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nekosmuseFic: Tessellation (18/25ish)
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this part.
Back to chapter 17
The journey from the dining hall to their rooms passed in silence. Erik's thoughts were a tangle of emotion--though Charles respected Erik's wishes and did not read them. He hadn't read Hank's mind either, not willing to violate Erik's trust--but, oh, how he'd wanted to. He wanted to know what had put that expression on Erik's face--that haunted, uncertain, utterly confused expression that had physically hurt to see.
Erik's expression was blank now, his face a carefully sculpted mask of determination. He seemed disinclined to conversation, though Charles hoped that would change now that they had reached their rooms.
Erik waved the door open, gesturing for Charles to enter first. He followed a pace behind, the door locking behind them with a soft click. Charles hesitated, and then turned to face the other man. Erik stood awkwardly in the doorway. His helmet was still tucked beneath his arm--and it had surprised Charles that he had chosen not to wear it on the walk back. He glanced at it briefly, and then set it atop the bureau. There was something in the slouch of his shoulders that suggested he needed a moment.
"I'm just going to..." Charles gestured to the bathroom. Erik glanced up, seeming startled to find he still stood inside the doorway. He nodded, and Charles could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy as Charles turned his chair and headed into the bathroom.
When he emerged, Erik was sitting on Charles' side of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. He had stripped down to boxers and undershirt. He was staring at his feet, bare toes flexing into the carpet.
"What did Hank say to you?" Charles asked, because there was no sense procrastinating.
Erik glanced up sharply, hesitance and regret written across his features. There was something else, too, some inner turmoil that Erik struggled against. Charles swallowed, half afraid Erik would decide to wave the conversation aside. His surface thoughts suggested he wanted to. When he finally did speak, the sound of it was startling.
"He asked me how many men I've killed."
There was no inflection in Erik's voice, only numb detachment. His thoughts raced with conflicting emotion: There was pride, deep-seated and overpoweringly strong; there was self-righteousness, Erik sure in the knowledge that his past actions were warranted; and there was self-loathing, so strong that Charles' mind reeled, even as his heart clenched in his chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Oh, Erik; I'm so sorry," he said, but Erik waved him off.
"Do you know? Have you been in my head? Do you have any idea...?"
And this was the source of Erik's self-loathing, Charles knew, because he sounded terrified--truly terrified--by the prospect that Charles might know the worst of him. With anyone else he wouldn't have cared--would have worn his past deeds as a badge of honour--but with Charles he wanted to be something more. The force of the thought took Charles' breath away.
Charles rolled forward until they were sitting face to face.
Erik still wasn't looking at him--staring at the space between his legs, complexion having gone ashen--so Charles placed his hands atop Erik's knees.
"I have an idea, but I don't know the specifics. You guard your memories like prisons guard prisoners. I've respected your boundaries and not gone digging. If there's something you want me to know in particular, you can tell me, but you don't have to."
Charles slid his hands up and squeezed Erik's thighs.
"The measure of a man's character is not in what he's done, or had done to him, but what he does in the here and now. Please believe me, Erik, there is nothing in your past which offends me. I love you too, you know."
He hadn't meant to actually say those words--not yet; not until he'd verify that Erik had actually meant them when he'd said them--but they were out, and Erik's head had shot up sharply upon hearing them.
He looked astounded--like Charles was something miraculous and he couldn't fathom where he had come from.
"I'm not a perfect man either," Charles continued, because he suspected Erik had been struck speechless. "I have skeletons in my closet, too, you know."
"Not like mine," Erik said, but there was something that looked suspiciously like hope shining in his eyes.
There was something else too, some conversation they weren't having--something Erik was doing a very good job of suppressing. Charles wanted to go looking, but Erik was still staring at him like he was afraid Charles might disappear at any moment, so he patted Erik's knees and decided not to press.
Instead he cleared his throat.
"So... what you said earlier..." He felt himself flush, unable to finish the question--which was stupid, because he was a middle-aged man and this was hardly his first relationship. Erik took pity on him, smile lighting up his features. His hands slid forward to rest on top of Charles', thumbs rubbing the back of Charles' wrists.
"I do," he said, clearing his throat, "love you, that is," he finished, shaking his head as if to excuse his nervousness. Charles smiled brightly.
"Then I think we're good," he said.
The look Erik shot him was filled with such gratitude--such affection--that it stole Charles' breath a second time, though for entirely different reasons. It was all he could do to extract his hands, fingers shaking as he slipped off his jacket and fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Erik watched him with hooded eyes, though in place of arousal, Charles recognized the dull glaze of exhaustion.
At Charles' nod, Erik climbed fully onto the bed and slid over to his side, turning down the covers to make room for Charles. Charles transferred quickly from his chair, removing his pants once he was lying horizontal. He turned on his side to face Erik.
As soon as he did, Erik was in his space, drawing Charles into his arms. He pressed their foreheads together.
"You can go looking someday; I'll let you. But not tonight, okay?" he said.
"Not tonight," Charles agreed, because there were probably some things he needed to share with Erik, too--things he would have rather not had to share with anyone, but if they were going to bare their souls to one another, then Charles wasn't allowed to hide simply because he thought his ugly.
He'd expected his agreement to lessen Erik's worry--his uncertainty--but the emotions lingered, so Charles drew back and asked, "Was there anything else?"
Erik shook his head. "Not tonight." Charles nodded once, allowing Erik his secrets.
It seemed to be what Erik needed, because he relaxed instantly, his hold on Charles growing tighter. He bent his head and fit it into the space between Charles' neck and shoulder. Damp breath painted Charles' skin with gooseflesh.
Charles closed his eyes and thought about Hank's question, and the answers Erik might have given; he wondered what it was that had so thoroughly changed Hank's mind. He thought of his own skeletons and wondered if there was anyone on the planet not forever scarred by their histories. He thought of Hank and his insecurities. He thought of Mystique and her rage. He thought of Emma and the ice-forged walls she had built around her mind.
And then he tried not to think of anything, clinging to Erik as Erik clung to him before finally succumbing to the siren lure of sleep.
