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nekosmuseTitle: An Ideal Grace (10/?)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Fandom: XMFC, a modern, non-powered AU
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Past dubcon
Summary: Charles and Erik as university professors. Need I say more?
Author's note: Erik's poetry was written by the lovely afrocurl. I wish I could write a million chapters of this so that it would never end. I swear she is Erik personified. Her writing has inspired whole scenes in this story--has made it a thousand times better than it might otherwise have been.
Another thanks to stlkrchck, for ensuring our New York setting is as realistic as possible. I cannot tell you how many emails I've sent that have started with: so, I want to do this, is there anywhere in NY… She answers me every time.
Back to chapter 9
~~~
"Tell me what we're doing here again?"
Charles scanned the path in either direction. He glanced over his shoulder, where, through the treeline, he could just make out the street. This was the place--the south-east corner, the running path parallel to East Drive, across from the Sherman monument. Charles checked his watch.
"We're hanging out, enjoying the warm weather," he said, ignoring Moira's snort that told him exactly how thinly veiled she believed his excuse.
"It is 8:30 on a Sunday morning, and we trucked all the way to Central Park so that we could hang out and enjoy the warm weather," Moira said.
"And have coffee," Charles reminded her, holding up his cup. He'd bought her one, a thank you for agreeing to meet him at so ungodly an hour--well, for her, anyway; Moira had never been a morning person.
Charles on the other hand loved Sunday mornings in Central Park. They were decidedly lacking in tourists and there were no families with small children--they would come later. At this hour the only people around were the runners. Well, and the people stalking them, Charles supposed.
"Oh my God; Erik's here, isn't he?" Moira asked, as if she'd heard Charles' thought. Charles flushed even as he tried to come up with a reasonable explanation.
There probably wasn't one.
"His sister..." he began.
"His sister?" Moira sounded incredulous, not that Charles could blame her. In the history of bad ideas, this was probably one of Charles' worst. He was fairly certain conspiring with Erik's sister was going to end up backfiring. He just hoped Erik was so hopelessly infatuated with him by the time that happened that he would be willing to forgive Charles the indiscretion.
"His sister told me he runs here every Sunday morning. That he takes the path around the pond. She suggested this would be a perfect place to conveniently bump into him."
Moira was staring at him, colour draining from her face even as her eyes grew far too wide for their sockets. Charles winced.
"Bad plan?"
"Really, really bad plan," Moira said. She shook her head, but Charles wasn't quite ready to hear just why he was fucking this up.
"He's writing poetry about me, Moira. Poetry," he said. He pulled out his phone then and retrieved Raven's first text. He'd reread it at least a dozen times since it arrived on Saturday night--and would likely read it a dozen more times before the day was done.
Wordlessly, he handed Moira his phone.
Impossibly, her eyes grew even wider as she read it.
"Oh my God," she said when she was done, which had pretty much been Charles' reaction--still was his reaction if he was honest with himself.
"I know," Charles said, because what else could he say, except perhaps, "I'm his magnetic north." It still made him giddy to say it.
"He's in love with you," Moira said, and Charles could have kissed her for voicing it, because he'd thought it--wanted to believe it--but he was hardly in a position to give an unbiased opinion on the subject.
Charles bit his lip to keep from grinning like a loon. That sort of thing might have been okay when he was drunk, or in the privacy of his own home, but it was hardly acceptable behavior at 8:30 on a Sunday morning in the middle of the park. That didn't mean his hand didn't tremble terribly as he took back his phone and tucked it into his pocket.
Moira offered no further objection after that. She sat perched on the edge of the bench, sipping her coffee, helping Charles scan the park for runners that might or might not have been Erik. She had yet to meet him, so whenever she spotted someone she pointed him out, only for Charles to shake his head. He'd about given up hope when she pointed out someone crossing the stone bridge on the other side of the pond.
Charles' breath caught in his throat.
Then he panicked.
Given the direction Erik was running, there was a chance he might forgo the path Charles had chosen. He might swing north, head further into the park--though Raven had assured him Erik looped the pond, and that would mean having to pass Charles' location. He waited, watching the connecting path for any sign of Erik.
He didn't really start breathing again until he saw him.
Ahead, the path bent, curling back towards the juncture that branched towards the stone bridge. Erik stuttered to a stop, close enough that Charles could see the flush of his face, but not the beads of sweat that undoubtedly covered his skin. For one terrifying moment, Charles thought that Erik had noticed him and intended to turn the other way, but Erik wasn't looking in Charles' direction, stopping only to retrieve the bottle of water that hung off the belt around his waist.
"Okay," Moira said, clearly as thunderstruck as Charles, "So when you said gorgeous, you meant gorgeous."
Charles grunted something that might have been agreement. It was hard to tell, given that his every thought was preoccupied by the fact that Erik was wearing shorts.
They were hardly indecent--unfortunately--but they certainly showed the shape of Erik's calves. Charles ran his eyes along their length for several long seconds. The sight made Charles want to take up running--though only so that he could have an excuse to run with Erik. Erik would probably be a little faster, so Charles would be forced to run a pace behind.
The view, he imagined, would be stunning.
He'd tried running years ago, when he was still dating Scott and Scott had suggested they take up something they could do together. In Scott's mind that had meant running. Charles had hated it.
