
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3350123.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      X-Men:_First_Class_(2011)_-_Fandom, X-Men:_Days_of_Future_Past_(2014)_-
      Fandom, X-Men_(Alternate_Timeline_Movies)
  Relationship:
      Kurt_Marko/Charles_Xavier
  Character:
      Charles_Xavier, Kurt_Marko, Sharon_Xavier, Cain_Marko, Raven_|_Mystique
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence, Underage_Sex, Rimming, Anal_Sex,
      Mind_Control, Age_Difference, Loss_of_Virginity, Obsession
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-02-14 Words: 2246
****** Once, Before ******
by Gerec
Summary
     Nobody loves Charles as much as his step-father Kurt, and Charles
     can't help but crave his attention.
Notes
     I wrote half of this for the XMFC/DOFP Porn Battle, before I realized
     that the challenge doesn't allow underage characters (and underage
     sex). So unfortunately I won't be able to post it over on DW, though
     hopefully OP will still see it here!
     Prompt: Kurt Marko/Charles Xavier, obsession, trust, virginity
You’re eleven years old when Mother brings him to the house to meet you.
He is kind, smiling at you as you shake his hand, his grip warm and rough. You
don’t trust him, not at first; you think he’s being nice to you just to please
Mother. And though he listens attentively as you speak - about your love of
science and the theories of Einstein while Mother leaves to get a drink –
you’re still wary. You know lots of people who pretend to care because of
Father’s money.
When you use your powers on him (not too much you’re still learning to
understand it and control it) you are surprised by what you see. He is
genuinely pleased to meet you, and finds you smart and charming for someone so
young. There are other words too…beautiful, perfect,  soft …words that no one
has ever used to describe you. Not even Mother and Father.
It makes you feel good. And you think finally, someone likes you just as you
are.
(He doesn’t want to run tests on you. Or ignore you because it hurts to look at
you.)
                                       *
You’re twelve years old when Mother marries him, and he moves in to live with
you both at the house.
He takes you to the park, and the museum, and helps you with your homework.
Your memories of Father don’t hurt quite so much, now that you have him in your
life. Mother is content to leave you two alone; somewhere in her alcohol soaked
misery she is glad that he’s there to take care of you. (So she doesn’t have
to.)
He says ‘I love you’ and you say it back without thought. Because you do love
him. And no one has ever loved you like he does.
When he hugs you and kisses your forehead, you blush – though you are secretly
pleased. He is the only one who touches you; Mother doesn’t like to be touched,
by anyone.
The staff know better than to get too close.
He takes you to the beach, just the two of you, and you spend the day swimming
and laughing under the blue summer sky. At night you wade into the deep, dark
water and he holds you close, brushing a kiss against your ear that sends a
shiver down your spine.
‘Why’ you ask, and you don’t have to explain. He knows you so well already; he
can read your every thought.
‘Because it makes you happy,’ he says, ‘and it makes me happy too. And there’s
nothing wrong with that.’
                                       *
You’re thirteen years old when he starts pushing you away.
He stops taking you places, and starts coming home later and later from work
each night. He is still affectionate with you, hugging you and patting you on
the back, but only when you initiate contact. It makes you alternately sad and
angry; why is he doing this? Was it something you did? Something you said? What
can you do to fix it?
It keeps you up nights, obsessing about him and how to make things right. You
almost use your powers on him again but then you remember your promise – to
always go to him and ask him first. So you wait up for him in the study and you
don’t let him leave, demanding answers as he scowls and refuses to look you in
the eye. You get angry, and you’re close to tears from frustration but then the
expression on his face changes. He pulls you close and you cling to him, his
arms around you as he whispers in your ear. He’s sorry, so sorry for hurting
you. He doesn’t want to hurt you anymore.
He kisses you, his lips on yours, his tongue sliding in your mouth as you gasp
in surprise. You don’t move, unsure what to do – no one has ever done this to
you before. It’s a little strange, but nice as he deepens the kiss, and now
you’re moaning against him, clutching his shirt as your head spins from the
rush.
You feel guilty, because he’s married to Mother, but mostly because you want to
do it again.
                                       *
You’re fourteen when he lays you on the bed and touches you, because you need
this and kisses are no longer enough.
You’re in his room (not ‘theirs’, Mother moved into the suite in the other wing
months ago) spread naked on his bed, his lips on your neck and his finger
inside you. It feels so good, and you writhe when he moves, sliding his finger
in and out as he peppers kisses on your face and the freckles on your chest. He
does this every night for a week, licking your nipples until they harden into
peaks; putting his mouth on your cock as he works one finger in your hole, then
two, then three.
On the last night he opens you up with his fingers and his tongue and you blush
with your whole body, even as you grind down for more. He tells you you’re
beautiful, and perfect, and so soft, and you cry out as you come, his fingers
still wedged inside you as he swallows every drop.
You whimper, and he kisses you, licking your lips and prying your mouth open,
sharing the taste of your seed with you as he strips off his shirt and
underwear. He says he loves you and you believe it, and you tell him to please
fuck you now, please. You don’t want to have to wait another moment for him to
have you.
He crawls on top of you, between the legs you’ve spread wide for him, and
smears his cock with something slippery and wet. He asks if you trust him and
of course you answer yes, and tug at him impatiently to move. You whimper when
he finally pushes in, feeling so full when he slides the head of his cock
inside you, fucking you open. He waits for you, kissing you and worrying a
bruise on your collarbone, until you relax enough for him to push some more,
hard and thick and relentless.