In the morning, everything seemed easier. It wasn't just the warm glow of sunlight filtering in through the windows, but something in his chest that seemed lighter--this despite the crushing weight pinning him to the bed. In his sleep, Erik had flung both an arm and a leg over Charles, effectively trapping him in the same position he had fallen asleep in. Charles momentarily thought to panic--he had learned early on that if he didn't stick to his turning schedule, it was only a matter of time before he was left dealing with skin sores--but he found himself too relaxed to exert the effort.
There was no extracting himself from Erik's grip without Erik's cooperation, so Charles brushed his index finger down the length of Erik's cheek. Erik nuzzled into him.
"Erik, love, you need to let me go; I have to move."
Erik grunted. Charles applied slight pressure to his chest, Erik instinctively rolling away from it, giving Charles enough room to reach down and shift his legs. He rolled onto his back, making a mental note to have Ms. Carter check his side.
As soon as Charles was settled, Erik was back, wrapping himself around Charles' torso. This time he set his head on Charles' shoulder, nosing Charles' t-shirt out of the way to press a kiss against his skin.
"Good morning," he said, still sounding half asleep. Charles chuckled.
"Good morning."
Erik tightened his grip. "We should spend the day in bed, forget about everything else." Erik's voice was a low grumble that vibrated against Charles' shoulder. The sound went straight to his core. Charles hummed before remembering all the reasons spending the day in bed was impossible.
"We can't. Ms. Carter's due this morning to do my physio, and then I have a lunch date, and then Cerebro's going live. Not exactly a day for lounging."
Sometime during Charles' answer, Erik had sat bolt-upright, suddenly very much awake. He was staring at Charles with sharp accusation, expression wounded. Charles frowned in confusion.
"A lunch date?" Erik asked, voice thick with jealousy. Charles arched an eyebrow in disbelief.
"Relax, Erik; a platonic, entirely friendly lunch date." He reached up to run his hand through Erik's hair, delighting in leaving it a spiked mess.
Erik would not be placated. "Who are you having lunch with?" he asked.
Charles hesitated, not entirely sure why he felt he couldn't tell Erik--certainly there was no reason for him not to. "Emma Frost," he eventually said, watching Erik's eyes grow wide, his jaw clenching in a way that looked almost painful.
"Emma Frost," he said, devoid of emotion. Charles blinked and then pushed himself up so that he was resting on his elbows.
"Erik..."
"Exactly why are you having lunch with Emma Frost?"
Erik's thoughts were like warning bells--he was angry, desperately so, but on top of that suspicion crept in around the edges, tainting his objectivity in ways that Charles suspected would be impossible to overcome.
"Erik," Charles said--patiently, so very patiently. "I'm having lunch with Emma because she asked, and because it's not often I get the chance to speak with another telepath--in fact, I imagine that is the very reason she asked. I know you don't particularly trust her, but that's only because you've never given her a chance."
In response, Erik snorted, so Charles pressed on.
"You know, if you actually got to know her, you might find you liked her. You're very similar."
"That's not helping," Erik said, and Charles could see instantly why that had been a mistake.
He wasn't entirely certain why he was even having this conversation. Erik may not have trusted Emma--and it was ironic that Emma felt the same way towards him, neither with a good reason--but he trusted Charles, didn't he?
"Is this really going to be a problem?" Charles asked, because if it was--and if Erik asked him to--he would cancel.
Erik seemed to deflate at that. He ran a shaking hand through his hair--smoothing away all of Charles' hard work--then let his head dip towards his chest. When he glanced back up, meeting Charles' gaze, he seemed measurably calmer.
"I can't say I'm fond of the idea, no, but it's not my place to tell you who you should and shouldn't have lunch with."
It was almost comical to hear Erik say those words, while his mind railed against them, screaming that it was his place, that Emma Frost was decidedly off the list of people with whom Charles could have lunch. But Charles still wasn't reading Erik's mind, so he accepted Erik's words and offered his thanks. Erik smiled, but Charles knew he was less than impressed.
~*~
Erik stalked into the hall outside his office, scowling at anyone who thought to glance in his direction. Whole conversations died as he passed by, tense silence heralding his coming.
Right now Charles was in the middle of his physio session--and it still bothered Erik, the thought of someone else touching Charles so intimately, even if he knew Charles was his and Linda's intentions lay elsewhere.
Unbidden Hank's words came back to him.
Had Charles really cheated on the woman he'd ended up marrying? Hank had made it sound like an everyday thing, like it was something Charles simply did--like he apparently drank too much, and Erik still wasn't sure why he'd gone out of his way to avoid that conversation. He thought perhaps it was simply that he wasn't sure he believed Hank--after all, he'd only ever seen Charles overdo it a handful of times; surely that wasn't a sign of a problem. Hank was just being paranoid, wasn't he?
Erik snorted, earning a side-long glance from a passing Gambit. Still, it was funny, because Erik wasn't so far gone that he didn't realize he was the pot calling the kettle black. Charles had told him he had skeletons--he'd probably been young and arrogant and so full of himself that he couldn't help hopping from bed to bed. He was older now, more mature, ready to settle down in a way he hadn't been, and just because he was having lunch with Emma didn't mean he was going to jump into bed with her.
"Emma," Erik said when he finally arrived at the woman in question's office. She glanced up sharply from her desk, frowning at her door--which now hovered off its hinges. Erik flicked his wrist, the door skating across the room to land with a thud against the far wall.
Emma watched its journey, shook her head, and then glanced up to meet Erik's eye.
"Are we redecorating?" she asked.
Erik scowled. "You're cancelling your lunch with Charles."
Emma lifted a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. God, she was beautiful--even Erik could see that--she'd ensnare Charles in a matter of seconds. He could almost see it now, Emma climbing into Charles' lap, Charles catching a hint of her perfume, eyes glazing over in lust.
Erik saw red. A moment passed before he realized Emma was pressed against the wall by her belt buckle. She immediately shifted into diamond form, rendering Erik's power inert. She stepped away from the wall, widening her stance, taking a defensive position. Erik wanted to watch her shatter like glass.
