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nekosmuseFic: Tessellation (3/?)
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Back to chapter 2
No was not an answer Magneto heard often, and when he did it only ever came from the Brotherhood's highest ranked mutants, and always with an explanation. And yet, here Xavier sat, features impassive, having refused an offer Magneto had yet to formally make, with no explanation in sight.
Maintaining the illusion of calm was a simple exercise, though inwardly, Magneto seethed.
When he was younger, no longer a boy, but not yet the man he was today, situations like these wreaked havoc on his control. There wasn't much metal in this room--the exception Xavier's chair--but there was enough to do considerable damage. It took little effort these days to ignore its siren call. Still, Magneto couldn't help but reach out and pull one of the crates to his side by its metal fastenings. He perched on the crate's edge, cape splayed out behind him.
"You haven't even heard my offer," he said. Xavier looked unperturbed. "I'm not asking you to join the Brotherhood, Professor..."
"Charles, please. Call me Charles," Charles interrupted. Magneto was not used to being interrupted.
"As I was saying, Charles, I'm not asking you to join the Brotherhood. I'm asking you to lead it, to stand at my side."
There was no one else in the world to whom he would make such an offer. Magneto had known, long before this meeting--although this meeting had confirmed the thought--that he had but one equal; and that man was Charles Xavier. Even Mystique, as impressive as she was, would only ever remain his second in command.
Xavier--Charles, Magneto corrected--looked nonplussed. His eyes were wide, lips parted, so startled by the offer that Magneto was unable to suppress a surge of triumph from showing on his features. He smiled with too many teeth, knowing he looked manic, but not caring. Charles Xavier would take his rightful place by Magneto's side and together they would...
"Oh, my friend, I'm sorry, but I cannot."
Somehow, in the face of his excitement, Magneto had missed the minute shift in Charles' expression. His confusion had cleared, and now only abject horror stood out on his face. Magneto's smile faltered, then fell entirely, replaced by a scowl that was equal parts confusion and rage.
"Do you care to explain?" he asked, rather too abruptly.
"Erik, may I call you Erik?" Charles didn't wait for an answer, taking permission as granted. "I do not begrudge the Brotherhood their existence. They have done tremendous work in safeguarding mutantkind."
Magneto nodded, swelling with pride. For every laboratory they shut down, for every Weapons X program they dismantled, for every "school" they liberated, and for every politician and lobby group they replaced, mutantkind was made safer. He was creating utopia, one battle at a time, and the day would come when mutants no longer needed to fear humanity and all its many weaknesses. Surely Charles could see this.
"But I fear our ultimate goals do not align. You seek a world in which mutants ascend to supremacy. I seek a world in which mutants and humans coexist in harmony. Surely you can see the two are incompatible."
Only because coexistence is an impossible dream, Magneto thought. He let Charles' words settle between them and then stood, stepping forward until he loomed over Charles' chair. Once there, he leaned down, pressing into Charles' space, hands curling around the arms of Charles' chair.
"Might I remind you that it was you who wrote, and I quote, like our Homo sapiens cousins, who replaced Homo neanderthalensis as the planet's dominant population, so too will Homo superior ascend to supremacy."
Charles' complexion turned pale, his eyes growing impossibly wide. It was a startling thing to see so close up.
"Oh, Erik. No. I meant in time, and by the slow process of evolution. Who are we to force nature's hand? We're certainly not gods."
Oh, but we are, Magneto wanted to say. Instead he smiled and offered, "So we are to sit idly by and allow Homo sapiens to destroy us, in their fear, to force evolution on their terms. Certainly if we are not gods, neither are they."
It occurred to him then that Charles' contrary stance should have infuriated him--this whole argument should have infuriated him, especially since he had modelled his life's philosophy on Charles' work. It did not. He couldn't remember the last time someone had openly disagreed with him; the last time someone had thought to argue with him. It was intoxicating. The thrill of it raced through his bloodstream, making him feel as though he stood in the heat of battle.
Charles' head was tilted back so as to not break eye contact. He was so close that Magneto could see the true shade of his eyes, flecks of lighter blues and greys interspersed with the brighter, clearer blue that gave them their colour. Magneto's helmet was reflected in the wide expanse of his blown pupils. He seemed so small, concealed beneath Magneto's bulk, and yet there was no fear in his gaze. If Magneto had to guess, he would say Charles shared his excitement.
