A/N: My first X-Men First Class fic! I didn't even realize there was an X-men section on ff, durrr. Oh well. WARNINGS: There are vague mentions of rape, so please be aware.

This fic is Cherik, with a little Logan/Charles on the side!


Chapter One: Juniper

Clutching the letter of acceptance in a shaking hand, Charles told himself it from the cold. That fib didn't hold up particularly well as the butterflies in his stomach were whipped into frenzy at the sight of the puttering tugboat cutting through the water towards him. It looked like it was going to fall apart at any second. A rancid cloud of black smoke was coughed up into the clean night air, obscuring the stars. At the prow stood a stout woman, her face slowly coming into clearer view as the boat edged closer to the end of the dock, jarring the wood as the tires lining the edge bounced. Her teeth gleamed in a crooked grin, one eye covered by a patch.

Charles scratched the back of his head, waving awkwardly. He picked up his sole piece of luggage and hurried forward, leading his steps with the letter. The woman snatched it out of his hands, her one eye scanning the text at lightning speed while he ambled up the gangplank. Murky green water lapped hungrily at the sides of the boat as if pulling it from the dock back into its dark embrace. Swallowing audibly, Charles realized he could see floating razor wire just beneath the surface, and more layers of it further down if the metallic glinting was anything to go by. His first concern was for the fish, but one look at the putrid water - never mind the smell - clued him into the fact that there was no life in this water. Stumbling back from the railing as the boat jerked into motion, Charles held on to the mast, impressed with the speed of the boat. Then he noticed the lack of shipmates and glanced back at the woman. She was still reading the letter, but no one was at the helm. Opening his mouth to inquire about it, she cut him off.

"Young, aren't you?" the captain said, maneuvering the words around a thick, unlit cigar she'd popped into her mouth, handing the letter back. Her voice was permanently loud, and Charles had no trouble hearing her over the harsh sound of the sputtering engine. Cupping her hands around match, she lit the cigar, throwing the match over the side of the boat while she waited for his answer.

"Um, I-I'm from the Academy," he replied unconvincingly by way of explanation, switching his suitcase to his other hand in order to stuff the letter back into his breast pocket.

"Oh well, this place'll take anyone that knows how to shoot a gun and can handle himself." She uttered a sharp, barking laugh that actually made Charles flinch. "And you don't look like you can handle yourself, English boy."

This caused a spark of defiance in his eyes. "Like to try me?"

The woman stared openmouthed at him before bursting into deafening peals of laughter. "Son," she shouted over the sputtering and coughing of the boat, "You're alright!"

His answer was drowned out by the huge wail of a foghorn guiding them into a port nearly bleached white with barnacles. That was uncannily fast. Casting a look of suspicion at the captain, who was waving at something behind him, Charles looked up as a stream of men crowded another long dock. Above them, haphazardly exploding from the gnarled mass of stone and dead plant life like a mammoth fortress was the Juniper Mutant Correctional Facility. Charles half expected lightning and thunder, but all he got was a callused hand to pull him onto the dock a little too roughly and a hearty handshake that nearly crushed his entire arm.

A large face bombarded his vision and he staggered back, kept from falling only by that death grip on his hand. Then a sharp New England accent, mismatching the face, trumpeted, "Thanks, Louise - let's hope this one doesn't make the return trip in a body bag!" The surrounding laughter was raucous. Charles looked almost mournfully back at the tugboat.

Louise waved from the prow, winking at him. "Maybe another time I'll take you on, cutie," she roared. The men around Charles hooted and hollered like banshees and another man - one with a chest like an oilrig and arms like cedars, pulled Charles into a bone-crushing embrace. He was quickly noticing that all of the other men were roughly three times his size. Lovely.

"Xavier," he said as sternly at he could, hand barely freeing itself from the crushing hug to make a more proper gesture of introduction. "Charles Xavier," he finished, somewhat lamely now that they all stepped back to look him up and down. Snapping his hand back to his side, he shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot as the silence stretched. Not only were they all three times his size but they all must be at least twenty years his senior.

"Well, Xavier," the oilrig-chested man boomed, "Welcome to Juniper."

The man, named Oliver, went through each of their names and Charles barely grasped a single one. He was amused by the fact that they were all one syllable, though. They began to walk up the stairs leading from the dock, sloping stone things that barely registered as lumps beneath his feet. Yet everyone one of the men glided up them and Charles wondered at their steady breathing by the time they reached the top. He was winded himself, and trying to hide it as Oliver waved at a woman standing by frightful looking gates with long spikes of broken glass. Unsettled by the image, Charles wondered at the lack of the more commonplace barbed wire.