He suspected now he had simply lacked motivation.
He let his gaze trail up, watching the line of Erik's throat as Erik swallowed. The hair around his neck was damp, curled with sweat. He was breathing heavily. When he had finished drinking, he brought the back of his hand up to wipe at his mouth. Charles bit a little harder into the lip clenched between his teeth.
"I think I might have just gotten pregnant," Moira announced when Erik decided to lift his shirt, using it to wipe the sweat from his face. Doing so revealed a line of abs the likes of which Charles had never seen.
Charles felt his mouth grow dry. He swallowed heavily. He licked his lips even as he willed his threatened erection into submission. God, how he wanted to lick every inch of Erik's waist; from his defined six-pack to the jut of his hips to the dip of his navel. Unlike Erik, Charles had never written poetry--had never even contemplated it--but he could write it now, entire verses on Erik's abs alone.
"We have to at least try to pretend this is a chance meeting," Charles said, which would have been easier were he not so thoroughly distracted by Erik's midsection. He watched the soft drape of Erik's shirt as it fell, covering his stomach even as the newly stretched neck revealed Erik's collarbone.
Christ, Charles really, really needed to get laid. He wondered exactly how long Raven had had in mind when she'd told him to be patient.
"Too late," Moira said, which made absolutely no sense until Charles remembered what they were supposed to be doing. He glanced up sharply to find Erik staring directly at him. Charles swallowed, his mouth going dry again, this time for an entirely different reason.
It was hardly the first time Charles had been caught--and by now Erik certainly knew that Charles was interested--but Charles still felt himself flush even as he raised his hand to wave awkwardly, apologetic smile settling over his face. Moira hid behind her coffee.
Charles watched, butterflies swimming in his stomach, as a myriad of emotions crossed Erik's face. Surprised was followed by genuine delight, then hesitation, and finally indecision--though it was entirely possible Charles had imagined some of those. Charles waited, holding his breath while Erik waged some internal war before making his decision. He tucked his water bottle back into his belt and jogged over to where Charles and Moira were sitting.
Had Charles not been trying for casual indifference, he might have pumped a fist into the air.
Erik stopped right in front of him. Charles stood, resisting the urge to simply throw himself at Erik--because now he could make out the beads of sweat on Erik's skin and, oh, how he wanted to chase them with his tongue. It was only the rustling beside him--Moira standing--that stopped him.
"Hey," Erik said, cringing slightly like he'd meant to say something else. He glanced uncertainly in Moira's direction.
"Hi," Charles said, undoubtedly sounding like a complete idiot. Moira snorted into her cup. Charles did his best to ignore her--which lasted just until Erik cast another glance in her direction, Charles kicking himself then. "Sorry, Erik, this is Moira; Moira, Erik. Moira's my closest friend. She lives nearby," she didn't, "so we sometimes hang out on Sunday mornings."
It was a reasonable excuse, and had the benefit of explaining Charles' presence in the park. Charles congratulated himself on his quick thinking.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Moira said, extending a hand. Erik paused only long enough to wipe his hand on his shorts--it pulled them nicely across his groin, Charles noted--before accepting her hand.
"Yeah, likewise, and sorry," he said, holding up his hand when he was done as if to excuse his sweaty palms.
Introductions seemed to be as far as anybody was willing to go, the three of them standing there, Erik shuffling awkwardly--that runners shuffle that Charles saw people doing at lights--while Charles tried desperately to find a way to keep Erik from darting off again. Fortunately Moira--who'd always had such a good grasp of people and relationships--shook her now empty coffee cup in a universal symbol for I need another one.
"Can I get you anything, Erik?" she asked, nodding over her shoulder to the nearest vendor. Erik shook his head. Moira turned to Charles.
"No," he said, mentally adding but take your time, wishing she could hear.
She was gone no more than half a minute when Erik, after a second's awkward indecision, settled, seeming willing to abandon his run in favour of talking with Charles. He stepped a little closer, so that they were no longer blocking the path, the action bringing him close enough that Charles could feel the heat coming off of his body.
No man, Charles decided, should smell as good as Erik did after running.
"You weren't in class on Wednesday," Erik said, as though picking up an old conversation. He wasn't looking at Charles, but staring at his feet, the toe of his sneaker tracing circles on the ground.
Charles watched the movement for several seconds before realizing he was meant to answer.
"I had a dentist appointment," he lied--and he hated doing it, he really did, but it was either that or say I couldn't bear to face you after you rejected me and why the hell did you do that if you're writing beautiful poetry about me?
It was probably too soon in their relationship for that.
Erik, who was still impossibly tense, relaxed instantly. It was an incredible thing to witness, all of Erik's tension bleeding from him, his shoulders falling even as a slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His foot stopped moving.
"We're reading Ancient Mariner next week," Erik said. Charles smiled.
"Oh? I like that poem. We studied it when I was away at boarding school," he said, which seemed to be the wrong thing to say, because Erik stiffened again. Navigating the mind field of Erik's boundaries--as Raven had so eloquently called then--was proving far more difficult than Charles had imagined. It might have helped if he actually knew what those boundaries were. He made a note to ask Raven.
For now, he changed tactics.
"I liked your poems, too," he said, and that drew Erik's attention, Erik glancing up sharply to meet Charles' eye.