Instead he stood down, a voice--not unlike Charles', minus the warm, comforting presence in his head--scolding him for his actions.
"You will cancel your lunch with Charles," Erik said again. "Besides, I'm fairly certain I gave you a job to do."
The transition from diamond to flesh left Emma's skin iridescent--and really, he was doing Charles a favour, because how was the man supposed to resist such temptation? She brought a hand--perfectly manicured nails--up to brush aside a stray lock of hair. The look she shot him was pure hatred.
"I'm meeting with a UN representative this afternoon, if you must know. I'll have an answer for you by tonight. And don't think getting someone to agree to come was easy. I had to use all my wiles."
She turned back to her desk then, sitting primly, studiously ignoring Erik. Squaring his shoulders, Erik left the room, confident his message had been received.
Except, half an hour later he was certain she was going to have lunch with Charles just to annoy him--they'd probably get married and have perfect babies with porcelain skin and adorable dimples. For a brief moment, he considered having her restrained somewhere--held until after lunch, leaving Charles to think she'd merely stood him up--but after some consideration, he realized Charles would be less than impressed if he found out.
He could always return to their rooms, fall on his knees and beg Charles not to go; except he wasn't quite that pathetic--no, really, he wasn't. It only left him with one option--their lunch would need to be chaperoned.
Erik was still scowling when he made it to Cerebro. It was remarkable how much the room had changed since yesterday. It almost looked like an exact duplicate of Charles' machine back in New York, save that the control panel looked cobbled together, wires and cables running down the back in a tangled web. They merged into a single coil that ran, like a large snake, across the floor, disappearing into one of the panelled walls.
Erik found Hank making last minute calibrations. Still used to Hank's hostility, Erik was almost surprised when Hank offered a professional nod.
"Are we still on schedule?" Erik asked.
Hank consulted the clip board in his hand. "I have one more diagnostic test to run," he said. "We'll be ready to go this afternoon."
"Good." Erik stood there. He should have left; he had other things that needed attending to, and he hardly needed to stand watch over Cerebro--not now that it was practically finished.
Hank shot him a questioning look. It was obvious, even with their apparent truce, that Erik was not--and probably never would be--Hank's favourite person.
"Is there something else?" he asked. Erik kicked himself for being all kinds of an idiot.
"What you said yesterday..." he began.
"You spoke to Charles?" Hank asked, his work suddenly forgotten as he leaned forward intently. It was hard to read Hank's facial expressions, but Erik thought he looked hopeful. His face fell when Erik shook his head.
"You know what, never mind," Erik said, turning on his heel and leaving the room. He was vaguely aware of Hank sputtering behind him.
Erik sought out Cyclops next--Charles had seemed particularly excited by whatever it was he was working on. By the time he was up to speed--and unlike Charles, he couldn't see how building a prototype of Stryker's infernal collars was going to help--it was fast approaching lunch. Erik made his way back to Emma's office.
It was not an easy thing, trying to avoid notice, given who he was. Following Emma was an impossible challenge--she would have sensed the dead space his helmet created--so he waited until he saw her slip out of her office--looking entirely too seductive in pearl-drop white, cleavage on prominent display--to sneak inside. Well, he didn't so much sneak as he simply walked through the open doorway that was still without a door. Getting past her desk lock required a simple flick of his finger, her planner exactly where she always left it. He flipped it open to today's date.
Its entry read: Lunch with Charles. Fuck you, Erik. Erik seethed, then stormed from the room,
He knew Emma fairly well--or rather, knew her tastes--so there were really only a handful of restaurants in the area she might have suggested for lunch. Unless Charles suggested a restaurant, but as far as Erik knew the only restaurant Charles knew of was the one Erik had already taken him to. As luck would have it, that same restaurant probably would have topped Emma's list.
It was a remarkable thing to see--a terrifying thing to see--Magneto storming through the halls of the capitol compound, cape billowing behind him, murder written clearly on his face. Mutants physically dove to get out of his way, Erik out of the compound and across the street in record time, and without a single interruption.
He spotted them instantly. It was hard not to, Charles--and there was no way it was Emma--having chosen a window seat--Emma would have hated the thought of commoners watching her eat. Charles was smiling--and that was Erik's smile, damn it--Emma laughing at something he said--the sly minx. They had ordered wine--white, Erik saw, and soon Charles would be drunk and flirty and willing to fall into bed with anyone who happened to flash a pair of perfectly balanced breasts in his direction and maybe, just maybe, Hank had a point about the drinking.
Erik growled and then charged into the restaurant.
~*~
I was supposed to cancel.
Charles glanced up from his menu--the same restaurant Erik had taken him to, save that he had waved aside the private dining room in favour of a table beside the window, overlooking the harbour. Emma slid into the seat opposite.
"Why would you cancel?" Charles asked, amused.
His amusement vanished as Emma shared her earlier encounter with Erik.
"I'm so sorry, Emma. Believe me; I will have strong words with him." And he would--he would tear a strip from Erik's hide until Erik begged his forgiveness. There were a good many things he could overlook, but this--terrifying and threatening one of his own, simply because he couldn't control his jealousy--this was intolerable.
I don't see what you see in him, Emma said into his mind. He's not entirely sane, you know. Actually, scrap that; the man is bat-shit crazy.
Charles shook his head. There was nothing he could say to excuse what Erik had done--and he didn't want to--but he still cared for Erik--loved Erik--and wouldn't abandon him simply because he had made a mistake. They all made mistakes.
"I'm not sure any of us are," Charles said in response to Emma's pronouncement. "I promise you, though; he will apologize. I will see to that."
Emma looked doubtful, but she nodded.
"I am glad you came anyway," Charles said. Emma's laugh was amused.
"So am I, though I meant what I said. He is insane, and a brute. I worry about you. I know you can take care of yourself, but I wouldn't want to be in your position."
Why was it, Charles wondered, that he was the only one capable of seeing Erik's potential--capable of seeing the good in Erik. Surely Emma wouldn't be here if Erik were truly so bad. He let the thought float in her direction.
