Cherik One Shots

Sore

Summary- Training with Erik made Charles sore. (hehehehehehhehe)

Warnings- smut, pure pwp smut, Erik speaking german (note: i do not know german so its just google translate so im sorry if its not accurate 😭🤞)

Word count- 2073

***

"C'mon, Charles," Erik taunted, dodging every swing so far. The two were in the boxing rink after running around the compound a few times as 'warmup,' the sick, false explanation Erik made. Charles didn't have asthma, but after the first 2 laps, he felt and sounded like a thoroughly loved doggy toy. "Hit me."

It's not like Charles wasn't trying to, he had just become too accustomed to his mutation being nice and easy while seated and without requiring a painfully accelerated heartbeat. "Shut. Up."

Erik had been verbally provoking him for the whole 5 minutes they've been in the arena, clearly pissing him off— his intention. "Make me, Charles. Punch my mouth, shut me up. Come on, hit me!"

God, almighty, Charles kept swinging and kept missing. Somehow, he's more accurate when drunk. It's quite unfair. So, instead of trying to rely on his useless fists, he jumped and tackled Erik to the ground. Simple, efficient. But it's never that easy with Erik. The second they touched the ground, Erik had already grabbed Charles' wrists, spun him around, pressed Charles face first into the mat, crawling on top and straddling his hamstrings to keep him pinned down.

"You've got to do better than that," Erik laughed. "Now get free." Thus, prompted Charles to start attempting to wiggle out of Erik's death grip. In the process, his ass unintentionally shook hands with Erik's whole crotchular area. Making matters worse, Charles made horrific, unintentionally obscene noises as he struggled for release, bumping and grinding against the entire length of Erik's clothed cock. He would have been fine if Erik would've just let Charles go or if he would've given up, but Charles was determined. He froze, his blood now flowing far too quickly down south.

Charles didn't seem to notice—or take care to realize— that his stupendous pornographic actions created such a stiffy and seized the opportunity to reverse the move, flipping Erik onto his back and straddling his hips. Now face to face, Charles locked his hands firmly to Erik's wrists, pinned above his head and on the mat, reveling in victory. "When I can breathe," Charles wheezed, huffing to level out his heart rate, "I am far superior to you."

Erik had a frantic look painted in his eyes, his cheeks stained with a light shade of pink, sheer due to his tanned skin. "Get off of me," he demanded, panic detected in his tone.

It was Charles' turn to laugh. "Embarrassed that I won in a physical fight? No, you stay until I'm bored."

Erik pitifully smiled and said hesitantly, "Boredom is not the emotion you will be feeling if you don't get off of me right now."

"Make me," Charles mockingly echoed. "Seriously, why aren't you even trying? Get yourself free."

Erik grit his teeth. "Training's over. Get off." But Charles didn't budge, raising a brow as if to say 'You think me so stupid?' Erik knew in hindsight he'd regret this, but was becoming far too uncomfortable to care, muttering, "The way I will make you is by fucking you into this mat, but that's not traditional, is it?"

Charles bit back his premeditated retort, now made painfully aware of a certain growth beneath him. He made no further effort to move, however. When he dared to look Erik in the eyes after a few minutes of labored breathing, he gained a sudden wave of confidence, saying with a small smile, "I suppose it's not unheard of." Then, shredding any ounce of humility left in him, rolled his hips firmly, hardening cock meeting hard cock. "Kinda hot, some might say," Charles whispered, mouth slack and curled up in a dangerously lustful grin. After a few moments of silence and a lack of reciprocity, Charles taunted with a pouty face, "First time?"