Approaching the woman, Charles was surprised to find she was young, intelligence shining in large brown eyes. Her gaze darted over him and he felt a bit naked, her silence pointed. Stepping forward, he stuck out his hand. "Charles Xavier, ma'am," he said, still breathless from the climb.

"Alright, Xavier. I'm Captain Moira MacTaggart," she said sharply, not taking his hand. "I am the officer you will be reporting to from here on out." Young, she thought, too young. Inwardly she sighed. "I'll give you a night to get accustomed before your orientation."

"Yes, ma'am," Charles answered curtly.

"Relax, Xavier," Captain Moira said with a soft laugh. "Here we are a band of brothers and sisters - so forget the 'ma'am." She looked at the rest of the men. "Gentlemen, you make a wonderful welcoming party. But this hellhole of an island isn't going to clean itself."

Chuckling and waving at a confused Charles, the group wandered off, picking up abandoned brooms and tools leaning against the monstrous gate. Catching sight of his baffled expression, Captain Moira said in a loud stage whisper, "They aren't guards anymore - too old, so we sent them out to pasture." The men heard and offered up obliging middle fingers. Captain Moira laughed, throwing an arm around Charles' shoulder. "Come on, I'll show you your bunk."

After entering through a tiny side door that required three different keys to open, Captain Moira took Charles up into the guards' quarters. They passed plenty of men, and Charles wondered when he'd meet the inmates. Everyone they met was friendly - and all built like fire engines.

"Our boys are all in top condition," Moira was saying, "But they need to be. Here we deal with the most hardened criminals and bloodthirsty killers. And of course it's not only that; we have mutant abilities to contend with as well." Her tone turned serious. "This is an alternate universe, Xavier. The outside doesn't exist here. We've got boys who have been here years and believe it's the only place in the entire world. And that-" here she paused and looked Charles directly in the eyes "-is the goddamn truth as far as you're concerned."

When his back hit the wall, Charles jumped. Captain Moira was close enough that Charles could taste the mint on her breath. He stared into the woman's fierce eyes and didn't dare blink. "Y-yes," he quietly affirmed.

The Captain drew away from him, a smile slipping onto her face. "You'll learn."

Moira led him through more doors that required more keys, through countless rooms and down labyrinthine hallways. The amount of uniformed men became more concentrated, and soon the two of them hit a series of rooms where guards were obviously on R&R. TVs blared, arcade games beeped, and ping pong matches raged. Charles liked the looks of the rec rooms. There were even rooms behind thick glass where guards sat to read or just enjoy silence. And past the entertainment area was the hall of dorms. Captain Moira opened the last door and she and Charles entered a long hall with a ceiling at least seven stories high, with rows upon rows of rooms. The opposite walls stretched up, looking like two facing sides of apartment buildings across a particularly narrow street. Stretching between the walls were clotheslines, and music filled the space, creating a cacophony of sound. Doors dotted the wall, long walkways spanning the length of the room, connected by stepladders.

Throwing a dirty look at a couple of guards chuckling at the look of wonder on Charles' face, Captain Moira pointed to a room; "Five rows up, last one over - the one with the yahoo smoking. Wolverine!" The addressed immediately scooped the smoking cigarette into his mouth so that only the smoldering tip could be seen via the trail of smoke spiraling up from between his lips. He made a gesture as if asking what the Captain meant, and Charles could tell Moira was gearing up for a lecture when her radio went off.

"Captain - it's Erik again! He's decided to take a walk on the roof."

Moira swore, "How the hell did he get up there again?"

"I asked him, and he told me to never doubt the Erik magic."

"I'll show him some magic - " Charles missed the rest as the captain raced from the hall, slamming the door with a sharp crack behind her.

He stared after the captain for a minute before remembering the smoking man five floors up - his roommate. Glancing into bright lights, he saw Wolverine push the still burning cigarette out of his mouth so that it dangled there - looking natural and undisturbed. Then he looked at Wolverine himself. The man was leaning over the rail, gazing blankly at him. Charles took in the five o'clock shadow and the close-cropped hair, as well as a muscular bare chest. The guy was as big as the rest of them. In his pocket there was a bottle of Jack Daniel's. He pulled it out and spun it expertly in his hands, cheeky grin directing the cigarette up.

