn’t help but stare as they seemed to light up whenever he spoke. He was quite a bit shorter than Erik, but his small stature definitely didn’t prevent him from taking up space in a room. He was captivating; the way he would glare defiantly up at him—hands gesturing wildly as he made some incredulous point—his unruly hair making it look like he’d just rolled out of bed after a long night of drunken debauchery, the smattering of freckles at the open collar of his shirt practically begging Erik to run his tongue over them.
And his mouth. Sheiße.
Erik would be lying if he’d said that Xavier’s mouth (and, in all honesty, the rest of him) didn’t have a recurring role (a starring one, really) in his late-night fantasies. His lips looked perpetually like he had just been kissed for hours. They were an ungodly shade of red, and he would’ve believed that Xavier wore lipstick if he hadn’t overheard Raven—his sister—burst into incredulous laughter when somebody once asked him if he did. He wanted to know how they would look kiss-swollen, if they’d get any redder; if Xavier would look up at him with dazed blue eyes and whisper his name in that sinfully attractive British lilt. He wanted to know how Xavier would look on his knees; pretty red mouth wrapped around his-
“Erik?”
Erik jolted up, his eyes immediately meeting electric blue. “I- Um-”
“You alright?” Xavier smirked, standing in front of his desk. And for a second, Erik could’ve sworn he knew exactly what he had been thinking.
“Y- Yeah,” Erik coughed awkwardly, looking up at him. “I just- What do you want, Xavier?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Class is over. And you can call me Charles, you know.”
Erik blinked, looking around to see a completely empty classroom. “Oh.”
“Yeah, oh,” Xavier—Charles—laughed. “I don’t know what you were so caught up in dreaming about, Erik”—Oh god, even the way he just said his name—“but it must’ve been quite interesting for you to have missed the thirty or so of our classmates rushing to get out of here.”
“Inter-” his voice cracked. “Interesting? I don’t- It wasn’t- I wasn’t-”
Charles looked at him amusedly, mouth twisted in a pout and clearly trying not to laugh. “You don’t have to explain yourself, darling.” Darling? The smile on his face grew when Erik began to flounder some more. “I’m sure,” he started, leaning down ever so slightly into Erik’s personal space. “That you were thinking about something very”—he lowered his voice so that Erik had to lean in to hear him, fluttering his eyelashes as he let out a sigh; one that bordered on indecent— “very interesting.”
Erik shot up from his seat, throwing his books into his tote and strategically placing it in front of his now uncomfortably tight pants. He glared down at Charles, the man in question simply grinning up at him. “If you’d really like to know,” he said. “I was actually thinking about how much I want to punch you whenever you contribute to a class discussion.”
Instead of looking taken aback, like most sane people would, Charles actually looked delighted. “And why is that?”
Erik made an annoyed noise at the back of his throat, moving to stalk past Charles and out of the room.
“Oh, come on,” Charles wheedled, stepping in front of him.
He sighed, clenching his jaw and stopping in his tracks. “Because you’re an idiot.”
Charles laughed. “And why is that?”
“Because you’re a naïve fool, Charles.”
“Well excuse you!” he exclaimed, slightly miffed now. “And I suppose you think your opinions are any better?”
“Obviously.”
“Obviously,” Charles scoffed. “You know, your way doesn’t work in the real world, Erik. And you say I’m the naïve one? I don’t know where you think you are, but we can’t just go around throwing coups and killing everyone who doesn’t agree with us.”
Before he knew it, he had Charles backed up against a wall, an arm stretched out to cage him in. He stared down at him, his gaze firm and unyielding. “That is not what I mean and you know it,” he growled. The shorter man’s breaths came in shallow gasps as he slowly raked his eyes up and down Erik’s body, making direct eye contact—pupils clearly dilated—and biting his lip, looking very much like he was desperately holding back a moan.
Erik’s face grew warm and it took all of his self-restraint to not immediately replace Charles’ teeth with his own. His fingers were itching to reach out and just touch. He could see himself in his mind’s eye, surging forward to capture those unrealistically kissable lips, pressing Charles against the wall, hard. He could practically hear Charles’ muffled whines—oh Erik, Erik, please Erik; feel his hand running through Charles’ hair as they kissed relentlessly, the other travelling down his back.
“Oh my,” Charles said impishly, and Erik was snapped out of his daydream. “You’re rather cute when you blush.”
Erik felt his face redden. Fuck. Why did Charles have to be so damn gorgeous? He didn’t really like to consider himself shallow, but honestly, if Charles wasn’t so attractive, he wouldn’t have had a problem. Or, if he wasn’t so annoying, he would’ve already taken him to bed. “Shut up, Charles.”
Charles arched an eyebrow, looking at Erik through his lashes smugly. “Why don’t you make me?”
Jesus. Charles’ tongue darted out to lick his lips and Erik’s eyes instinctively dropped down to chase the movement. He quickly flicked his gaze back up to his eyes, praying that he didn’t catch that.
Charles’ face grew smugger, which Erik didn’t even think was possible. “Oh darling,” he sighed. “I know you want to kiss me.”
Fuck it, Erik thought. He knew that Charles wouldn’t cease with this incessant game of his, and, well, two could play. He stepped closer to Charles, towering over him and leaning down slightly so their faces were mere inches apart. His hand came up to Charles’ jaw and he skated his thumb across his bottom lip. Charles’ breath hitched, and Erik felt a wave of satisfaction. “And what if I do?” he murmured lowly, pitching his voice deep.
Charles stared up at him, pupils blown wide. “Well, I- I didn’t think- Um-” he stuttered.
Erik grinned widely. “Charles Xavier?” he purred. “At a loss for words?” Finally.