"No, you're right. He's not that bad. In fact, he's the first person I've met who actually treats me like an equal--a threat sometimes, but an equal. I like that. I like that he doesn't stare at my tits, or keep me around solely for his own pleasure." There was more to that story that she wasn't saying, but Charles knew, even without looking, that her own history was filled with men who had done exactly that. His heart ached for her.
In fact, until you came around, I'd never seen him look at anyone that way. Her smile was sly and mischievous.
Charles laughed, feeling his face flush. "Yes, well..."
"He's better, now that you're here. Before I kept wondering when he was going to finally snap and kill us all, but now he seems almost... human. Oh, he'd hate it if he heard me say that."
Charles couldn't help but disagree. He suspected a lot of Erik's hatred of humanity stemmed from what he perceived was his own human weakness. Charles hoped he was discovering what it meant to have human strength.
"It's a shame, you know," Charles said. "I think the two of you have a lot in common. I think you could almost be friends, if you were willing to take a chance, risk trusting one another. I think you both need more friends." Charles said this last bit with an air of certainty, Emma acknowledging the point with a slight incline of her head. It was a subtle suggestion, on both their parts, to leave Erik off as a topic of conversation.
So Charles sunk into Emma's head and offered an exchange of tricks. Emma was particularly impressed by Charles' ability to control people, whereas Charles had never before considered spinning illusions--even if he disagreed with most of the illusions Emma had spun.
It was nice, having this conversation--most of it confined within their heads. Speaking with Emma was like having a conversation with a sister--something he'd always wanted. It was how he'd often imagined he and Cain might have gotten on, before he'd realized that Cain was beyond his help.
But that was not a thought Charles wanted to get caught up in, so instead he turned to regaling Emma with stories from when his telepathy first manifested. She was particularly amused by the story of the Head Master he'd forced to act out scenes from Hamlet in the front of the dining hall, simply because he'd accused Charles of being incapable of mastering the classics. If Emma's thoughts were accurate, then she hadn't laughed as hard as she was now in years.
Erik's sudden arrival at their table was as surprising as it was alarming. Charles smiled to see him, until he caught sight of the expression on Erik's face. Then his stomach fell, even as indignation rose up like bile in the back of his throat.
Erik slid into an empty chair on Charles' right, face a mask of fury; his helmet perched on his head like an armet. He stared at Emma like he could burn her to cinder with only the power of his anger. Charles immediately reached a hand across the table and closed it around Erik's wrist.
"Don't you dare. Don't you dare," he said. Erik's head swung in his direction. "You owe this woman a thousand apologies, Erik. What you did is unspeakable, and I will not tolerate it. If you can't trust me then tell me now and I will leave; I will go back to Westchester and we will forget this ever happened. But do not presume to dictate my life; do not presume to tell me who I can or cannot see, and never, ever threaten or hurt anyone I choose to keep company with again. Do you understand me?"
In the course of Charles' lecture, Erik's anger had faded. He looked chastised now, as uncertain as he had last night. Charles squeezed his wrist once--part reassurance, part warning.
It was an extraordinary thing, watching Erik fully deflate. It was as if he had only just now realized how deplorable his behavior was. He stared at Charles, wide-eyed, and swallowed heavily
"I..."
"No, Erik. It's not me you should be apologizing to right now."
Erik's jaw clenched, but he mastered himself a moment later, resignation sweeping across his features. He turned to meet Emma's eye. She looked leery, but oddly defiant; the master of her own domain. Charles felt oddly proud.
"I apologize for my earlier behavior." Erik said.
Emma adjusted her pristine white shawl--it had fallen over her shoulders while they'd eaten. She lifted her head and glared down the length of her nose.
"You're an utter fool," she said. "You've actually got something worth having, and you're going to lose it because you can't stop behaving like a child."
Charles bit his lip to keep from reprimanding her--it was a terrible thing to say, and to Erik of all people, but she was rather entitled at the moment. His grip on Erik's wrist tightened.
"I've been inside his head you know, and the man is so gaga over you a parade of attractive men and women could lay themselves prostrate at his feet and he wouldn't even notice. Don't scare him away by being... well, you."
Erik seemed affronted by that, but before he had a chance to argue, Charles removed his hand from Erik's wrist and slid it into Erik's hand. He squeeze, earning Erik's attention.
"She's right; I am rather gaga," he said with a smile--and a blush that he was certain coloured even his ears. "Now take that ridiculous thing off so that the two of you can set this right." He gestured to Erik's helmet.
Erik stared at him like he'd grown two heads, but Charles maintained a level gaze, unwilling to relent. He half expected Erik to refuse; half expected Erik to stand from the table and storm from the restaurant. Charles let his expression turn beseeching. Erik cursed and then, in one quick motion, reached up and removed his helmet. He turned to Emma defiantly.
It was a mark, Charles thought, of how much Erik trusted him that he would take only Charles' word that he could trust a woman he had for years labelled as untrustworthy.
Emma narrowed her gaze--and Charles could hear her diving into his thoughts. Gently, please, he told her. Her expression softened, then grew shocked, eyes widening. She pulled back into her own mind.
"You really are an idiot," she said before turning to Charles. "But I take back what I said. He's still insane, but I can see what you see in him." Charles beamed at her.
He is kind of wonderful, isn't he? Emma merely laughed. Erik pulsed with annoyance and confusion, hating being left out of a conversation. Charles floated the same thought in his direction, watching Erik flush with pleasure.
Emma's laughter carried throughout the restaurant.
The rest of lunch was an awkward affair--because Erik refused to leave, and refused to replace his helmet, even though it was clear he wanted to, and because Emma sat, smug and amused by Erik's submission, and because they hadn't ordered nearly enough wine for Charles to deal with the pair of them.
After, Emma excused herself, saying she had an appointment.
"We should do this again, Charles," she said, leaning down to press a kiss to Charles' cheek. Charles glared at her, knowing she had done it only to infuriate Erik.
You could at least try to be nice, he told her.
Emma laughed, bright and amused like Charles had just told the best joke in the world. Erik's thoughts raged. Charles shook his head, reached out a hand and slid it into Erik's.