"Bloody lucky Amore didn't catch this, right?" he shouted down, "Now I can get acquainted with you properly pissed." He motioned Charles up with a flippant wave and disappeared inside their room.

Stomach twisting, Charles began the steady climb up the first ladder, and wondered what the hell he'd gotten himself into.


Charles had been to a nudist colony before. By accident. He had ended up staying for barbeque and beach volleyball. Then he stayed longer for a very attractive lifeguard who had been hired for the party. But a hundred or so naked people, most over age fifty, hadn't conditioned him for the surprise that met him upon entering his new room.

Wolverine was sprawled - quite literally - on the floor, spread eagle. His body was bare and glistening with sweat. It had taken Charles maybe fifteen minutes to make the climb up with all of his things, having had to make another trip when he dropped his suitcase over the narrow side. Apparently, this leeway had given Wolverine enough time to begin an exercise routine. Naked. Not that Charles had the breath to complain, or the will. Pushing down on his urge to stare, he dumped his things on the empty cot. Wolverine, still loyally puffing away on his cigarette, was doing full sit ups, arms held out, legs spread. His gaze reached Charles sidelong and he grinned.

"We're all boys here," he chuckled. "Well, 'cept for Amore and a few choice ladies." Charles smiled wanly and sat on the bed. He tried to keep his eyes on Wolverine's face, he honestly did. Then Wolverine broke into some warped yoga stretches and Charles was presented with the sight of the American bent double, and of him lifting up off the ground so that his stomach arched sharply towards the ceiling. His mouth was beginning to feel a little dry.

"So," he began as Wolverine performed some deep knee bends.

"You queer?" the other man cut in.

Charles' head snapped up, his eyes nearly bugging from his head. Instantly a vibrant blush stained his cheeks. "W-what?"

Wolverine looked him up and down, sitting cross-legged on the floor, snuffing out his finished cigarette in a beer bottle sitting nearby. "Do you like to take it up the ass? Or maybe I've got it all wrong - do you like to give it up the ass?" Chuckling at Charles' awestruck stare, Wolverine rolled to his feet and took hold of his prominent sex. "Do you like the taste of cock?"

The Academy came back in a rush. Charles felt hands on him, gripping him so tightly, and a thick cock shoved into his mouth. He tried to bite, but heavy hands struck his face...

"What kind of a question is that," he intoned softly, "when you don't even know my name?"

"Charles Xavier: fresh from the Academy, specializing in combative telepathy and criminal psychology, emphasis on mutants. You graduated at the top of your class, though your teamwork marks could've been better. You originally wanted to be in the mutant sector of INTERPOL, but you had some 'trouble' your last year at the Academy that seemed to leave a black mark on your record. That trouble was the reason you changed your major from developmental psychology and focused instead on honing your mutation as a weapon - you wanted to learn how to protect yourself. But that trouble followed you, didn't it? It followed you straight out of the Academy." Wolverine sat beside Charles, brazenly brushing his fingers through brown hair. Charles flinched away from him, glaring.

"How do you know all that?" he asked quietly. Upon receiving his diploma he'd taken an oath that his ability should only be used in the line of duty. Though the anger slowly uncurling beneath his brow stirred thoughts of crashing through this man's mind, his more diplomatic side hushed those thoughts.

"I handle records of both officers and criminals."

Relaxing, but only slightly, Charles was amused at the image of Wolverine as a pencil pusher, especially with a name like he had. Subtly putting another few inches between them, he said, "But all of that - not all of it would be on my records."

Wolverine just smiled. "You got family, Xavier?"

"A sister, but she's been overseas for years now. We... we're not very close anymore."

"So you're not leaving much for this job, are you?"

"No, not much."

"Neither did I, or Moira. Or any other officer here. You could say we're a community of orphans. And we all have our own demons." Wolverine leaned closer to Charles, moving a hand to the inside of the younger man's thigh. "You call me Logan. And no worries, the boys have respect here. We band together." His lips just brushed Charles' ear when the man shoved him away.

"What the hell-"

"Listen," Logan said in a low, conspiratorial voice, "It gets... tense around here sometimes. Everybody needs release." His hand returned to the trembling thigh. "You're not getting out of this place anytime soon, and you're taut as a trigger." Logan put a hand against Charles' chest and started to push him back on the bed. "What's a fuck between friends?" His hand dipped below Charles' waistband, and the new recruit shut his eyes, fists shaking at his sides.