"I admit, there are those who make it difficult, but any dream worth having is worth fighting for, don't you think?" Charles asked, the question voiced with such soft intimacy that Magneto had to strain to hear it. It brought him even further into Charles' space, the scent of sandalwood catching his nose.
"Exactly. Worth fighting for," Magneto said at precisely the same moment a resounding crash sounded from the hall. Raised voices followed, along with a growl that Magneto identified as belonging to Charles' assistant.
Magneto pulled back, realizing then how dangerously close he'd been to climbing into Xavier's lap--and had he really been thinking of him as Charles this entire time? He had vowed not to underestimate the man, and yet had done exactly that. Apparently Xavier did not need his powers to practice the art of manipulation.
He shook his head to clear the fog, then strode to the door, throwing it open to find Hank McCoy pinned to the floor, Mystique's knee pressed to his throat. Magneto grinned.
"Problem?" he asked.
"You asked not to be disturbed. I tried telling Beast-man here that he should wait, but he took it as a suggestion. Just setting him straight," Mystique said, not taking her gaze from McCoy's face. His eyes were beginning to glaze, breath coming in shallow gasps. Magneto gave him thirty odd seconds before he succumbed to the lack of oxygen.
"Oh my God, release him!"
It was strange to watch Mystique jump to obey another person, even if Magneto could tell by her jerky movements that she was not in control of her body. God, the power Xavier wielded. Electric sparks of arousal spiked up Magneto's spine. Cautiously--and Magneto was never cautious--he moved aside to let Xavier wheel himself into the hall.
"Hank, are you alright?" Xavier asked, leaning forward in his chair to offer his hand. Across the hall, Mystique regained control of her body with a shudder. She looked utterly terrified.
"Fine, fine, just..." McCoy broke off in a coughing fit. A sly smile tugged at the corner of Mystique's upper lip. When his coughing subsided, McCoy offered her a brief scowl and then turned his attention back to Xavier. "They've finished the night's speeches and people are beginning to mingle. I wasn't sure if you wanted to..." He gestured absently.
"Oh, no. No, I don't think I do. Possibly I should, but..." It was the first time Magneto had seen Xavier truly flustered. He seemed horrified by the prospect of heading out to mingle with the crowd--strange given how much he seemed to relish their conversation. "Perhaps if you could fetch the car, we might return to Westchester."
Still rubbing his throat, McCoy looked startled. He glanced to Magneto, as though wanting to assign blame. Magneto returned his look levelly until McCoy looked away.
"Of course, if you'd like," he said to Xavier, though Magneto was almost certain it was not what he wanted to say. He wondered briefly if Xavier intended to return at some point--the Symposium went on for three days, and Westchester wasn't that far of a drive.
Magneto had no intention of remaining in New York, but he would be more than willing to reconsider his travel plans if it meant speaking to Xavier again--there had to be a way to convince him. Surely their views were not so very different. Surely they wanted the same thing.
"I... Yes, I suppose that would be for the best. Perhaps you could also find Warren and thank him for the invitation, and the opportunity," Xavier said, effectively dismissing McCoy, who nodded and left through the stage-side door. He gave Mystique a wide berth as he passed her.
"You're not staying for the rest of the proceedings, then," Magneto said once they were alone, Mystique fading into the background, giving them as much space as the short hall would allow.
Xavier seemed startled by the suggestion, or perhaps he had simply expected Magneto and Mystique to leave now that their conversation had been effectively derailed.
"No, it's best I get back." Xavier hesitated. "And to be honest, I don't particularly enjoy crowds these days. Too many minds; it's hard to shield myself from them all. I'm afraid I'm woefully out of practice."
"Is that why you hide away in your mansion?"
It was the wrong thing to say, again. Xavier froze, his entire body becoming taut. His features shifted into a look so fierce--eyes flashing, jaw clenching--that Magneto actually took a step back before remembering himself. The expression vanished a second later, Xavier's features shifting back to neutrality. Had Mystique not appeared at his side, all coiled tension and vibrating energy, Magneto might have thought he'd imagined the look.
"I must thank you for our discussion. It has been a long time since I engaged in such a lively debate. If you are inclined to continue it, well, I suppose you know where to find me," Xavier said, tone light, casual, as though nothing had transpired between them. It was impossible to tell if he was issuing an invitation, or just being polite.
Magneto inclined his head and then, as an after-thought, withdrew one of his cards and offered it over.
"My card, if you change your mind," he said.
