
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/299046.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      F/M
  Fandom:
      X-Men:_First_Class_(2011)_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Raven_Darkholme/Charles_Xavier
  Character:
      Raven_Darkholme, Charles_Xavier
  Additional Tags:
      Pre-Canon, Dubious_Consent, Consent_Play, Everyone_Dubcons_Everyone_Else,
      Telepathy, Dubcon_Telepathic_Voyeurism, what_is_this_I_don't_even,
      Masturbation, Sexual_Fantasy
  Stats:
      Published: 2011-12-22 Words: 3431
****** Loud and Clear ******
by sabinelagrande
Summary
     If only Raven weren't so very loud, this never would have happened.
Charles is, on most days, quite good at staying out of Raven's thoughts. He's
been practicing for a very long time; to make it easier, Raven has never been
particularly secretive about her emotions. Most of the time, it doesn't take a
telepath at all to know what she's thinking; what she wants, she usually
demands. It makes everything very simple for Charles.
And then Raven discovers masturbation.
The first time, Charles snaps out of a dead sleep, sitting up in his bed. "Oh
god," Raven is saying, "oh my god, oh my god-" and Charles scans the darkness
of his room for her, expecting to see her at the foot of his bed.
"Raven?" he says, worried, but he sees nothing, hears no answer.
He's just about to throw off the bedsheets when he gets it; he's hearing her
thoughts, and she is so loud that he can hear her clearly from down the hall.
The words that are floating on the surface are nothing, nothing at all compared
to the feelings under them, the rush of sensation; he can feel it all, mind and
body, the way the blinding want makes her move, one hand roaming over her
breasts, her neck, the other between her legs, fingers working harder, faster.
She pulls them away, switching hands, then she's trailing her damp fingers up
her body and, good god, slipping them into her mouth, sucking them, tasting
herself for the first time. Charles's mouth is full of it, and he hates,
absolutely hates himself for the way it makes him salivate.
Charles is clutching at the sheets, trying desperately not to listen in; he's
running through every trick in the book, listing English monarchs, American
presidents, the periodic table. It's not doing a damn thing, not when she's
pushing her fingers inside herself, fitting her hand just so, so that her thumb
rubs against her clitoris as she moves it. Charles can hear the tiny, shocked
gasp she lets out when she does it; he can even feel it when she bites her lip,
trying to keep the noises she wants to make inside. There's a disorienting
flash when he sees himself, scandalized by hearing her, angry with her. He
wants to tell her that he is, he really, really is, but that will break
everything into pieces; it will ruin absolutely everything for both of them.
She's biting her knuckle now, and the little bit of pain it causes is making it
better; Charles lets that slip by, because it- it's too much right now. Her
hand is moving faster, harder, pressed so tight against her body, her hips
working up to meet it. He's trying to keep it out, trying to keep it out it's
not working she's still going it's building building building always more
always it's right-
Charles's whole body convulses when she comes, so hard that it actually hurts.
His head falls back against his pillow, and he feels completely exhausted, even
though he hasn't done anything.
Raven fades out; she's cleaning up, and her mind is full of the enormity of
what she's just done, what it represents. It starts to be an effort to follow
her, and Charles is gone as quick as he can.
He is, of course, uncomfortably hard, but he doesn't dare touch himself. It's
his- it's her- he doesn't know exactly who is to blame, here, but it's not
right for him to take advantage of the situation like that.
It is very hard to sleep.
It is much harder to have breakfast with her in the morning.
--
She does it a lot- a whole lot- there in the beginning, for which Charles can't
blame her, not the least little bit; he does, however, wish she'd get over
herself and start doing it earlier in the night, because he'd really like to
get some sleep.
He also kind of wishes she'd do it elsewhere.
Toronto is nice this time of year.
In a backwards kind of way, the more it happens, the better it is for him; it's
practice, all of it. If she's to do it with any regularity- and all signs point
to the both of them living in this house a good while longer, and obviously
she's not going to stop now that she's started- then he has to learn how to
block it out, stop intruding on her most private moments.