"Thank you for lunch, Emma," he said. She inclined her head, turned on her heel, and left the restaurant. Charles turned to Erik, who was standing behind his chair, looking uncertain.
"I really messed that up, didn't I?" he said. Charles squeezed his hand.
"Oh, yes, rather badly, I might add," Charles replied, but he was smiling. The shape of Emma's thoughts after Erik had removed his helmet had told him all he needed to know. Charles didn't say it, but if anything it was him who should be worried, not Erik. Fortunately for him, Emma was a woman of honour; she would never filch what wasn't hers.
"I'm sorry. I'm not good at sharing," Erik said, and Charles was acutely aware of just how different their lives had been up until this point.
Charles had never been forced to share--had had everything handed to him on a silver platter. Granted he would have given anything--shared his every possession--for something as simple as companionship or love or affection. Erik, on the other hand, had grown up without possessions, wearing hand-me-downs and not always having enough to eat--and that was before the camps. In the camps Erik had had nothing that belonged to him, not even himself. It was no wonder Erik was bad at sharing, especially now that he had something to share.
"It's not something you have to worry about, you know," Charles said. "I've never had this before. I rather think it's one of those once in a lifetime sort of things. Trust me when I say, I'm not going to do anything to screw it up."
Erik's expression softened at that. He smiled, a little hesitantly, but with genuine warmth.
"I told you we should have spent the day in bed," he said, and then, "Come on, Hank will be waiting for us." Charles could hear what he wasn't saying.
I love you, too, Charles floated in his direction. Erik's smile grew impossibly fond as he led them from the restaurant, Cerebro awaiting its first official test run.
On to chapter 19
Fandom: XMFC (fusion with comic-canon and 1990s animated series)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Rating: NC-17 overall, R this part.
Back to chapter 17
The journey from the dining hall to their rooms passed in silence. Erik's thoughts were a tangle of emotion--though Charles respected Erik's wishes and did not read them. He hadn't read Hank's mind either, not willing to violate Erik's trust--but, oh, how he'd wanted to. He wanted to know what had put that expression on Erik's face--that haunted, uncertain, utterly confused expression that had physically hurt to see.
Erik's expression was blank now, his face a carefully sculpted mask of determination. He seemed disinclined to conversation, though Charles hoped that would change now that they had reached their rooms.
Erik waved the door open, gesturing for Charles to enter first. He followed a pace behind, the door locking behind them with a soft click. Charles hesitated, and then turned to face the other man. Erik stood awkwardly in the doorway. His helmet was still tucked beneath his arm--and it had surprised Charles that he had chosen not to wear it on the walk back. He glanced at it briefly, and then set it atop the bureau. There was something in the slouch of his shoulders that suggested he needed a moment.
"I'm just going to..." Charles gestured to the bathroom. Erik glanced up, seeming startled to find he still stood inside the doorway. He nodded, and Charles could feel the weight of his gaze, heavy as Charles turned his chair and headed into the bathroom.
When he emerged, Erik was sitting on Charles' side of the bed, feet planted firmly on the floor. He had stripped down to boxers and undershirt. He was staring at his feet, bare toes flexing into the carpet.
"What did Hank say to you?" Charles asked, because there was no sense procrastinating.
Erik glanced up sharply, hesitance and regret written across his features. There was something else, too, some inner turmoil that Erik struggled against. Charles swallowed, half afraid Erik would decide to wave the conversation aside. His surface thoughts suggested he wanted to. When he finally did speak, the sound of it was startling.
"He asked me how many men I've killed."
There was no inflection in Erik's voice, only numb detachment. His thoughts raced with conflicting emotion: There was pride, deep-seated and overpoweringly strong; there was self-righteousness, Erik sure in the knowledge that his past actions were warranted; and there was self-loathing, so strong that Charles' mind reeled, even as his heart clenched in his chest, making it hard to breathe.
"Oh, Erik; I'm so sorry," he said, but Erik waved him off.
"Do you know? Have you been in my head? Do you have any idea...?"
And this was the source of Erik's self-loathing, Charles knew, because he sounded terrified--truly terrified--by the prospect that Charles might know the worst of him. With anyone else he wouldn't have cared--would have worn his past deeds as a badge of honour--but with Charles he wanted to be something more. The force of the thought took Charles' breath away.
Charles rolled forward until they were sitting face to face.
Erik still wasn't looking at him--staring at the space between his legs, complexion having gone ashen--so Charles placed his hands atop Erik's knees.
"I have an idea, but I don't know the specifics. You guard your memories like prisons guard prisoners. I've respected your boundaries and not gone digging. If there's something you want me to know in particular, you can tell me, but you don't have to."
Charles slid his hands up and squeezed Erik's thighs.
"The measure of a man's character is not in what he's done, or had done to him, but what he does in the here and now. Please believe me, Erik, there is nothing in your past which offends me. I love you too, you know."
He hadn't meant to actually say those words--not yet; not until he'd verify that Erik had actually meant them when he'd said them--but they were out, and Erik's head had shot up sharply upon hearing them.
He looked astounded--like Charles was something miraculous and he couldn't fathom where he had come from.
"I'm not a perfect man either," Charles continued, because he suspected Erik had been struck speechless. "I have skeletons in my closet, too, you know."
"Not like mine," Erik said, but there was something that looked suspiciously like hope shining in his eyes.
There was something else too, some conversation they weren't having--something Erik was doing a very good job of suppressing. Charles wanted to go looking, but Erik was still staring at him like he was afraid Charles might disappear at any moment, so he patted Erik's knees and decided not to press.
Instead he cleared his throat.
"So... what you said earlier..." He felt himself flush, unable to finish the question--which was stupid, because he was a middle-aged man and this was hardly his first relationship. Erik took pity on him, smile lighting up his features. His hands slid forward to rest on top of Charles', thumbs rubbing the back of Charles' wrists.
"I do," he said, clearing his throat, "love you, that is," he finished, shaking his head as if to excuse his nervousness. Charles smiled brightly.
"Then I think we're good," he said.
