It’s the usual way of thinking. … (….)
[So because today I’m pissed off and hormonal: fic. That makes sense.]
ninemoons42 writes: The Doll
“Do I even want to know,” Erik asks as Charles dumps the shopping bags and the trunk full of old - Vintage, darling, Charles says in his head, almost blisteringly amused, call them by their true name - party frocks on the bed, and starts sorting through the contents. There are entirely too many feathers for his taste - Erik would probably have preferred something rather similar to Charles’s own fashions, if he were to be cross-dressing. Tweed and pearls and a modest cloche and maybe scarlet shoes instead of black.
Charles laughs and throws a blue dress onto the bed: sequins and a brush of feathers at hem and strap. “Careful, Erik, you’re starting to sound like you’re having fun,” he says, and he looks at Erik with those considering blue eyes and Erik almost instinctively sits up straighter, crosses his legs in a more proper manner. “Why don’t you get started stripping for me.”
“I’m not your bloody floor show,” Erik mutters, but he’s only half rebellious and in any case all he has to do is drop the robe. He’s already wearing the frilly bloomers, the white stockings - and he’s even wearing the stays so they don’t abruptly slide down his legs. Metal clasps and elastic right next to his skin, exactly halfway between his hips and his knees.
He gets a kiss and a hasty embrace for that, and Charles grins and holds up a scarlet corset, and turns his pointer finger in a circle. “Up, come on,” he says, and Erik reaches for his cigarettes and lights one, sticks it in his mouth and takes a deep drag of it before complying.
The silk and the boning are…well, all right, they feel good against his skin, steel and bone in the seams of the garment, and Charles brushes warm fingertips up and down Erik’s spine, a caress that echoes in Erik’s mind as well, hot thoughts of approval and need already filtering through, and Erik grins and is glad Charles can’t see his face and its blush right now.
Don’t be silly, of course I can see you. And: Have I mentioned that you’re beautiful, yet?
No, but I don’t mind being flattered.
Charles laughs and sinks his teeth into the junction of Erik’s shoulder and neck and he hisses and leans back into that bite. And then Charles is pulling away, and Erik can feel him starting to work the laces in the back of the corset. “Brace yourself - and don’t forget to breathe,” Charles murmurs, “or I’ll make you breathe.”
And it is a timely and needed reminder because Charles might be gentle but he is also ruthless, and Erik can actually feel every jerk and twitch of the laces as the other man wrestles the corset - and by extension, Erik’s body - into the shape he wants. Suddenly Erik has hips and an hourglass waist - he remembers to gasp in a breath - and Charles is whispering praise and encouragement. Just one more, and Erik closes his eyes in pleasure/pain as Charles ties off the laces in a viciously tight knot, and then.
Charles’s hand is warm on his shoulder, and he opens his eyes, to the look of pure love-admiration-need in Charles’s face, and he doesn’t need the full-length mirror in the corner to know how so very wanted he is right now.
So he smiles and schools his features into a smirk and murmurs, “Well, and where is my dress, then?”
Charles laughs and gets up for the blue confection and Erik would laugh if he could draw the breath for it.