For the love of god, he has to learn how to block it before she starts bringing
boys home.
That being said, the opportunities it afford him in no way make up for what he
goes through every night. She's beginning to progress, moving on; the first
times are about nothing but herself, the wonder of her body, the rush of power
that comes with it, the senseless, directionless pleasure. They're so much
easier to deal with than what comes next, because then she starts fantasizing.
She likes them fit and brown-headed, not many similarities after that, which is
a surprisingly unremarkable choice for her. A lot of them float in and out- one
one night, another the next, sometimes back and forth in a single session. Very
occasionally, it's more than one- at a time- which is way, way information than
he needed.
That works for her, for a little bit, but then, something starts to go wrong.
Other than the fact that he's been listening to his adopted sister getting off.
The images in her head are switching faster; she's focusing on them harder and
it's not doing it for her. There's something, something that's too deep for
Charles to reach, something she's not broadcasting, some piece that's missing.
It stops her entirely once or twice, twisting her up to the point where she
gives up in frustration.
And then there's that night, the night where everything goes haywire. Raven is
doing it again, but she's not enjoying it very much, and it kind of grates on
Charles. He wishes she would just give it up; she's been thinking of the
gardener lately, and it makes him want to go down the hall and ask her what the
fuck she is thinking, choosing him.
Something moves around in her brain, something stretches out, something gives
way; and then very suddenly, Charles's brain is lit up with the image of
himself.
Charles freezes; every sector of his brain is screaming she knows she knows she
knows abort abort abort, and he is waiting for it, dreading it, the way her
mind will turn towards his, the knock that will come at his door.
But then Raven relaxes; what's twisting her up inside comes unfurled. He can
feel how much she knows it's wrong, but he also feels how much of a relief it
is, how good it feels just to let herself have it, stop torturing herself with
it.
Suddenly all he can think of is that night, that very first night, the way it
was when he first saw her; she was a revelation, a comfort and a goddess at the
same time.
It doesn't feel wrong to him at all.
Now it's going right; she sighs, moving against her hand, thumbing a nipple.
The image of him in her mind is surprisingly chaste, nothing that would be
damning if it weren't in this context. His hair in the sunlight, a bead of
sweat rolling down his neck, the curve of his lips, a secretive smile.
It's what she wants to do in regards to all those things that makes it
absolutely pornographic.
It doesn't take her long to come; it's so easy, this time, washing over her,
moving all the way through her body.
As soon as it's gone, he reaches down and grabs his cock, working himself as
fast as he can; she fucking owes him that.
--
The image of him solidifies in her mind, the further it goes. It's hazy at the
beginning, indistinct, a collection of parts. His hands are the first thing
that she formulates; they're actually very good, as far as he can tell, enough
that it's disorienting at first. He wants to feel through them, wants to see
what her skin is like underneath them, but that's not what she's thinking
about, of course; he can only get the feedback from the other side.
The mouth she makes for him is, if he may say so himself, stunning, and it
makes him want so, so much more- he just has to see if he could possibly be
that good, because he never could back down from a challenge. It's fast after
that, chest and arms and legs and ass; he doesn't seem to have any genitalia,
because she's never looking at it, only ever feeling it, and if that's what she
thinks it feels like, she has been rather generous in her estimation of his
physique.
She's got a good working model, and that's when it starts to get to him; that's
when it becomes almost irresistible to reach into her brain, because if she's
going to fantasize about him, she's going to fantasize about him. He's not
going to let her give it up for the next best thing just because it's
convenient.
Still, she and the Charles who lives in her head, they can do really, really
great things together. Charles has given up any pretense of not wanting to
watch, not stroking himself while he does it; hell, at this point he's taking
pointers. Raven likes it best when he throws her down on the bed, pushing her
legs apart; he's not gentle about it, ripping her clothes off, making her take
it.