The look Erik shot him was filled with such gratitude--such affection--that it stole Charles' breath a second time, though for entirely different reasons. It was all he could do to extract his hands, fingers shaking as he slipped off his jacket and fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. Erik watched him with hooded eyes, though in place of arousal, Charles recognized the dull glaze of exhaustion.
At Charles' nod, Erik climbed fully onto the bed and slid over to his side, turning down the covers to make room for Charles. Charles transferred quickly from his chair, removing his pants once he was lying horizontal. He turned on his side to face Erik.
As soon as he did, Erik was in his space, drawing Charles into his arms. He pressed their foreheads together.
"You can go looking someday; I'll let you. But not tonight, okay?" he said.
"Not tonight," Charles agreed, because there were probably some things he needed to share with Erik, too--things he would have rather not had to share with anyone, but if they were going to bare their souls to one another, then Charles wasn't allowed to hide simply because he thought his ugly.
He'd expected his agreement to lessen Erik's worry--his uncertainty--but the emotions lingered, so Charles drew back and asked, "Was there anything else?"
Erik shook his head. "Not tonight." Charles nodded once, allowing Erik his secrets.
It seemed to be what Erik needed, because he relaxed instantly, his hold on Charles growing tighter. He bent his head and fit it into the space between Charles' neck and shoulder. Damp breath painted Charles' skin with gooseflesh.
Charles closed his eyes and thought about Hank's question, and the answers Erik might have given; he wondered what it was that had so thoroughly changed Hank's mind. He thought of his own skeletons and wondered if there was anyone on the planet not forever scarred by their histories. He thought of Hank and his insecurities. He thought of Mystique and her rage. He thought of Emma and the ice-forged walls she had built around her mind.
And then he tried not to think of anything, clinging to Erik as Erik clung to him before finally succumbing to the siren lure of sleep.
In the morning, everything seemed easier. It wasn't just the warm glow of sunlight filtering in through the windows, but something in his chest that seemed lighter--this despite the crushing weight pinning him to the bed. In his sleep, Erik had flung both an arm and a leg over Charles, effectively trapping him in the same position he had fallen asleep in. Charles momentarily thought to panic--he had learned early on that if he didn't stick to his turning schedule, it was only a matter of time before he was left dealing with skin sores--but he found himself too relaxed to exert the effort.
There was no extracting himself from Erik's grip without Erik's cooperation, so Charles brushed his index finger down the length of Erik's cheek. Erik nuzzled into him.
"Erik, love, you need to let me go; I have to move."
Erik grunted. Charles applied slight pressure to his chest, Erik instinctively rolling away from it, giving Charles enough room to reach down and shift his legs. He rolled onto his back, making a mental note to have Ms. Carter check his side.
As soon as Charles was settled, Erik was back, wrapping himself around Charles' torso. This time he set his head on Charles' shoulder, nosing Charles' t-shirt out of the way to press a kiss against his skin.
"Good morning," he said, still sounding half asleep. Charles chuckled.
"Good morning."
Erik tightened his grip. "We should spend the day in bed, forget about everything else." Erik's voice was a low grumble that vibrated against Charles' shoulder. The sound went straight to his core. Charles hummed before remembering all the reasons spending the day in bed was impossible.
"We can't. Ms. Carter's due this morning to do my physio, and then I have a lunch date, and then Cerebro's going live. Not exactly a day for lounging."
Sometime during Charles' answer, Erik had sat bolt-upright, suddenly very much awake. He was staring at Charles with sharp accusation, expression wounded. Charles frowned in confusion.
"A lunch date?" Erik asked, voice thick with jealousy. Charles arched an eyebrow in disbelief.
"Relax, Erik; a platonic, entirely friendly lunch date." He reached up to run his hand through Erik's hair, delighting in leaving it a spiked mess.
Erik would not be placated. "Who are you having lunch with?" he asked.
Charles hesitated, not entirely sure why he felt he couldn't tell Erik--certainly there was no reason for him not to. "Emma Frost," he eventually said, watching Erik's eyes grow wide, his jaw clenching in a way that looked almost painful.
"Emma Frost," he said, devoid of emotion. Charles blinked and then pushed himself up so that he was resting on his elbows.
"Erik..."
"Exactly why are you having lunch with Emma Frost?"
Erik's thoughts were like warning bells--he was angry, desperately so, but on top of that suspicion crept in around the edges, tainting his objectivity in ways that Charles suspected would be impossible to overcome.
"Erik," Charles said--patiently, so very patiently. "I'm having lunch with Emma because she asked, and because it's not often I get the chance to speak with another telepath--in fact, I imagine that is the very reason she asked. I know you don't particularly trust her, but that's only because you've never given her a chance."
In response, Erik snorted, so Charles pressed on.
"You know, if you actually got to know her, you might find you liked her. You're very similar."
"That's not helping," Erik said, and Charles could see instantly why that had been a mistake.
He wasn't entirely certain why he was even having this conversation. Erik may not have trusted Emma--and it was ironic that Emma felt the same way towards him, neither with a good reason--but he trusted Charles, didn't he?
"Is this really going to be a problem?" Charles asked, because if it was--and if Erik asked him to--he would cancel.
Erik seemed to deflate at that. He ran a shaking hand through his hair--smoothing away all of Charles' hard work--then let his head dip towards his chest. When he glanced back up, meeting Charles' gaze, he seemed measurably calmer.
"I can't say I'm fond of the idea, no, but it's not my place to tell you who you should and shouldn't have lunch with."
It was almost comical to hear Erik say those words, while his mind railed against them, screaming that it was his place, that Emma Frost was decidedly off the list of people with whom Charles could have lunch. But Charles still wasn't reading Erik's mind, so he accepted Erik's words and offered his thanks. Erik smiled, but Charles knew he was less than impressed.
~*~
Erik stalked into the hall outside his office, scowling at anyone who thought to glance in his direction. Whole conversations died as he passed by, tense silence heralding his coming.
Right now Charles was in the middle of his physio session--and it still bothered Erik, the thought of someone else touching Charles so intimately, even if he knew Charles was his and Linda's intentions lay elsewhere.
Unbidden Hank's words came back to him.
