A/N: . . . This is the product of boredom, my love for old cars, and a strange soundtrack consisting primarily of Aerosmith.
Warnings: implied sex, Erik being a horny bastard, language, (attempted) humor, Erik/Charles, Erik's car fetish, innuendoes.
Disclaimer: If I owned X-Men, we would have seen ALL of the recruitment trip. And when I say all, I mean we would have seen all the sex that went down behind the scenes, thank you very much.
The first thing Erik Lehnsherr thought when he saw Charles Xavier's mansion was – no kidding – holy shit.
He'd known Charles was rich – the man was too well dressed all the time to be anything but wealthy – but really? A mansion? That didn't quite fit with the whole scholarly/nerdy aura that Charles exuded. Now, granted, Charles was a handsome, attractive nerd, but a nerd nonetheless. Erik was constantly torn between wanting to kiss him senseless and wanting to ruffle his hair affectionately (not that he would ever do that, because number one, you don't touch Charles's hair – he's extremely weird in that respect, and seems to feel that the slightest touch will cause male pattern baldness to set in – and number two, Erik is a badass, he does not ruffle anyone's hair. He holds you by the hair while he slits your throat. Got it?)
But there was one thing in the house – well, technically, it was in the garage – that made Erik want to do all sorts of things to his best friend/nerdy companion/lover/debate partner. And those things sort of involved kissing and hair fondling, but they went far beyond that. Far, far beyond that.
It was that damn car.
That beautiful, gorgeous, sleek red convertible that did not fit at all with the idea of Erik's intelligent, kind-hearted lover. Sure, Charles was a flirt, but . . . but . . . this car kind of went with Erik's idea of a sexy millionaire.
Erik could hardly believe it, though he was standing in the garage at the moment staring right at it. He flexed his power, feeling the smooth contours of the car with his mind better than he could ever have with his hands. He could feel the shape of the engine, cold and dark, but he could imagine it, hot and humming with life. Holy shit, times two.
The car had to have been cleaned recently, because there was not an ounce of dust on it, even though Charles had been living in London for years and couldn't very well have been driving this car from overseas. Erik bit his lip slightly and enviously reached inside the car to feel the smooth leather interior. Charles, you lucky, wonderful bastard, you.
"Lucky and wonderful? There's two adjectives you don't usually hear together."
Erik didn't jump (he is a badass, after all), but he did turn rather sharply to face Charles. "I thought you were going to respect my privacy and stay out of my thoughts."
Charles smiled apologetically. "Excuse me, my friend. But I heard my name in your thoughts, and felt some rather . . . strong emotions coming from you."
"What emotions would those be?" Erik queried.
"Slight amusement," Charles said, eyes twinkling. "You find it funny, that I own such a vehicle."
"Well . . . yes."
"Confusion," Charles added. "You're wondering why I own it. Am I not allowed to appreciate nice cars, Erik?"
Erik nodded, glancing at the car. "Well, since you are a rich little English boy, I suppose it's only fitting that –," he began snarkily.
"Lust," Charles cut him off, taking a step closer. His smile went from innocent to devilish in two seconds flat. Erik felt a faint quiver of arousal along the backs of his thighs. "Do you think my car is sexy, Erik?"
"Stay out of my head, rich boy," Erik said coolly, as Charles drew nearer. Charles stepped so close that their chests were flush, and pressed Erik backwards until Erik felt the cool metal of the car against his legs.
"That insult was rather weak, Erik," Charles murmured, looking up at Erik with shiny blue eyes. He tilted his head upwards, and his smooth hand found the back of Erik's neck, tugging Erik down so that their lips almost met –
And then he stopped, their lips millimeters apart. "Would you like to go for a ride?"
"A – what?"
"I was rather hoping for one, yes."
Charles pulled back and grinned archly, and then turned and walked across the garage, leaving Erik leaning against the car, confused. Charles went to a small rack, opened a drawer, and pulled out a shiny set of keys.
Erik frowned, understanding. Charles was talking about going for a drive. "Charles, that isn't the sort of ride I had in mind."
Charles smiled, his teeth glinting between his pretty pink lips. "I know everything you have in mind, Erik," he pointed out as he made his way back towards the car. He nudged Erik out of the way and opened the driver's door.
"Was that supposed to be a pun, Charles?" Erik asked, crossing his arms across his chest in annoyance. He was horny, damn it, and Charles needed to do something about it.
"It was indeed," Charles said, unfazed. "Oh, dear, I forgot. Should I open your car door for you, love?" he said sarcastically.
Erik gave him a formidable glare. "I am not a girl," he retorted, "as you well know. You don't need to open my door for me."
"Then do get in the car, please. We haven't got all day."
Erik gave him another annoyed look, and made his way around the car to get into the passenger seat. He couldn't resist a little sigh as he sat down – the leather was so sleek, so smooth. Damn car.
Charles was about to put the key in the ignition when he stopped and turned to look at Erik. "Use your power, Erik."
"To do what, start the car?"
"No. Use your power to feel it." Charles grinned and put the key in, but didn't crank it. "Feel it."
Erik sighed, but he flexed his power and waited. And then Charles turned the key.
He felt the engine come to life, humming and warming and vibrating, and he practically felt its low, rumbling purr. That earned a third holy shit.
"Good?" Charles murmured, reaching out and skimming his fingers over Erik's thigh. Erik shivered.
"Yes," he replied. "Now drive, Charles."