One night, after she and Charles have spent a long day together, doing
completely innocuous things in close proximity, it's particularly hot. He's
holding her down; he's gripping both her wrists in one hand over her head,
painful and threatening in just the right way. She's saying no, that she
doesn't want it like this, but all of them- her, Charles, and not Charles- know
that she really, really does. He laughs, slaps her across the face; her eyes
are just starting to tear up-
And suddenly everything absolutely crashes on Charles- what has he done, why
didn't he stop it, why does she like it, why does he want to- and he suddenly
shoves everything away from himself, as far as he can make it go, as hard as he
can.
He does it too hard and in the wrong way; when everything snaps back together,
he can feel Raven's confusion. Her fantasy is gone, replaced with concern.
«Charles?» she says, worried; she doesn't feel any trace of remorse, no sense
of shame, not the way he expected, not after she'd been doing that.
«I'm fine,» Charles sends back. «A nightmare.»
Raven is suspicious- not that he knows anything, but that he's not admitting
that something's wrong. «I'm here if you need me.»
He tries to make it seem like he feels better. «Go to sleep. I'll be fine.»
He can feel her mental eye-roll, but she fades away from him; the mood is
broken, apparently.
Charles spends the next two nights away from the house, making up excuses to
stay over with friends, far enough away that he can't sense Raven at all. It is
a complete relief and a total frustration; he still thinks about it, what she
must be doing, but it's great not to have to hear it for once, not when he's
feeling so guilty about it.
But he goes home, and it's just the same as ever, and a week passes and it's
just the same as ever, and then all at once it's not the same, and that's when
everything really goes south.
It seems that Raven is, of all the ungrateful things, getting bored with her
toy. It's good, it's great, but now there are things coming out on top of it.
It's not stopping her, not at all, but there are things bubbling to the
surface, thoughts like Charles, please, please, I need and can't you just and
god, I wish you would. It's this really bizarre mishmash in his head; she's
thinking of him when she's with him, only not really, and all that matters is
that she's not getting what she wants.
This is the point, and Charles can pinpoint it exactly, where it stops being a
matter of if and starts being a matter of when.
It takes him a while to get up the courage; the whole time, he's hearing her
calling out for him, hearing her want him, and it's making it so much easier to
go. He waits for the right moment, though; it's night, of course, and Raven is
just starting to get into it, just starting to imagine, the heat just starting
to rise.
And he gets out of bed, and he walks the hell down there.
Raven is startled when he knocks; she thinks about not answering, but she walks
over anyway, flipping over back to blond, opening the door for him. "Charles?"
"I'm coming in," Charles says, his voice in no way indicating that it is a
request.
"Charles, what are you-" and before she can get huffy or annoyed, he backs her
up against the wall, his hands flat on either side of her head, caging her in.
"I know what you want," Charles says, out loud, at the same time that his mind
is saying «god Raven, I do, I really, really do, I know exactly how you want
it-»
"I don't know what you mean," Raven says, her eyes wide and scared. «How could
you possibly,» she responds. «I've never told- you're not supposed to- you said
you wouldn't-»
"Yes, you do." «Can't help it, Raven, can't keep it out for anything, I know
how bad you want it, I want it, let me-»
"Let me go," she says, trying to duck under his arm, at the same time she fires
back with «yes yes now please do it for me don't let me get away» and Charles
catches her easily before she can move.
"No," Charles says, smiling, and he leans forward and kisses her, just like
he's been wanting to for so long, just like she's been wanting. It's nice and
rough, and she trembles when he does it, like she's actually scared of him;
he's shaking too, but that's the adrenaline talking.
She struggles in his arms, but it only makes him hold her tighter. His hands
aren't gentle, pawing at her instead; he's squeezing her breast and it feels
like he's doing it too hard but she's moaning about it, shaking her head no
while she's pushing into his hand.
"Don't make me do this," she says, trying to get away from him. "Charles, just
let me go, I won't tell if you just let me go-"
He hits her in the face to shut her up; t's barely a tap, enough to make a
noise but not enough to hurt at all, because, no matter what's happened in her
head, he doesn't know how much either of them could take. "Quiet," he warns
her; he suddenly reaches down and grabs her ass, pulling her in tight against
him, grinding against her. "Do you want the whole house to hear?" She blushes
furiously at that. "This doesn't have to be hard," Charles says, his voice
soothing. "It'll be fine if you just give me what I want."
