Cherik One Shots

Every Visit Ends the Same Way pt. 2

Summary- Non-con turned to CNC turned to sex. (A continuation, not much else to say)

Warnings- non-con, CNC, smut, top erik, bottom Charles

Word Count- 1584

Note- soo this didn't turn out exactly like how i wanted it to/originally pictured it, but it's not terrible — just more fluffy than angsty, i guess. in such a massive writers block rn im sorry yall 🥲

***

3 Years Prior

Erik sat in the gym, mindlessly lifting weights, preparing both mentally and physically for the upcoming battle against Shaw— the sole man responsible for his, to put it simply, anguish.

The barbell was far too heavy, though, too strenuous. The treadmill only wore him out, made him dizzy. The threatened mentality behind every activity he attempted created such a weakened sensation; Erik feared he would fail.

Within that instant, he switched to manipulating the metals around him, something he knew, something he was good at. Anything he could and couldn't see was bent and reshaped to his will. He created shields from the weighted plates, daggers from the dumbbells' handles, and a vile rug-burn cyclone from the running track, threading metal strips through it to be malleable.

He then undid the process, manufacturing to originality. He was almost comforted, almost satisfied with his abilities. But, his mind was unforgiving.

Erik decided the gym was no longer useful and headed to the shower, cold and miserable by design. He wouldn't enjoy the shower; he was adamant about that. He felt the need to punish himself, needed no pleasure, in order to be able to kill the man who orphaned him.

Charles would hate him.

Erik's face fell at the thought, pausing his soapy scrub. Charles would never be the type to endorse killing; Erik knew that the moment they had their first talk, but he'd hoped Charles would understand this.

Erik had never been more confident that Charles wouldn't, though, especially after his mind was already ransacked and Charles' stance hadn't changed.

It angered him.

How he couldn't see that if Shaw weren't to be killed now, they'd be next. And, if not them, more of their kind, slaughtered and laid waste, ordered by both Shaw and onlookers of their mission.

Erik had dried himself off in a matter of minutes and changed into a black turtleneck and matching slacks, now steadfast to Charles' room, masking his irritation with a charming smile as he knocked on the door. He needed to make Charles understand.

"Erik," Charles seemed surprised. He donned a soft cotton sweater and long, perfectly pressed trousers. "Come in."

As a natural— for them— wind down, the two played chess and wound up discussing their political differences, which ended with Erik's bold statement, "Peace was never an option." After the line, Erik stood with a large swig of his drink, finishing it, and strode to the window, opening it with mental ease, both hands still laced behind him. After a long beat of silence, "Weather's nice tonight. Cool breeze."

"Yes... I suppose." Charles sounded cautious in tone but stood beside Erik nonetheless, the two staring out into the vast midnight dark. "What are you thinking about?"

"What, don't want to find out yourself?"

"Consider it respect."

Erik turned to meet the wide blue eyes which bore dour. "Are we friends?"