Charles smirked and moved his hand from Erik's thigh to put the car into reverse and back out of the garage. "As you wish."
It was rather odd, now that Erik thought of it, that he'd never done this before. His mutation was incredibly useful, and tremendously powerful (or so Charles had said), but this – this was wonderful. He could feel everything, from the motion of the car, the hum of the engine, the spin of the metal hubcaps.
And then Charles started pushing the speed up.
Thirty miles per hour. Thirty-five. Forty. Fifty. Fifty-five. Sixty.
Erik raised his eyebrows. "Charles, who would have ever guessed you had it in you to be so –,"
"Reckless?" Charles called over the whipping wind, as the speedometer inched closer to seventy and as the trees outside blurred by.
"Stupid!" Erik shouted back. "If you wreck, not only will your precious car be ruined, we'll be – . . ."
Charles gave him a don't-be-stupid look before turning his gaze back to the road and making a rather dangerous turn. (Erik momentarily thanked God for the under-traveled, well-paved back-roads of Westchester county.) "Erik, if I were to lose control of the car, would you really let us crash?"
"No," Erik shouted back honestly.
Alright then, Charles projected, obviously tired of shouting over the wind. Now be quiet and enjoy.
Erik sat back in the seat and, for once, did exactly as he was told. He mostly watched Charles, hungrily admiring the man's form as he drove. His smooth, pale white hands gripping the leather steering wheel, the lazy spread of his legs, the flex of the muscles in his thigh as he finally had to brake for a turn that probably would have sent them careening off the road otherwise . . . Erik was soon lost in a wildfire of lust and metal and that bloody car.
"Charles," he shouted.
Yes? Charles responded, not glancing at Erik.
"Turn the car around."
This time, Charles did turn his head slightly to look at Erik, easing off the gas slightly. What?
Turn the car around and let's go back to the house, Erik ordered, with a shark-y smile. I want that other ride now.
Charles smirked. Really? Would you like to be in the driver's seat for that ride?
Erik raised an eyebrow. I was thinking the backseat, actually. Much more room for what I plan to do to you.
Erik didn't miss the pinkish blush that colored Charles's cheeks.
"God, I love this damn car," Charles muttered, almost too low for Erik to hear.
Erik grinned. He couldn't help but agree.
"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph!"
"Oh, wow . . ."
Three young men stood in Charles Xavier's garage, staring with wide-eyed wonder at the cherry-red convertible that sat there, gleaming seductively in the well-lit room.
Alex was the first to speak. "We are so taking that thing for a joy ride."
Hank, dutiful as always, looked aghast at the very thought. "We can't! It's not ours."
Alex gave him a look. "Do you have a stick up your ass, Bozo? Because my foot's going to be up there soon if you don't quit being such a Boy Scout."
Hank frowned and felt the need to logically point out, "I doubt there would be room for all of that up my –"
Sean snickered. "I don't know – Alex has some small feet . . . downright dainty, actually . . ."
Alex glared hard at the freckle-faced boy. "Shut up, Cassidy!"
Sean winked. "Just kiddin', Alex. Anyway . . . um . . . maybe the professor wouldn't mind if we just took it for a little spin . . ."
Hank shook his head frantically. "No!"
Sean grinned at him and stepped closer to the car, running one finger along the shiny hood. "But lookit, Hank. Look how preeeeettyyyy . . . imagine how nice we'd look, driving along in it . . . might even be able to get some girls . . ."
Hank bit his lip. "Well . . . uh . . ."
Alex snickered. "College boys suck at dealing with peer pressure, man," he said, giving Sean a high five. He grabbed Hank by the shirt. "Get in, Bigfoot."
Hank frowned. "On one condition. I drive."
"Um, how about no," Alex spat back. "I'm driving."
"Do you even have a license?"
"No. But I have a license to kick your ass."
"You most certainly do not –,"
"Yoooohooo," a certain red-headed mutant trilled. "Would you two quit flirting and get in the car?" Sean was seated in the driver's seat, and he smugly held out the keys. "You snooze, you lose, mi amigos."
Alex and Hank exchanged a look, before they both bolted simultaneously towards shotgun. A scuffle ensued, ending with Hank triumphantly falling into the seat face-first and with Alex snarling and grumbling and climbing into the backseat.
Hank righted himself in the seat, smoothed his mussed hair, and adjusted his glasses. "Alright, Sean," he said. "Not too fast, okay –!"
He was promptly cut off by the sound of tires squealing as Sean sped out of the garage.
Forty-five minutes later, the car eased back into the garage. All three boys were quite windswept – Sean's orange curls were even more disheveled than normal, Hank's glasses were askew, and Alex's cheeks were pink from wind and laughter.
"Alright," Sean said, after he'd shut the car off. "Don't breathe a word of this, okay? Don't even think about it."
"That'll be impossible," Hank said, as he moved to get out of the car. "That car, it's amazing, really –,"
"Oh, yeah, totally! I wonder –,"
" – how much one of those babies costs –,"
"Probably at least –,"
Sean and Hank, already halfway out of the garage, turned back to look at Alex, who was still seated in the car. His eyes were wide, his nose wrinkled.
Sean frowned. "Dude, get out of the car before we get busted."
"What?" Hank said, confused. "Why –?"
" . . . I'm stuck to the seat."
A/N: -snicker snicker- Naughty, naughty Erik and Charles . . .