Turning his back on Xavier was a difficult thing, though Magneto couldn't say if it was because he was loath to leave the man's company, or if it was simply a by-product of a lifetime spent thinking in tactical strategies. He was a long way away before the tension knotted between his shoulder blades loosened, and even then a bitter aftertaste of failure lingered in his mouth.
~*~
Charles passed the drive back to Westchester idly fingering Erik's card. He was expecting something a little more ostentatious; not this modest slip of white, embossed with a single, stylized M, neat telephone number printed below.
The entire night had left him overwrought; he was exhausted, worn-thin, as though he had been soaked through, then stretched in too many direction and left to dry in the sun. He could no longer remember having given a speech, but oh how he remembered every microsecond of his conversation with Erik. Magneto, the master of magnetism, and as magnetic in person as Charles had always expected he would be. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so thoroughly alive.
And understandable occurrence, he assured himself, given the dearth of companionship these last ten years had brought. Oh, there was Hank, who was absolutely essential to Charles' survival--more so than Charles' personal nurse, who saw to the more gritty details of Charles' paralysis--but Hank had his own interests, and those were often solitary. There were visitors, here and there, though not as many as had graced the mansion when Moria still lived. In truth, most of Charles' time was spent alone. It was no wonder meeting Erik was akin to being struck by a thunderbolt. He was in want of companionship; in want of conversation, and Erik had provided both in spades.
He told himself this firmly, but it did little to quiet the nagging part of his brain that said otherwise. He could still feel the heat of Erik's body, radiating against his chest, warming him in a way he hadn't been warmed in far, far too long. It was not something he thought of often. He wanted to blame his disinterest in sex on Moria's death, but the truth was he had yet to reconcile his new self--his paralysed self--as a sexual being. In the months following the accident, he had been too busy grieving to give it any thought, and by the time that pain had settled, ignoring the issue had simply become habit.
"Stupid," Charles muttered to himself; of all the things to be thinking about. Perhaps he could take it as a sign that it was time to move on. He had made an important first step, after all; had left the security of his home. Perhaps enough time had finally passed for him to start living again. Perhaps he should have done so years ago.
He glanced back down at Erik's card and thought he should discard it. He had no intention of changing his mind--his beliefs would never align with those of the Brotherhood. Instead he found himself tucking the card neatly into the breast pocket of his tweed jacket, smiling slightly as he did so.
On to chapter 4
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: Eventual NC-17
Back to chapter 2
No was not an answer Magneto heard often, and when he did it only ever came from the Brotherhood's highest ranked mutants, and always with an explanation. And yet, here Xavier sat, features impassive, having refused an offer Magneto had yet to formally make, with no explanation in sight.
Maintaining the illusion of calm was a simple exercise, though inwardly, Magneto seethed.
When he was younger, no longer a boy, but not yet the man he was today, situations like these wreaked havoc on his control. There wasn't much metal in this room--the exception Xavier's chair--but there was enough to do considerable damage. It took little effort these days to ignore its siren call. Still, Magneto couldn't help but reach out and pull one of the crates to his side by its metal fastenings. He perched on the crate's edge, cape splayed out behind him.
"You haven't even heard my offer," he said. Xavier looked unperturbed. "I'm not asking you to join the Brotherhood, Professor..."
"Charles, please. Call me Charles," Charles interrupted. Magneto was not used to being interrupted.
"As I was saying, Charles, I'm not asking you to join the Brotherhood. I'm asking you to lead it, to stand at my side."
There was no one else in the world to whom he would make such an offer. Magneto had known, long before this meeting--although this meeting had confirmed the thought--that he had but one equal; and that man was Charles Xavier. Even Mystique, as impressive as she was, would only ever remain his second in command.
Xavier--Charles, Magneto corrected--looked nonplussed. His eyes were wide, lips parted, so startled by the offer that Magneto was unable to suppress a surge of triumph from showing on his features. He smiled with too many teeth, knowing he looked manic, but not caring. Charles Xavier would take his rightful place by Magneto's side and together they would...
"Oh, my friend, I'm sorry, but I cannot."
Somehow, in the face of his excitement, Magneto had missed the minute shift in Charles' expression. His confusion had cleared, and now only abject horror stood out on his face. Magneto's smile faltered, then fell entirely, replaced by a scowl that was equal parts confusion and rage.
"Do you care to explain?" he asked, rather too abruptly.
"Erik, may I call you Erik?" Charles didn't wait for an answer, taking permission as granted. "I do not begrudge the Brotherhood their existence. They have done tremendous work in safeguarding mutantkind."