"You've read them?" he said, seeming surprised, though Charles could hardly imagine why.
"Several times now," Charles confessed. "You write beautifully. I found them incredibly moving." He paused, uncertain if he should go into specifics. Instead he settled on, "I can bring the binder to class on Monday, if you want, but I wouldn't mind keeping them for a bit, if you don't need them."
He didn't want to give up Erik's poetry--he wanted to keep them forever, to read them and read them and read them until Erik made sense.
Erik shook his head. "Keep them as long as you need," he said, sounding pleased.
Charles nodded, smiling softly at that. He decided to take a gamble.
"Can I ask you something?"
Something shifted in Erik's gaze, but he nodded, holding himself incredibly still. Charles swallowed.
"Who did you lose?" It was probably far too personal a question, and he suspected he already knew the answer, but so much of Erik's poetry spoke of loss--enough that it was impossible for Erik not to have experienced that loss first hand.
Erik hesitated, as though debating whether or not to answer. Charles was about to backpedal--to tell Erik never mind, that it was none of his business; that he was sorry for having asked, when Erik glanced down and then spoke.
"My parents," he said even as he shrugged. "I was nine. Their car went into the river."
Charles' breath caught at that. He found himself glancing to the pond over Erik's shoulder, understanding then the reoccurring water themes found throughout Erik's work. Charles knew enough about poetry to know that most people used water as a metaphor for cleansing, but in Erik's work, water tended to represent some ominous force, capable of destroying lives. In his case, Charles supposed, it had.
"I'm sorry," he said, because there was nothing else he could say.
Erik didn't say anything in response, but he didn't take off running again, and the lines around his eyes loosened somewhat, so Charles suspected it was the right thing to say. He still looked more awkward than he had since he first decided to join Charles--was still staring at his feet--so Charles cleared his throat and offered, "I lost my father when I was five."
Erik glanced up at that, features shifting to something that Charles instantly recognized. Unlike sympathy--which had always been too close to pity for Charles' tastes--this was empathy. He didn't say anything, but the silence that spilled between them grew comfortable, conciliatory. Had Charles not been afraid to break it, he might have reached between them and placed a hand on Erik's arm.
There were other things Charles wanted to ask--he wanted to know who Erik wrote about with such devotion and love; and were they the same someone who had later inspired such anger and hate? He wanted to ask if Erik had written anything recently. He wanted to tell Erik specifics--mention that his second untitled piece had left Charles shaking with rage, and that Brotherhood had made him yearn for something he had never had. He wanted to thank him for not giving into the despair he'd read in A Damaged Life.
Instead he said nothing, letting Erik grow comfortable with the silence between them. He was not expecting Erik to break it.
"Do you write?" Erik asked.
Charles flushed, thinking then of Erik's abs and the many, many odes he wanted to write to them.
Erik, who was watching Charles carefully now, obviously misread the reaction, because he smiled softly and said, "May I see them sometime?"
And what was there for Charles to do, save agree--and then immediately begin panicking, because undoubtedly Erik meant sometime soon, and that gave Charles precariously little time to figure out how to write poetry, and then write it.
Still, Erik's pleased smile was more than worth it.
~*~
Erik was grinning when he got home, pleasantly flushed from the remainder of his run--the half he'd finished after Charles' friend had returned and reminded Erik that he was probably dangerously close to stepping over his self-imposed line.
And it was a self-imposed line, Erik had realized after his session with Dr. Frost, one he ought to be proud for having set.
Falling in love with one of your students does not make you a monster, Erik. We don't get to pick and choose the people we develop feelings for, and your interest in him neither violates the law nor school policy.
He'd spent several long, agonizing minutes thinking she'd just given him permission to pursue Charles.
I'm not advocating you date Charles. In fact I think the boundaries you've set for yourself are admirable, necessary even, though not for him; for you.
She'd asked him then if he thought Sebastian had loved him. If he thought Sebastian had ever agonized over boundaries. Erik had reluctantly agreed he had not; he did not.
At the time it had felt like love.
He remembered that first night--remembered lying in Shaw's bed, Shaw leaned over him, trailing calloused fingers from Erik's sternum to his navel. Erik had shivered, twisting against the sensation. Shaw had asked, Are you a virgin, Erik? and Erik had nodded, stomach tightening with nerves. Shaw had only smiled, and in that moment it had looked like love.
For a long, long time Erik had thought it was.
You know this isn't the same, don't you, Erik? Your feelings for Charles are in no way related to what Sebastian Shaw did to you.
She'd told him then that his feelings for Charles were valid--that he was allowed to feel them. Three days later, Erik was starting to maybe believe her.
Certainly it was enough to lighten his mood.
He toed off his shoes when he got through the front door, throwing his fuel belt onto the ground beside them. He pulled his shirt, damp with sweat, over his head and headed towards the kitchen.
Raven was undoubtedly still asleep--she'd sleep until noon if he let her--which was good, because she had rule about shirts in the kitchen. Something about skin cells and body hair getting into the food and then she'd have to dispose of everything and do the shopping from scratch. No shirts, no socks, no service was her rule--and most of the time Erik obey it to the letter.
Today he stood shirtless in the kitchen, started the coffee and then headed in search of a shower.
