(via nintin)

x-menfirstclassworld:

James inside Michael 

(via fyeahsuccessjames)

red-sky:

projectsnark:

scootshaboot:

awkwardloki:

tickle-me-misha:

the-flynnster:

frankly-mydear:

#you okay? #charles, look at me.

#HETEROSEXUALITY WAS NEVER AN OPTION

 #all the mutants have been rounded up and are being held like animals. poor, sweet, idealistic charles can’t take it and erik (who after all, expected this and has dealt with concentration camps) looks after him. keeps him from breaking.

THIS PLEASE THIS SOMEONE WRITE IT

[whoops sorry I can’t write.]

It was bound to happen, all things pushed aside. For any of the mutants with an even remotely realistic outlook on life, on the human race in its entirety, this should not have come as a surprise. The bright lights and barked commands, rushing wind of a helicopters propellers and gunshots going off in warning. Even when rope bound their necks like nooses but held the more degrading effect of leashes and chains shackles their feet, it should not have come as a surprise. Being stripped down and separated into cells that seemed more like cages was nothing to get wide eyed and cold about.

But most did.

All except one.

Erik had experienced worse than what most human imaginations could conjure up on any given day. Even the most depraved of minds might shudder and slink at the sight of a child being poked and prodded like a lab rat, more than occasionally worse than one. So when clothing was torn from his body and replaced with stained cotton rags, when a dog dish filled with what might had been excrements was pushed toward him, and when he was shot full of what was turning out to be some sort of mutation suppressing concoction, not even a sigh of disappointment left his lips. Reactions remained suppressed until it came time for what would be the first of many daily showers.

Walls were coated in what was most likely mold, faucets rusted and leaking, guards standing at any possible exit, it almost felt nostalgic. But there was a shaking form in this dingy room, a heaving body standing stock still in the middle of the ice cold spurts of water and when a whimper passed chilled and shaking lips Erik at once felt his heart shatter. They could do this to him, they could torture and beat and deprave him in any and all ways because by the grace of god he had been conditioned to withstand it all, but he would not bear to see this done to Charles. He could not.

The jets of water stuttered to a stop, bodies began to dry, and Erik was quick to Charles side. A hand to his chin and an ache in his heart.

“You okay?”

A constant mindless nodding that lied through every movement of his body.

“Hey look at me, look at me.”

Listless broken eyes were now staring into his and begging. Begging for a savior, begging for a release from these restraints, begging for some sort of guidance because any and all hopes this man had held 24 hours ago were now in the sewers beneath this complex.

Erik held Charles and promised himself that would be the last time he would ever see that look.

“I’m getting us out of here.”

…Dude.

More of this story would be greatly appreciated. Just fyi. 

(via touchreceptors)

gabrielstolethetardis:

#Erik has completely forgotten why they’re here at this dinner, and he can’t hear the conversations going on at the table around him because Charles is filling his head with thought after thought, none of them appropriate for the current situation. Charles glances his way for about the sixth time in as many minutes and Erik is hit with an image of naked skin and bedsheets and he roles his eyes, rubbing his palm down against his cock through his slacks. Charles hides a smile as he takes another sip of water—not wine, because he’s planning on enjoying every inch of Erik with clarity later tonight, just as he’s silently told Erik about fifteen times—and reaches a hand over underneath the table cloth, squeezing Erik’s thigh. The needle of the record player and half of the silverware on the table jumps as Charles’ hand slides upward, and Erik takes a long drag of his cigarette. ‘If you’re reading my mind right now,’ Erik thinks, concentrating hard on the empty plate in front of him, ‘I hope you realize that if you keep this up, after tonight, you won’t be able to walk straight for days.’ Charles smiles, putting down his cup, and sends Erik another thought, this time of sweat and hands and tongues, and Erik takes that as explicit permission to absolutely wreck him later that evening.

(via touchreceptors)

harveysbitchfaces:

so this is happening

YES!

(Source: theon-stark)

silverjadedraven:

“Doctor Who II Issue 7 RI Cover” by Charlie Kirchoff

(via doctorwho)