The man's rough voice was jarring his brain, and those strong careful hands on him... ever since the trouble at the Academy, he'd kept chaste as a nun. His breathing was uneven when Logan laid lips against his own. He hadn't been kissed in a very long time. Moaning as Logan's tongue slid into his mouth, Charles brought his hands up to violently grip muscular shoulders. "Stop," he whispered, groaning as a stiff erection pressed into his thigh, "Please." He could feel hot tears sting his eyes. His movements were so slow, lethargic - he felt all those hands on him, holding him down, over his mouth, fingers pushing inside him-

Logan didn't notice the right hook until little stars danced in front of his eyes. Blearily he looked up at his roommate from the floor and gave him a lopsided grin. "So much for the warm welcome," he scoffed, chuckling. He looked at the fist still poised after the blow, Charles' chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. "That's some punch you've got. It'll come in handy. For the inmates, not me," he joked, rubbing the side of his face. If anything, now his gaze was even more heated.

Shock buzzed in his tensed muscles, and Charles melted back against the mattress, trying to calm the rampant trembling in his body. "Do you do that to every new recruit?"

"What do you think I am, a lecher? I have the decency to ask first."

"Did I miss the question?"

"Nope. I asked you if you liked to take it up the-"


Scratching his jaw, Logan pointed out, "You never explicitly stated no."

Glaring at his roommate and wondering what Twilight Zone he'd been dropped into, Charles curled his arms over his face. "If you know so much about me, about all that 'trouble' at the Academy-"

"Never said I knew what the trouble was. Must've been something to damage that pride of yours though - maybe lost a fight? - your ranking in combat shot up after it."

A wave of hopelessness swept over him. That sick grease and water feeling settled in his stomach heavy as lead and Charles watched as the last few months of his life flashed before his eyes. Countless interviews, countless rejections. And nightmares that haunted him day and night, of so many hands on him, of pain and humiliation. Of being walked in on while he was-

"So what happened?" Logan sat up, fingering an already visible bruise blossoming under his eye.

"None of your goddamn business," Charles said thickly.

"I killed my partner."

He looked up, curls marring his vision. He could see Logan had lit another cigarette. "What?"

"I. Killed. My. Partner. After nine years together on the force. Something of a sob story, and the reason why I work in the office at a desk. Xavier," he said seriously, "I mentioned the demons we have - and I meant that each of us here are here because Juniper was the only place we could go. It's Hell, but it's home." He took a long drag from the cigarette and looked hard into Charles' eyes. "You don't have to tell me what happened to you, just know that each of us here have scars to bear."


Being on the end of the block, their window was a huge arch of glass, marred only by thick cement bars. Blocks of silvery light were thrown over the floor from the moon, hanging like an orb over the calm waters. Charles tossed and turned, kept from sleep by the eerie wail of the razor wire scraping together beneath the green waters. He'd gone to the window and looked down; moonlight illuminated the wires like strands of glittering hair. The night guards patrolled the island, silent and steady. The air smelled like salt and metal. From the other side of the room, Logan's soft snores broke the spell of the night, and Charles smiled at his roommate. When he was young he had always marveled at the friendships forged during weeklong camps or even day events for school. He already felt attached to Logan, but he'd always been like that. His heart, though wounded, still clung to his sleeve and he couldn't help but feel affection towards others before anything. Besides, he hadn't been close to anyone in so long... Swallowing down a suddenly dry throat, blue eyes darted back outside, heat angling up his face. Logan's hand had felt good on him. He'd been so afraid after the trouble... But his hand had felt good; the musky scent of him had made the hairs on the back of Charles' neck stand up.

Shaking his head, Charles rested his elbows on the windowsill. He still couldn't believe his roommate had tried to have sex with him after barely five minutes of being in the same room. Before they'd bedded down, Logan told him that if he wanted to continue what his left hook had interrupted, he was perfectly willing. Charles had stared at him for several long moments, his heart booming in his chest. His body wanted it. Like someone off of nicotine - just the smell of the smoke can inflame powerful need for the drug. But his fear had been too strong.

This place... Tomorrow he'd go beyond into the belly of the beast, so to speak. Logan told him little about the inmates, and more on how the security of this place was so tight that Alcatraz was a playground in comparison. None of it was run by computer, which surprised Charles. Apparently the heads of this jail trusted good old booby traps and muscle more than technology. Listening to the wires singing outside like sirens, and watching the glint of the light like electricity running through the water, Charles agreed with them. Juniper was like a medieval castle. The moon had illuminated more of the primitive defenses; glass spikes adorned every free corner. Nothing could hope to land. And while on the boat here he had wondered why Louise was going such an odd route, zigzagging all over; now he could see large poles sticking up out of the water, adorned with more spikes. He swallowed: the tips shone, newly carved to finite points. What kind of men would be here, behind Juniper's bars?