He was feeling... euphoric was a good word. Part of that was the run. Running always helped to clear his head--it was probably the best advice any therapist had ever given him--the adrenalin and endorphins a natural high. Most of his good mood he suspected he owed to his chance meeting with Charles.
He'd thought he'd never see him again--had worried about it constantly in the days following Charles' missed class. He hadn't expected to learn otherwise, nor had he expected them to slide so effortlessly back into synch. It was almost as if the universe had, in one morning, decided to make amends for pretty much the whole of Erik's life so far.
Not that it had made his life any easier, because Charles was still off limits--for the time being, at least--but at least Erik hadn't lost him completely, and if Dr. Frost was to be believed, Erik didn't need to feel guilty for thinking about Charles the way that he thought about Charles.
As he stepped into the shower, he wondered how far that extended. Were there limits to what he was allowed to think? Or was Dr. Frost right in suggesting the boundaries he set were his own, limited entirely by what he was comfortable with. Could he, say, fantasize about Charles--something he'd done, though only ever with a tremendous amount of guilt.
He thought perhaps he could set parameters for that, too. Like maybe it was okay if he imagined himself younger, still a student. He wondered what it would have been like if Charles had met him instead of Shaw. Would Charles have been his first kiss? Charles would have undoubtedly been gentler than Shaw--who'd marvelled at the tightness of Erik's hole before sticking a blunt finger inside. The experience had not been pleasant. Erik had been too blinded by worship to question it.
Charles, though, would have wet his finger with his mouth, would have played with Erik, teased Erik, until he opened completely. Only then would he have slid a finger inside. He would have let Erik touch, too, not told him to keep his hands at his sides. Erik would have run his hands through Charles' hair--it looked so soft--and over his shoulders, down the lines of his arms. And maybe Charles would have laughed when Erik's fingers tickled sensitive flesh, and the sound would fill the space between them until Erik was smiling, smiling.
In his memory, Shaw's smile was made entirely of daggers.
Erik started, the cock in his hand still only half hard, the water beating against him becoming a rushing torrent, streaming in through the open car window.
It was rare that he attempted this--Masturbation is normal, Erik, a therapist had once told him, but not for him. His sexuality was too tied up in his history. There were days when the effort seemed futile, and today was one of those days. He shook off the image of Shaw holding him beneath the water--something that had never happened--and removed his hand from his cock, reaching for the shampoo instead.
It was probably for the best; already the things he had thought about Charles seared through him, guilt coiling in his chest. He finished his shower quickly and tried to find the serenity seeing Charles had brought.
He found it on the pages of his Moleskine.
Writing had always been cathartic. He vented his rage for Shaw, reclaiming his earlier good mood in the process. Then he set about making breakfast.
~*~
Raven Interlude
Raven stood, not quite comprehending what she was seeing. She'd known Erik was cooking, the scent of bacon--which Erik cooked exclusively for her, refusing to eat the stuff himself, still clinging desperately to the ideals of his parents faith, despite having no true understanding of it--reaching her nose long before she'd left her bedroom. What she wasn't expecting was to find Erik whistling.
Erik never whistled.
She knew precisely why he was in a good mood--it was blindingly obvious that Charles had followed her instructions, had staged a chance meeting, and here were the fruits of her labour, her brother happier than she'd seen him in months--if not years.
For a while Raven merely stood and watched, a soft smile pulling at her mouth. Erik was her whole world, and to see him happy filled her with such joy she thought her heart might burst. She would never have this--never trust anyone, save Erik, enough to fall in love--but she could live vicariously through him, feel the tender swell of happiness that came with having found someone worth finding.
Erik, who obviously sensed someone watching him, tensed briefly before glancing over his shoulder. He seemed startled to find her there--though Raven imagined it was probably her smile that had surprised him. He arched an eyebrow in her direction.
"Do you know you were whistling?" Raven asked. Erik coloured. Raven couldn't help but smirk.
"I may have run into Charles during my run," he said, sounding guilty, like he had purposely sought Charles out--and for all Raven knew, maybe he had. "He didn't drop the class. He just had an appointment."
Raven grinned at that. She knew the truth, of course--and this would mark the first time she had kept a secret from Erik, but she told herself this was no different than hiding Erik's birthday present from him.
"Did you ask him out?" she said, kicking herself then, because Erik's smile slid from his face.
He'd told her what his shrink had said--which as far as Raven was concerned was permission to begin dating Charles immediately. Erik had disagreed, which was probably a sign he wasn't going to ask Charles out anytime soon. Raven should have known better.
"I'm not going to date him, Raven. If, after he graduates, he's still single and interested, then we'll see, but for now our relationship is going to remain strictly platonic."
There wasn't much Raven could say to that--though she did nod, coming into the kitchen to steal a piece of cooked bacon from where Erik was setting it atop folded paper towel. It was obvious she had her work cut out for her, though she wasn't sure what would be easier; convincing Erik to give up his stringent morality, or convincing Charles that Erik was worth waiting for.
She suspected it was going to take some combination of the two.
On to chapter 11
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Fandom: XMFC, a modern, non-powered AU
Rating: NC-17
Warning: Past dubcon
Summary: Charles and Erik as university professors. Need I say more?
Author's note: Erik's poetry was written by the lovely afrocurl. I wish I could write a million chapters of this so that it would never end. I swear she is Erik personified. Her writing has inspired whole scenes in this story--has made it a thousand times better than it might otherwise have been.