Had Charles really cheated on the woman he'd ended up marrying? Hank had made it sound like an everyday thing, like it was something Charles simply did--like he apparently drank too much, and Erik still wasn't sure why he'd gone out of his way to avoid that conversation. He thought perhaps it was simply that he wasn't sure he believed Hank--after all, he'd only ever seen Charles overdo it a handful of times; surely that wasn't a sign of a problem. Hank was just being paranoid, wasn't he?
Erik snorted, earning a side-long glance from a passing Gambit. Still, it was funny, because Erik wasn't so far gone that he didn't realize he was the pot calling the kettle black. Charles had told him he had skeletons--he'd probably been young and arrogant and so full of himself that he couldn't help hopping from bed to bed. He was older now, more mature, ready to settle down in a way he hadn't been, and just because he was having lunch with Emma didn't mean he was going to jump into bed with her.
"Emma," Erik said when he finally arrived at the woman in question's office. She glanced up sharply from her desk, frowning at her door--which now hovered off its hinges. Erik flicked his wrist, the door skating across the room to land with a thud against the far wall.
Emma watched its journey, shook her head, and then glanced up to meet Erik's eye.
"Are we redecorating?" she asked.
Erik scowled. "You're cancelling your lunch with Charles."
Emma lifted a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow. God, she was beautiful--even Erik could see that--she'd ensnare Charles in a matter of seconds. He could almost see it now, Emma climbing into Charles' lap, Charles catching a hint of her perfume, eyes glazing over in lust.
Erik saw red. A moment passed before he realized Emma was pressed against the wall by her belt buckle. She immediately shifted into diamond form, rendering Erik's power inert. She stepped away from the wall, widening her stance, taking a defensive position. Erik wanted to watch her shatter like glass.
Instead he stood down, a voice--not unlike Charles', minus the warm, comforting presence in his head--scolding him for his actions.
"You will cancel your lunch with Charles," Erik said again. "Besides, I'm fairly certain I gave you a job to do."
The transition from diamond to flesh left Emma's skin iridescent--and really, he was doing Charles a favour, because how was the man supposed to resist such temptation? She brought a hand--perfectly manicured nails--up to brush aside a stray lock of hair. The look she shot him was pure hatred.
"I'm meeting with a UN representative this afternoon, if you must know. I'll have an answer for you by tonight. And don't think getting someone to agree to come was easy. I had to use all my wiles."
She turned back to her desk then, sitting primly, studiously ignoring Erik. Squaring his shoulders, Erik left the room, confident his message had been received.
Except, half an hour later he was certain she was going to have lunch with Charles just to annoy him--they'd probably get married and have perfect babies with porcelain skin and adorable dimples. For a brief moment, he considered having her restrained somewhere--held until after lunch, leaving Charles to think she'd merely stood him up--but after some consideration, he realized Charles would be less than impressed if he found out.
He could always return to their rooms, fall on his knees and beg Charles not to go; except he wasn't quite that pathetic--no, really, he wasn't. It only left him with one option--their lunch would need to be chaperoned.
Erik was still scowling when he made it to Cerebro. It was remarkable how much the room had changed since yesterday. It almost looked like an exact duplicate of Charles' machine back in New York, save that the control panel looked cobbled together, wires and cables running down the back in a tangled web. They merged into a single coil that ran, like a large snake, across the floor, disappearing into one of the panelled walls.
Erik found Hank making last minute calibrations. Still used to Hank's hostility, Erik was almost surprised when Hank offered a professional nod.
"Are we still on schedule?" Erik asked.
Hank consulted the clip board in his hand. "I have one more diagnostic test to run," he said. "We'll be ready to go this afternoon."
"Good." Erik stood there. He should have left; he had other things that needed attending to, and he hardly needed to stand watch over Cerebro--not now that it was practically finished.
Hank shot him a questioning look. It was obvious, even with their apparent truce, that Erik was not--and probably never would be--Hank's favourite person.
"Is there something else?" he asked. Erik kicked himself for being all kinds of an idiot.
"What you said yesterday..." he began.
"You spoke to Charles?" Hank asked, his work suddenly forgotten as he leaned forward intently. It was hard to read Hank's facial expressions, but Erik thought he looked hopeful. His face fell when Erik shook his head.
"You know what, never mind," Erik said, turning on his heel and leaving the room. He was vaguely aware of Hank sputtering behind him.
Erik sought out Cyclops next--Charles had seemed particularly excited by whatever it was he was working on. By the time he was up to speed--and unlike Charles, he couldn't see how building a prototype of Stryker's infernal collars was going to help--it was fast approaching lunch. Erik made his way back to Emma's office.
It was not an easy thing, trying to avoid notice, given who he was. Following Emma was an impossible challenge--she would have sensed the dead space his helmet created--so he waited until he saw her slip out of her office--looking entirely too seductive in pearl-drop white, cleavage on prominent display--to sneak inside. Well, he didn't so much sneak as he simply walked through the open doorway that was still without a door. Getting past her desk lock required a simple flick of his finger, her planner exactly where she always left it. He flipped it open to today's date.
Its entry read: Lunch with Charles. Fuck you, Erik. Erik seethed, then stormed from the room,
He knew Emma fairly well--or rather, knew her tastes--so there were really only a handful of restaurants in the area she might have suggested for lunch. Unless Charles suggested a restaurant, but as far as Erik knew the only restaurant Charles knew of was the one Erik had already taken him to. As luck would have it, that same restaurant probably would have topped Emma's list.
It was a remarkable thing to see--a terrifying thing to see--Magneto storming through the halls of the capitol compound, cape billowing behind him, murder written clearly on his face. Mutants physically dove to get out of his way, Erik out of the compound and across the street in record time, and without a single interruption.
He spotted them instantly. It was hard not to, Charles--and there was no way it was Emma--having chosen a window seat--Emma would have hated the thought of commoners watching her eat. Charles was smiling--and that was Erik's smile, damn it--Emma laughing at something he said--the sly minx. They had ordered wine--white, Erik saw, and soon Charles would be drunk and flirty and willing to fall into bed with anyone who happened to flash a pair of perfectly balanced breasts in his direction and maybe, just maybe, Hank had a point about the drinking.