"Charles," Logan gruffed from beneath tangled blankets, "What the hell are you standing there for? Fucking gave me a shit fit." His questing hand wandered from under the covers and found the half empty Jack bottle. It disappeared beneath the sheets towards Logan's voice. "Fuck."

"Sorry, did I bother you?"

"Hey," Logan said, grinning within a frame of starched sheets, "I don't mind your bare ass hanging out for me to see, but I've never been a fan of looking and not touching."

This again. Charles sighed. For the few hours he'd known Logan, the man had been consistent only with one thing; namely, his libido. "Logan."

"Sooner or later, bud, you're gonna be in someone's bed besides your own. As your roommate, it is my duty to - ah - break you into the routine."

The terrible scrape of the wire sent chills down Charles' spine. He tried to remember what it felt like sleeping next to somebody. He couldn't, and it made him sick. Taking a deep breath, he turned to Logan, who was now sitting up in bed, guzzling the rest of the spirits. The bluish light of the night sent shadows spreading over Logan's chest, throwing it into sharp angles. Charles' had to catch his breath. "I-"

Logan looked up at his face before those dark eyes dropped to his groin. Behind the bottle a grin formed. "Thatta boy," Logan murmured. "You need to be loosened up for tomorrow anyway - those fuckin' cons aren't nice."

"Don't speak anymore, all right?" His face was riddled with concentration as he lowered himself into Logan's bed. The American let him lie down alone before carefully coming overtop him, watching Charles' expression the entire time. At the moment their bodies came together, Charles gasped, shutting his eyes tightly. Logan sucked in his breath as he ground their erections together, dropping the forgotten bottle to the floor.

Charles buried his face in the juncture of Logan's shoulder and neck, his breath already haggard as he thrust up against the other man. "Please," he whispered. He felt Logan's hands slide up his sides, finally gripping his waist tight as the man moved against him, puffs of hot breath shooting past Charles' ear. The pressure was building in the pit of his stomach, like a tight ball of wiry heat. He whimpered as Logan moved harder against him, the friction of their erections nearly painful as Logan's breathing turned to breathy moans every time he crashed down onto Charles.

The brunette opened his legs wider, hooking one around Logan's side to bring them closer, and Logan felt the pleasure condense. He growled into Charles' throat, teeth working the pale skin of his arched neck. The sound of their hips slapping together made him hotter and he moaned - rubbing his entire body ferociously up and down against Charles, rushing towards completion.

He was going wild with the terrible razor edge of heat boiling inside his cock. Charles knew he was going to burst any second, and strove to move harder against his roommate. With every breath he released a keening cry, now both arms and legs wrapped around Logan to increase the already maddening friction between them. "Please," was all he could think to say, the only word his mind could comprehend while Logan ground against him, "Please..."

And finally the crest of white light broke over them both. Charles cried out, still desperately thrusting against Logan as the man did likewise, pleasure still skittering over their bodies in dying sensation.

When their breathing slowed, Logan gingerly kissed Charles. The younger man returned it eagerly, thin fingers digging into the muscle of Logan's arm. And Logan laid his head down on Charles' chest, content with the man stroking the back of his neck. His uproarious snores soon clamored into action, leaving Charles effectively pinned beneath him. But Charles was still reeling from the feel of another body and didn't mind. His fingers methodically stroked over Logan's skin, heart racing. Tears stung at the corners of his eyes, and Charles nuzzled closer to the other man, aching with conflict. Logan hadn't entered him. Even the thought opened a chasm of dread in his gut and Charles had to fight to bring his breathing under control. After a few moments though, Logan's body became stifling and Charles needed to be in open air before panic set in.

Huddling next to the window, Charles stared out over the water. He wondered idly if they'd gotten that man down from the roof. What had been his name? Erik. Charles smiled; who knows if the man was a guard or an inmate. Judging from the characters he'd seen already, not to mention his roommate, Juniper was not a place to assume anything.

Sighing, Charles' trudged over the bare floor to his bunk, tunneling underneath the thin blankets. Summoning a calming display if warm memories, Charles used his power to put himself into a peaceful slumber. No use in putting off the inevitable. Tomorrow he would meet the inmates.