Another thanks to stlkrchck, for ensuring our New York setting is as realistic as possible. I cannot tell you how many emails I've sent that have started with: so, I want to do this, is there anywhere in NY… She answers me every time.
Back to chapter 9
~~~
"Tell me what we're doing here again?"
Charles scanned the path in either direction. He glanced over his shoulder, where, through the treeline, he could just make out the street. This was the place--the south-east corner, the running path parallel to East Drive, across from the Sherman monument. Charles checked his watch.
"We're hanging out, enjoying the warm weather," he said, ignoring Moira's snort that told him exactly how thinly veiled she believed his excuse.
"It is 8:30 on a Sunday morning, and we trucked all the way to Central Park so that we could hang out and enjoy the warm weather," Moira said.
"And have coffee," Charles reminded her, holding up his cup. He'd bought her one, a thank you for agreeing to meet him at so ungodly an hour--well, for her, anyway; Moira had never been a morning person.
Charles on the other hand loved Sunday mornings in Central Park. They were decidedly lacking in tourists and there were no families with small children--they would come later. At this hour the only people around were the runners. Well, and the people stalking them, Charles supposed.
"Oh my God; Erik's here, isn't he?" Moira asked, as if she'd heard Charles' thought. Charles flushed even as he tried to come up with a reasonable explanation.
There probably wasn't one.
"His sister..." he began.
"His sister?" Moira sounded incredulous, not that Charles could blame her. In the history of bad ideas, this was probably one of Charles' worst. He was fairly certain conspiring with Erik's sister was going to end up backfiring. He just hoped Erik was so hopelessly infatuated with him by the time that happened that he would be willing to forgive Charles the indiscretion.
"His sister told me he runs here every Sunday morning. That he takes the path around the pond. She suggested this would be a perfect place to conveniently bump into him."
Moira was staring at him, colour draining from her face even as her eyes grew far too wide for their sockets. Charles winced.
"Bad plan?"
"Really, really bad plan," Moira said. She shook her head, but Charles wasn't quite ready to hear just why he was fucking this up.
"He's writing poetry about me, Moira. Poetry," he said. He pulled out his phone then and retrieved Raven's first text. He'd reread it at least a dozen times since it arrived on Saturday night--and would likely read it a dozen more times before the day was done.
Wordlessly, he handed Moira his phone.
Impossibly, her eyes grew even wider as she read it.
"Oh my God," she said when she was done, which had pretty much been Charles' reaction--still was his reaction if he was honest with himself.
"I know," Charles said, because what else could he say, except perhaps, "I'm his magnetic north." It still made him giddy to say it.
"He's in love with you," Moira said, and Charles could have kissed her for voicing it, because he'd thought it--wanted to believe it--but he was hardly in a position to give an unbiased opinion on the subject.
Charles bit his lip to keep from grinning like a loon. That sort of thing might have been okay when he was drunk, or in the privacy of his own home, but it was hardly acceptable behavior at 8:30 on a Sunday morning in the middle of the park. That didn't mean his hand didn't tremble terribly as he took back his phone and tucked it into his pocket.
Moira offered no further objection after that. She sat perched on the edge of the bench, sipping her coffee, helping Charles scan the park for runners that might or might not have been Erik. She had yet to meet him, so whenever she spotted someone she pointed him out, only for Charles to shake his head. He'd about given up hope when she pointed out someone crossing the stone bridge on the other side of the pond.
Charles' breath caught in his throat.
Then he panicked.
Given the direction Erik was running, there was a chance he might forgo the path Charles had chosen. He might swing north, head further into the park--though Raven had assured him Erik looped the pond, and that would mean having to pass Charles' location. He waited, watching the connecting path for any sign of Erik.
He didn't really start breathing again until he saw him.
Ahead, the path bent, curling back towards the juncture that branched towards the stone bridge. Erik stuttered to a stop, close enough that Charles could see the flush of his face, but not the beads of sweat that undoubtedly covered his skin. For one terrifying moment, Charles thought that Erik had noticed him and intended to turn the other way, but Erik wasn't looking in Charles' direction, stopping only to retrieve the bottle of water that hung off the belt around his waist.
"Okay," Moira said, clearly as thunderstruck as Charles, "So when you said gorgeous, you meant gorgeous."
Charles grunted something that might have been agreement. It was hard to tell, given that his every thought was preoccupied by the fact that Erik was wearing shorts.
They were hardly indecent--unfortunately--but they certainly showed the shape of Erik's calves. Charles ran his eyes along their length for several long seconds. The sight made Charles want to take up running--though only so that he could have an excuse to run with Erik. Erik would probably be a little faster, so Charles would be forced to run a pace behind.
The view, he imagined, would be stunning.
He'd tried running years ago, when he was still dating Scott and Scott had suggested they take up something they could do together. In Scott's mind that had meant running. Charles had hated it.
He suspected now he had simply lacked motivation.
He let his gaze trail up, watching the line of Erik's throat as Erik swallowed. The hair around his neck was damp, curled with sweat. He was breathing heavily. When he had finished drinking, he brought the back of his hand up to wipe at his mouth. Charles bit a little harder into the lip clenched between his teeth.