Magneto nodded, swelling with pride. For every laboratory they shut down, for every Weapons X program they dismantled, for every "school" they liberated, and for every politician and lobby group they replaced, mutantkind was made safer. He was creating utopia, one battle at a time, and the day would come when mutants no longer needed to fear humanity and all its many weaknesses. Surely Charles could see this.
"But I fear our ultimate goals do not align. You seek a world in which mutants ascend to supremacy. I seek a world in which mutants and humans coexist in harmony. Surely you can see the two are incompatible."
Only because coexistence is an impossible dream, Magneto thought. He let Charles' words settle between them and then stood, stepping forward until he loomed over Charles' chair. Once there, he leaned down, pressing into Charles' space, hands curling around the arms of Charles' chair.
"Might I remind you that it was you who wrote, and I quote, like our Homo sapiens cousins, who replaced Homo neanderthalensis as the planet's dominant population, so too will Homo superior ascend to supremacy."
Charles' complexion turned pale, his eyes growing impossibly wide. It was a startling thing to see so close up.
"Oh, Erik. No. I meant in time, and by the slow process of evolution. Who are we to force nature's hand? We're certainly not gods."
Oh, but we are, Magneto wanted to say. Instead he smiled and offered, "So we are to sit idly by and allow Homo sapiens to destroy us, in their fear, to force evolution on their terms. Certainly if we are not gods, neither are they."
It occurred to him then that Charles' contrary stance should have infuriated him--this whole argument should have infuriated him, especially since he had modelled his life's philosophy on Charles' work. It did not. He couldn't remember the last time someone had openly disagreed with him; the last time someone had thought to argue with him. It was intoxicating. The thrill of it raced through his bloodstream, making him feel as though he stood in the heat of battle.
Charles' head was tilted back so as to not break eye contact. He was so close that Magneto could see the true shade of his eyes, flecks of lighter blues and greys interspersed with the brighter, clearer blue that gave them their colour. Magneto's helmet was reflected in the wide expanse of his blown pupils. He seemed so small, concealed beneath Magneto's bulk, and yet there was no fear in his gaze. If Magneto had to guess, he would say Charles shared his excitement.
"I admit, there are those who make it difficult, but any dream worth having is worth fighting for, don't you think?" Charles asked, the question voiced with such soft intimacy that Magneto had to strain to hear it. It brought him even further into Charles' space, the scent of sandalwood catching his nose.
"Exactly. Worth fighting for," Magneto said at precisely the same moment a resounding crash sounded from the hall. Raised voices followed, along with a growl that Magneto identified as belonging to Charles' assistant.
Magneto pulled back, realizing then how dangerously close he'd been to climbing into Xavier's lap--and had he really been thinking of him as Charles this entire time? He had vowed not to underestimate the man, and yet had done exactly that. Apparently Xavier did not need his powers to practice the art of manipulation.
He shook his head to clear the fog, then strode to the door, throwing it open to find Hank McCoy pinned to the floor, Mystique's knee pressed to his throat. Magneto grinned.
"Problem?" he asked.
"You asked not to be disturbed. I tried telling Beast-man here that he should wait, but he took it as a suggestion. Just setting him straight," Mystique said, not taking her gaze from McCoy's face. His eyes were beginning to glaze, breath coming in shallow gasps. Magneto gave him thirty odd seconds before he succumbed to the lack of oxygen.
"Oh my God, release him!"
It was strange to watch Mystique jump to obey another person, even if Magneto could tell by her jerky movements that she was not in control of her body. God, the power Xavier wielded. Electric sparks of arousal spiked up Magneto's spine. Cautiously--and Magneto was never cautious--he moved aside to let Xavier wheel himself into the hall.
"Hank, are you alright?" Xavier asked, leaning forward in his chair to offer his hand. Across the hall, Mystique regained control of her body with a shudder. She looked utterly terrified.
"Fine, fine, just..." McCoy broke off in a coughing fit. A sly smile tugged at the corner of Mystique's upper lip. When his coughing subsided, McCoy offered her a brief scowl and then turned his attention back to Xavier. "They've finished the night's speeches and people are beginning to mingle. I wasn't sure if you wanted to..." He gestured absently.
"Oh, no. No, I don't think I do. Possibly I should, but..." It was the first time Magneto had seen Xavier truly flustered. He seemed horrified by the prospect of heading out to mingle with the crowd--strange given how much he seemed to relish their conversation. "Perhaps if you could fetch the car, we might return to Westchester."