"What if I don't?" she challenges.
He kisses her again, rougher this time. "Then it will be very, very hard."
She shivers visibly; she's starting to look really worried, teary-eyed, and
that's when Charles pops into her head, checking around. «Raven, are you-»
«Dammit, Charles,» she says, «why are you thinking when it's getting good, why
are you always thinking-»
Before he throws the mood completely off, he pushes her sharply away from him,
throwing her off guard. "Get on the bed," he says, looking darkly at her.
"I'm not going to," she fires back, backing away carefully, looking for an
escape route; what she hasn't twigged to yet is that he's pushed her towards
the bed, and when she inevitably backs into it and falls, he's right there on
top of her.
It takes a little doing and another slap, but he gets her wrists over her head,
holding them with one hand, just like she'd imagined, his fingers digging into
her skin. The nightgown she's wearing is just perfect, exactly the right thing
for what they want; it's nothing to push it up, all the way up over her chest,
so that he can get his hand on her breast, play with her nipple. She's
thrashing her head back and forth, arching up off the bed, and he wants this so
badly, so very, very badly; he doesn't know how he could have ever thought that
this could be wrong, not when they need it so much, when they want each other
like this.
She's wearing soft cotton panties, and he tugs them down her legs and off,
tossing them away; she's absolutely gorgeous, just like he knew she would be,
and she's so wet, so wet for him. His fingers slide slickly over her, and when
he presses in, where she's so tight around him, she moans, low, bucking her
hips up.
That's it, one more second and he's going to ruin his pants; he pushes them
down, best as he can with one hand, and climbs on top of her, pushing her legs
open.
«Charles,» she thinks desperately, the first moment of real fear, «we can't, we
can't possibly-»
«Oh god no,» he replies, a little shocked that she would even think that, «are
you mental, I just want to, just let me-» and he presses in against her,
grinding down, the underside of his dick rubbing against her clitoris. Raven's
mind relaxes as her body tenses; she pushes up, her hips working for more
friction.
He leans down, close enough to kiss but not quite doing it. "Not going to let
you get away," he says, his hand tightening on her wrists, "never going to get
away, because you're mine."
"Charles," she says, and there are tears on her lashes now. "I want- please-
say it again-"
"All mine," he promises, kissing her, and she gasps into his mouth and shakes
all over; that's his cue, or maybe it's just all he can take, but he comes in a
hot rush, all over her stomach.
He lets her go and makes to move, to give her some air, but she won't let him,
not for a long while, just sighs underneath him. He doesn't pull himself away
from her until he has to, until his arms are starting to get sore from the way
he's braced above her.
"We need to talk," Raven says, looking at him.
"About quite a lot, actually," Charles replies. "I tried, Raven. I wouldn't
have- I'd never look into your mind without your permission, but it was so loud
that there was just no way."
She grimaces. "I could kind of tell. I couldn't do anything about it, but-" She
smirks. "I do know when I'm yelling, Charles. I just thought you could handle
it."
"Not so well, I'm afraid," he admits. "I tried to be as quiet as I could."
"You were," she tells him. "I didn't know you were there at all. Until I-" They
both know what she's talking about. "And then you got loud."
Charles's eyes widen in shock. "I had no idea."
She gives him a searching look. "Why do you think I didn't feel guilty about
it, Charles?" She sighs. "But I thought it was going to be enough to have it
only in my head."
"It isn't," he says, and the choice of tense is conspicuous. His brow furrows.
"I'm not sure how to ask this." She raises an eyebrow at him. "The- the
slapping and throwing you around-" He doesn't know how that sentence ends.
She shrugs, looking unconcerned. "I just like it. I figured I had enough to
worry about without having to decide if it was okay on top of it."
"Fair enough," Charles says, and it's a relief not to have to talk that one
out.
She rolls towards him, laying her head on his chest. "That was pretty amazing,"
she says, and her voice is getting sleepy.
He kisses the top of her head. "Think of how much better it'll be next time."
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