"I think I might have just gotten pregnant," Moira announced when Erik decided to lift his shirt, using it to wipe the sweat from his face. Doing so revealed a line of abs the likes of which Charles had never seen.
Charles felt his mouth grow dry. He swallowed heavily. He licked his lips even as he willed his threatened erection into submission. God, how he wanted to lick every inch of Erik's waist; from his defined six-pack to the jut of his hips to the dip of his navel. Unlike Erik, Charles had never written poetry--had never even contemplated it--but he could write it now, entire verses on Erik's abs alone.
"We have to at least try to pretend this is a chance meeting," Charles said, which would have been easier were he not so thoroughly distracted by Erik's midsection. He watched the soft drape of Erik's shirt as it fell, covering his stomach even as the newly stretched neck revealed Erik's collarbone.
Christ, Charles really, really needed to get laid. He wondered exactly how long Raven had had in mind when she'd told him to be patient.
"Too late," Moira said, which made absolutely no sense until Charles remembered what they were supposed to be doing. He glanced up sharply to find Erik staring directly at him. Charles swallowed, his mouth going dry again, this time for an entirely different reason.
It was hardly the first time Charles had been caught--and by now Erik certainly knew that Charles was interested--but Charles still felt himself flush even as he raised his hand to wave awkwardly, apologetic smile settling over his face. Moira hid behind her coffee.
Charles watched, butterflies swimming in his stomach, as a myriad of emotions crossed Erik's face. Surprised was followed by genuine delight, then hesitation, and finally indecision--though it was entirely possible Charles had imagined some of those. Charles waited, holding his breath while Erik waged some internal war before making his decision. He tucked his water bottle back into his belt and jogged over to where Charles and Moira were sitting.
Had Charles not been trying for casual indifference, he might have pumped a fist into the air.
Erik stopped right in front of him. Charles stood, resisting the urge to simply throw himself at Erik--because now he could make out the beads of sweat on Erik's skin and, oh, how he wanted to chase them with his tongue. It was only the rustling beside him--Moira standing--that stopped him.
"Hey," Erik said, cringing slightly like he'd meant to say something else. He glanced uncertainly in Moira's direction.
"Hi," Charles said, undoubtedly sounding like a complete idiot. Moira snorted into her cup. Charles did his best to ignore her--which lasted just until Erik cast another glance in her direction, Charles kicking himself then. "Sorry, Erik, this is Moira; Moira, Erik. Moira's my closest friend. She lives nearby," she didn't, "so we sometimes hang out on Sunday mornings."
It was a reasonable excuse, and had the benefit of explaining Charles' presence in the park. Charles congratulated himself on his quick thinking.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Moira said, extending a hand. Erik paused only long enough to wipe his hand on his shorts--it pulled them nicely across his groin, Charles noted--before accepting her hand.
"Yeah, likewise, and sorry," he said, holding up his hand when he was done as if to excuse his sweaty palms.
Introductions seemed to be as far as anybody was willing to go, the three of them standing there, Erik shuffling awkwardly--that runners shuffle that Charles saw people doing at lights--while Charles tried desperately to find a way to keep Erik from darting off again. Fortunately Moira--who'd always had such a good grasp of people and relationships--shook her now empty coffee cup in a universal symbol for I need another one.
"Can I get you anything, Erik?" she asked, nodding over her shoulder to the nearest vendor. Erik shook his head. Moira turned to Charles.
"No," he said, mentally adding but take your time, wishing she could hear.
She was gone no more than half a minute when Erik, after a second's awkward indecision, settled, seeming willing to abandon his run in favour of talking with Charles. He stepped a little closer, so that they were no longer blocking the path, the action bringing him close enough that Charles could feel the heat coming off of his body.
No man, Charles decided, should smell as good as Erik did after running.
"You weren't in class on Wednesday," Erik said, as though picking up an old conversation. He wasn't looking at Charles, but staring at his feet, the toe of his sneaker tracing circles on the ground.
Charles watched the movement for several seconds before realizing he was meant to answer.
"I had a dentist appointment," he lied--and he hated doing it, he really did, but it was either that or say I couldn't bear to face you after you rejected me and why the hell did you do that if you're writing beautiful poetry about me?
It was probably too soon in their relationship for that.
Erik, who was still impossibly tense, relaxed instantly. It was an incredible thing to witness, all of Erik's tension bleeding from him, his shoulders falling even as a slight smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. His foot stopped moving.
"We're reading Ancient Mariner next week," Erik said. Charles smiled.
"Oh? I like that poem. We studied it when I was away at boarding school," he said, which seemed to be the wrong thing to say, because Erik stiffened again. Navigating the mind field of Erik's boundaries--as Raven had so eloquently called then--was proving far more difficult than Charles had imagined. It might have helped if he actually knew what those boundaries were. He made a note to ask Raven.
For now, he changed tactics.
"I liked your poems, too," he said, and that drew Erik's attention, Erik glancing up sharply to meet Charles' eye.
"You've read them?" he said, seeming surprised, though Charles could hardly imagine why.
"Several times now," Charles confessed. "You write beautifully. I found them incredibly moving." He paused, uncertain if he should go into specifics. Instead he settled on, "I can bring the binder to class on Monday, if you want, but I wouldn't mind keeping them for a bit, if you don't need them."