You keen when he’s all the way in; it’s so much better than you ever expected.
He starts slow, rocking gently as he murmurs words of endearment, and you’ve
never felt more precious or loved. There isn’t an inch of your body he doesn’t
try to reach with his hands and his lips, kissing and stroking you as he fucks
you on his bed. He slides an arm under your knee and the angle changes, your
cock swelling again as he hits something inside you that makes you throw your
head back and groan. 
It feels so good you don’t even notice that he’s picked up speed, and now his
hips are slamming against your ass every time he pulls out and dives back in.
You bite your lip to keep from crying out too loud, but he tells you he wants
to hear you (and he’s sent everyone away so there’s no one to hear). He fucks
you even harder now, and god you think he’s going to split you in two but it’s
worth it because you’ve never felt anything like this and then you’re coming
again, just as he’s spurting hot and slick inside you with a satisfied grunt.
After, he puts you in a warm bath and rubs your sore muscles, and tells you how
amazing you are and how much he loves you. That he’s glad he’s the first to
love you this way, because he wanted it to be perfect.
It was.
But then he’s telling you that he should stop, because he’s being selfish and
you deserve a ‘normal’ childhood. That you are growing up too fast and perhaps
he should send you away to boarding school for your own good, to make friends
your own age. You protest, with words and kisses both, until he promises not to
bring it up again. At least not for the rest of the night.
(You end up doing other things, the conversation all but forgotten as he
teaches you how to please him with your mouth.)
                                       *
You’re fifteen and there’s no more talk of sending you away. (He sends Raven
away instead.)
He tells you he still feels guilty, because you’re so young, but he can’t help
how he feels. And you always tell him the same thing; that you’re not sorry at
all that he loves you.
When Mother dies (and you cry, because she’s your mother and you loved her,
even if she couldn’t love you back) you spend the night in his arms, and you
don’t sneak out in the morning. Some of the staff ask after you, but he
reassures them that you’re fine, that you just need a shoulder and sends them
on their way. You help with your powers, telling them your relationship is
perfectly normal, and to never worry about it again.
They don’t.
You no longer limit the sex to his bed, choosing to make love wherever and
whenever the mood suits you. He fucks you on the couch in the study, completely
nude with your legs in the air as the gardener mows the lawn outside the open
window.
He fucks you on the kitchen counter, the cabinets rattling when you knock your
head against the wood, his cock stuffing you so full you hardly notice the
pain.
He fucks you outside on the manicured grounds, your hands and knees stained
green from grinding down on the soft grass, his hands leaving bruises on your
hips.
But mostly he fucks you in his office, sitting in the leather chair that
belonged to Father, making you bend over the big oak desk. He slides your
underwear down to your knees, hands caressing your thighs and your buttocks,
tongue buried inside you as he makes you squirm. You sigh, and he groans, and
he doesn’t stop licking and fingering you until you’re panting and sweaty and
desperate for more.
He pulls you onto his lap, burying his cock inside you with a grunt. You ride
him, and he helps, lifting you up as you slam yourself back down with abandon,
over and over until you scream and come, shooting your load across the glossy
wood finish. He pushes you over then, your chest smearing wet and sticky with
your own release, and fucks you like a man possessed. You watch him through his
eyes as he pumps his hips, spreading your ass cheeks as he takes you apart. You
see the way your hole clenches, red and swollen around his cock; feels the way
he shudders when he finally lets go, filling you up with a wordless growl.
(You remember, as he’s pulling out of you, that you used to love sitting on
Father’s lap too while he did his paperwork.)
                                       *
You’re barely sixteen when he dies in a laboratory accident, and you’re
inconsolable for days.
Cain comes home for the funeral, and there’s only the two of you when they
lower him into the ground. The lawyers come and go, and the staff try to help,
but you don’t want any company and send them on their way. You tell Cain he’ll
always have a home here; that you're his family, the only family he has left.
That night you take Cain into the master bedroom, and make him fuck you on the
bed.
                                       *
You’re seventeen when you get into Oxford, and you pack yourself and Raven for
the trip across the Atlantic.  
Your studies keep you busy, though not enough to forget what (or who) is
missing from your life. Raven tries to distract you, and for the most part it
works and you are grateful that you’re not alone.
Some nights, when it gets unbearable, you tell Raven you’re studying late and
you head to a bar for relief, however temporary. You go down on them, or you
let them push you up against the wall and fuck you, but it’s never what you
want. Not exactly.
And it’s never enough.
You find yourself searching for traces of him in every man you see – the glint
in his eye, or the calluses on his hands. The way he kissed you, deep and
devouring yet full of tenderness and naked desire. The way he always told you
he loved you, like no one did before, and no one else since.
You stumble across him quite by accident, the new English professor with the
same height and a similar build. It’s close enough that you instantly want him,
and you find yourself coming up with excuses to meet him outside of class. Soon
the two of you are sharing a cup of tea in his office and he’s reciting poetry
that he’s teaching his students and you wonder what it will take to push him
over the edge.
In the end, you follow him to the pub, and you let him buy you a beer and then
you nudge him with your telepathy to take you home. He kisses you (and you
don’t have to make him, he wants nothing more than to kiss you) and then you
let him bend you over his big wooden desk and fuck you and fuck you until you
can barely stand.
‘You’re beautiful’, he breathes, ‘so perfect, so soft.’
And you smile and answer, ‘Yes, so I’ve been told. Once, before.’
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