Still rubbing his throat, McCoy looked startled. He glanced to Magneto, as though wanting to assign blame. Magneto returned his look levelly until McCoy looked away.
"Of course, if you'd like," he said to Xavier, though Magneto was almost certain it was not what he wanted to say. He wondered briefly if Xavier intended to return at some point--the Symposium went on for three days, and Westchester wasn't that far of a drive.
Magneto had no intention of remaining in New York, but he would be more than willing to reconsider his travel plans if it meant speaking to Xavier again--there had to be a way to convince him. Surely their views were not so very different. Surely they wanted the same thing.
"I... Yes, I suppose that would be for the best. Perhaps you could also find Warren and thank him for the invitation, and the opportunity," Xavier said, effectively dismissing McCoy, who nodded and left through the stage-side door. He gave Mystique a wide berth as he passed her.
"You're not staying for the rest of the proceedings, then," Magneto said once they were alone, Mystique fading into the background, giving them as much space as the short hall would allow.
Xavier seemed startled by the suggestion, or perhaps he had simply expected Magneto and Mystique to leave now that their conversation had been effectively derailed.
"No, it's best I get back." Xavier hesitated. "And to be honest, I don't particularly enjoy crowds these days. Too many minds; it's hard to shield myself from them all. I'm afraid I'm woefully out of practice."
"Is that why you hide away in your mansion?"
It was the wrong thing to say, again. Xavier froze, his entire body becoming taut. His features shifted into a look so fierce--eyes flashing, jaw clenching--that Magneto actually took a step back before remembering himself. The expression vanished a second later, Xavier's features shifting back to neutrality. Had Mystique not appeared at his side, all coiled tension and vibrating energy, Magneto might have thought he'd imagined the look.
"I must thank you for our discussion. It has been a long time since I engaged in such a lively debate. If you are inclined to continue it, well, I suppose you know where to find me," Xavier said, tone light, casual, as though nothing had transpired between them. It was impossible to tell if he was issuing an invitation, or just being polite.
Magneto inclined his head and then, as an after-thought, withdrew one of his cards and offered it over.
"My card, if you change your mind," he said.
Turning his back on Xavier was a difficult thing, though Magneto couldn't say if it was because he was loath to leave the man's company, or if it was simply a by-product of a lifetime spent thinking in tactical strategies. He was a long way away before the tension knotted between his shoulder blades loosened, and even then a bitter aftertaste of failure lingered in his mouth.
~*~
Charles passed the drive back to Westchester idly fingering Erik's card. He was expecting something a little more ostentatious; not this modest slip of white, embossed with a single, stylized M, neat telephone number printed below.
The entire night had left him overwrought; he was exhausted, worn-thin, as though he had been soaked through, then stretched in too many direction and left to dry in the sun. He could no longer remember having given a speech, but oh how he remembered every microsecond of his conversation with Erik. Magneto, the master of magnetism, and as magnetic in person as Charles had always expected he would be. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so thoroughly alive.
And understandable occurrence, he assured himself, given the dearth of companionship these last ten years had brought. Oh, there was Hank, who was absolutely essential to Charles' survival--more so than Charles' personal nurse, who saw to the more gritty details of Charles' paralysis--but Hank had his own interests, and those were often solitary. There were visitors, here and there, though not as many as had graced the mansion when Moria still lived. In truth, most of Charles' time was spent alone. It was no wonder meeting Erik was akin to being struck by a thunderbolt. He was in want of companionship; in want of conversation, and Erik had provided both in spades.
He told himself this firmly, but it did little to quiet the nagging part of his brain that said otherwise. He could still feel the heat of Erik's body, radiating against his chest, warming him in a way he hadn't been warmed in far, far too long. It was not something he thought of often. He wanted to blame his disinterest in sex on Moria's death, but the truth was he had yet to reconcile his new self--his paralysed self--as a sexual being. In the months following the accident, he had been too busy grieving to give it any thought, and by the time that pain had settled, ignoring the issue had simply become habit.
"Stupid," Charles muttered to himself; of all the things to be thinking about. Perhaps he could take it as a sign that it was time to move on. He had made an important first step, after all; had left the security of his home. Perhaps enough time had finally passed for him to start living again. Perhaps he should have done so years ago.
He glanced back down at Erik's card and thought he should discard it. He had no intention of changing his mind--his beliefs would never align with those of the Brotherhood. Instead he found himself tucking the card neatly into the breast pocket of his tweed jacket, smiling slightly as he did so.
On to chapter 4