He didn't want to give up Erik's poetry--he wanted to keep them forever, to read them and read them and read them until Erik made sense.
Erik shook his head. "Keep them as long as you need," he said, sounding pleased.
Charles nodded, smiling softly at that. He decided to take a gamble.
"Can I ask you something?"
Something shifted in Erik's gaze, but he nodded, holding himself incredibly still. Charles swallowed.
"Who did you lose?" It was probably far too personal a question, and he suspected he already knew the answer, but so much of Erik's poetry spoke of loss--enough that it was impossible for Erik not to have experienced that loss first hand.
Erik hesitated, as though debating whether or not to answer. Charles was about to backpedal--to tell Erik never mind, that it was none of his business; that he was sorry for having asked, when Erik glanced down and then spoke.
"My parents," he said even as he shrugged. "I was nine. Their car went into the river."
Charles' breath caught at that. He found himself glancing to the pond over Erik's shoulder, understanding then the reoccurring water themes found throughout Erik's work. Charles knew enough about poetry to know that most people used water as a metaphor for cleansing, but in Erik's work, water tended to represent some ominous force, capable of destroying lives. In his case, Charles supposed, it had.
"I'm sorry," he said, because there was nothing else he could say.
Erik didn't say anything in response, but he didn't take off running again, and the lines around his eyes loosened somewhat, so Charles suspected it was the right thing to say. He still looked more awkward than he had since he first decided to join Charles--was still staring at his feet--so Charles cleared his throat and offered, "I lost my father when I was five."
Erik glanced up at that, features shifting to something that Charles instantly recognized. Unlike sympathy--which had always been too close to pity for Charles' tastes--this was empathy. He didn't say anything, but the silence that spilled between them grew comfortable, conciliatory. Had Charles not been afraid to break it, he might have reached between them and placed a hand on Erik's arm.
There were other things Charles wanted to ask--he wanted to know who Erik wrote about with such devotion and love; and were they the same someone who had later inspired such anger and hate? He wanted to ask if Erik had written anything recently. He wanted to tell Erik specifics--mention that his second untitled piece had left Charles shaking with rage, and that Brotherhood had made him yearn for something he had never had. He wanted to thank him for not giving into the despair he'd read in A Damaged Life.
Instead he said nothing, letting Erik grow comfortable with the silence between them. He was not expecting Erik to break it.
"Do you write?" Erik asked.
Charles flushed, thinking then of Erik's abs and the many, many odes he wanted to write to them.
Erik, who was watching Charles carefully now, obviously misread the reaction, because he smiled softly and said, "May I see them sometime?"
And what was there for Charles to do, save agree--and then immediately begin panicking, because undoubtedly Erik meant sometime soon, and that gave Charles precariously little time to figure out how to write poetry, and then write it.
Still, Erik's pleased smile was more than worth it.
~*~
Erik was grinning when he got home, pleasantly flushed from the remainder of his run--the half he'd finished after Charles' friend had returned and reminded Erik that he was probably dangerously close to stepping over his self-imposed line.
And it was a self-imposed line, Erik had realized after his session with Dr. Frost, one he ought to be proud for having set.
Falling in love with one of your students does not make you a monster, Erik. We don't get to pick and choose the people we develop feelings for, and your interest in him neither violates the law nor school policy.
He'd spent several long, agonizing minutes thinking she'd just given him permission to pursue Charles.
I'm not advocating you date Charles. In fact I think the boundaries you've set for yourself are admirable, necessary even, though not for him; for you.
She'd asked him then if he thought Sebastian had loved him. If he thought Sebastian had ever agonized over boundaries. Erik had reluctantly agreed he had not; he did not.
At the time it had felt like love.
He remembered that first night--remembered lying in Shaw's bed, Shaw leaned over him, trailing calloused fingers from Erik's sternum to his navel. Erik had shivered, twisting against the sensation. Shaw had asked, Are you a virgin, Erik? and Erik had nodded, stomach tightening with nerves. Shaw had only smiled, and in that moment it had looked like love.
For a long, long time Erik had thought it was.
You know this isn't the same, don't you, Erik? Your feelings for Charles are in no way related to what Sebastian Shaw did to you.
She'd told him then that his feelings for Charles were valid--that he was allowed to feel them. Three days later, Erik was starting to maybe believe her.
Certainly it was enough to lighten his mood.
He toed off his shoes when he got through the front door, throwing his fuel belt onto the ground beside them. He pulled his shirt, damp with sweat, over his head and headed towards the kitchen.
Raven was undoubtedly still asleep--she'd sleep until noon if he let her--which was good, because she had rule about shirts in the kitchen. Something about skin cells and body hair getting into the food and then she'd have to dispose of everything and do the shopping from scratch. No shirts, no socks, no service was her rule--and most of the time Erik obey it to the letter.
Today he stood shirtless in the kitchen, started the coffee and then headed in search of a shower.
He was feeling... euphoric was a good word. Part of that was the run. Running always helped to clear his head--it was probably the best advice any therapist had ever given him--the adrenalin and endorphins a natural high. Most of his good mood he suspected he owed to his chance meeting with Charles.
He'd thought he'd never see him again--had worried about it constantly in the days following Charles' missed class. He hadn't expected to learn otherwise, nor had he expected them to slide so effortlessly back into synch. It was almost as if the universe had, in one morning, decided to make amends for pretty much the whole of Erik's life so far.
Not that it had made his life any easier, because Charles was still off limits--for the time being, at least--but at least Erik hadn't lost him completely, and if Dr. Frost was to be believed, Erik didn't need to feel guilty for thinking about Charles the way that he thought about Charles.
As he stepped into the shower, he wondered how far that extended. Were there limits to what he was allowed to think? Or was Dr. Frost right in suggesting the boundaries he set were his own, limited entirely by what he was comfortable with. Could he, say, fantasize about Charles--something he'd done, though only ever with a tremendous amount of guilt.
He thought perhaps he could set parameters for that, too. Like maybe it was okay if he imagined himself younger, still a student. He wondered what it would have been like if Charles had met him instead of Shaw. Would Charles have been his first kiss? Charles would have undoubtedly been gentler than Shaw--who'd marvelled at the tightness of Erik's hole before sticking a blunt finger inside. The experience had not been pleasant. Erik had been too blinded by worship to question it.
Charles, though, would have wet his finger with his mouth, would have played with Erik, teased Erik, until he opened completely. Only then would he have slid a finger inside. He would have let Erik touch, too, not told him to keep his hands at his sides. Erik would have run his hands through Charles' hair--it looked so soft--and over his shoulders, down the lines of his arms. And maybe Charles would have laughed when Erik's fingers tickled sensitive flesh, and the sound would fill the space between them until Erik was smiling, smiling.
In his memory, Shaw's smile was made entirely of daggers.
Erik started, the cock in his hand still only half hard, the water beating against him becoming a rushing torrent, streaming in through the open car window.
It was rare that he attempted this--Masturbation is normal, Erik, a therapist had once told him, but not for him. His sexuality was too tied up in his history. There were days when the effort seemed futile, and today was one of those days. He shook off the image of Shaw holding him beneath the water--something that had never happened--and removed his hand from his cock, reaching for the shampoo instead.
It was probably for the best; already the things he had thought about Charles seared through him, guilt coiling in his chest. He finished his shower quickly and tried to find the serenity seeing Charles had brought.
He found it on the pages of his Moleskine.
Writing had always been cathartic. He vented his rage for Shaw, reclaiming his earlier good mood in the process. Then he set about making breakfast.
~*~
Raven Interlude
Raven stood, not quite comprehending what she was seeing. She'd known Erik was cooking, the scent of bacon--which Erik cooked exclusively for her, refusing to eat the stuff himself, still clinging desperately to the ideals of his parents faith, despite having no true understanding of it--reaching her nose long before she'd left her bedroom. What she wasn't expecting was to find Erik whistling.
Erik never whistled.
She knew precisely why he was in a good mood--it was blindingly obvious that Charles had followed her instructions, had staged a chance meeting, and here were the fruits of her labour, her brother happier than she'd seen him in months--if not years.
For a while Raven merely stood and watched, a soft smile pulling at her mouth. Erik was her whole world, and to see him happy filled her with such joy she thought her heart might burst. She would never have this--never trust anyone, save Erik, enough to fall in love--but she could live vicariously through him, feel the tender swell of happiness that came with having found someone worth finding.
Erik, who obviously sensed someone watching him, tensed briefly before glancing over his shoulder. He seemed startled to find her there--though Raven imagined it was probably her smile that had surprised him. He arched an eyebrow in her direction.
"Do you know you were whistling?" Raven asked. Erik coloured. Raven couldn't help but smirk.
"I may have run into Charles during my run," he said, sounding guilty, like he had purposely sought Charles out--and for all Raven knew, maybe he had. "He didn't drop the class. He just had an appointment."
Raven grinned at that. She knew the truth, of course--and this would mark the first time she had kept a secret from Erik, but she told herself this was no different than hiding Erik's birthday present from him.
"Did you ask him out?" she said, kicking herself then, because Erik's smile slid from his face.
He'd told her what his shrink had said--which as far as Raven was concerned was permission to begin dating Charles immediately. Erik had disagreed, which was probably a sign he wasn't going to ask Charles out anytime soon. Raven should have known better.
"I'm not going to date him, Raven. If, after he graduates, he's still single and interested, then we'll see, but for now our relationship is going to remain strictly platonic."
There wasn't much Raven could say to that--though she did nod, coming into the kitchen to steal a piece of cooked bacon from where Erik was setting it atop folded paper towel. It was obvious she had her work cut out for her, though she wasn't sure what would be easier; convincing Erik to give up his stringent morality, or convincing Charles that Erik was worth waiting for.
She suspected it was going to take some combination of the two.
On to chapter 11
Yay!
Date: 2011-11-09 08:54 pm (UTC)But then I saw the update, and I was like "Yay! Something good happened today!"
Plus, it helps that this was a happy chapter! Erik is still an idiot, but at least things are better between them.
Oh, and did I mention how much I love all the links? It really brings the fic to life and makes it it easier to visualize.
Re: Yay!
Date: 2011-11-09 09:13 pm (UTC)Re: Yay!
Date: 2011-11-10 02:41 am (UTC)I don't really have anything in mind; just keep writing as you see fit (I'm bound to like whatever you include anyways)
You = wonderful