Erik growled and then charged into the restaurant.
~*~
I was supposed to cancel.
Charles glanced up from his menu--the same restaurant Erik had taken him to, save that he had waved aside the private dining room in favour of a table beside the window, overlooking the harbour. Emma slid into the seat opposite.
"Why would you cancel?" Charles asked, amused.
His amusement vanished as Emma shared her earlier encounter with Erik.
"I'm so sorry, Emma. Believe me; I will have strong words with him." And he would--he would tear a strip from Erik's hide until Erik begged his forgiveness. There were a good many things he could overlook, but this--terrifying and threatening one of his own, simply because he couldn't control his jealousy--this was intolerable.
I don't see what you see in him, Emma said into his mind. He's not entirely sane, you know. Actually, scrap that; the man is bat-shit crazy.
Charles shook his head. There was nothing he could say to excuse what Erik had done--and he didn't want to--but he still cared for Erik--loved Erik--and wouldn't abandon him simply because he had made a mistake. They all made mistakes.
"I'm not sure any of us are," Charles said in response to Emma's pronouncement. "I promise you, though; he will apologize. I will see to that."
Emma looked doubtful, but she nodded.
"I am glad you came anyway," Charles said. Emma's laugh was amused.
"So am I, though I meant what I said. He is insane, and a brute. I worry about you. I know you can take care of yourself, but I wouldn't want to be in your position."
Why was it, Charles wondered, that he was the only one capable of seeing Erik's potential--capable of seeing the good in Erik. Surely Emma wouldn't be here if Erik were truly so bad. He let the thought float in her direction.
"No, you're right. He's not that bad. In fact, he's the first person I've met who actually treats me like an equal--a threat sometimes, but an equal. I like that. I like that he doesn't stare at my tits, or keep me around solely for his own pleasure." There was more to that story that she wasn't saying, but Charles knew, even without looking, that her own history was filled with men who had done exactly that. His heart ached for her.
In fact, until you came around, I'd never seen him look at anyone that way. Her smile was sly and mischievous.
Charles laughed, feeling his face flush. "Yes, well..."
"He's better, now that you're here. Before I kept wondering when he was going to finally snap and kill us all, but now he seems almost... human. Oh, he'd hate it if he heard me say that."
Charles couldn't help but disagree. He suspected a lot of Erik's hatred of humanity stemmed from what he perceived was his own human weakness. Charles hoped he was discovering what it meant to have human strength.
"It's a shame, you know," Charles said. "I think the two of you have a lot in common. I think you could almost be friends, if you were willing to take a chance, risk trusting one another. I think you both need more friends." Charles said this last bit with an air of certainty, Emma acknowledging the point with a slight incline of her head. It was a subtle suggestion, on both their parts, to leave Erik off as a topic of conversation.
So Charles sunk into Emma's head and offered an exchange of tricks. Emma was particularly impressed by Charles' ability to control people, whereas Charles had never before considered spinning illusions--even if he disagreed with most of the illusions Emma had spun.
It was nice, having this conversation--most of it confined within their heads. Speaking with Emma was like having a conversation with a sister--something he'd always wanted. It was how he'd often imagined he and Cain might have gotten on, before he'd realized that Cain was beyond his help.
But that was not a thought Charles wanted to get caught up in, so instead he turned to regaling Emma with stories from when his telepathy first manifested. She was particularly amused by the story of the Head Master he'd forced to act out scenes from Hamlet in the front of the dining hall, simply because he'd accused Charles of being incapable of mastering the classics. If Emma's thoughts were accurate, then she hadn't laughed as hard as she was now in years.
Erik's sudden arrival at their table was as surprising as it was alarming. Charles smiled to see him, until he caught sight of the expression on Erik's face. Then his stomach fell, even as indignation rose up like bile in the back of his throat.
Erik slid into an empty chair on Charles' right, face a mask of fury; his helmet perched on his head like an armet. He stared at Emma like he could burn her to cinder with only the power of his anger. Charles immediately reached a hand across the table and closed it around Erik's wrist.
"Don't you dare. Don't you dare," he said. Erik's head swung in his direction. "You owe this woman a thousand apologies, Erik. What you did is unspeakable, and I will not tolerate it. If you can't trust me then tell me now and I will leave; I will go back to Westchester and we will forget this ever happened. But do not presume to dictate my life; do not presume to tell me who I can or cannot see, and never, ever threaten or hurt anyone I choose to keep company with again. Do you understand me?"
In the course of Charles' lecture, Erik's anger had faded. He looked chastised now, as uncertain as he had last night. Charles squeezed his wrist once--part reassurance, part warning.
It was an extraordinary thing, watching Erik fully deflate. It was as if he had only just now realized how deplorable his behavior was. He stared at Charles, wide-eyed, and swallowed heavily
"I..."
"No, Erik. It's not me you should be apologizing to right now."
Erik's jaw clenched, but he mastered himself a moment later, resignation sweeping across his features. He turned to meet Emma's eye. She looked leery, but oddly defiant; the master of her own domain. Charles felt oddly proud.
"I apologize for my earlier behavior." Erik said.
Emma adjusted her pristine white shawl--it had fallen over her shoulders while they'd eaten. She lifted her head and glared down the length of her nose.
"You're an utter fool," she said. "You've actually got something worth having, and you're going to lose it because you can't stop behaving like a child."
Charles bit his lip to keep from reprimanding her--it was a terrible thing to say, and to Erik of all people, but she was rather entitled at the moment. His grip on Erik's wrist tightened.
"I've been inside his head you know, and the man is so gaga over you a parade of attractive men and women could lay themselves prostrate at his feet and he wouldn't even notice. Don't scare him away by being... well, you."
Erik seemed affronted by that, but before he had a chance to argue, Charles removed his hand from Erik's wrist and slid it into Erik's hand. He squeeze, earning Erik's attention.
"She's right; I am rather gaga," he said with a smile--and a blush that he was certain coloured even his ears. "Now take that ridiculous thing off so that the two of you can set this right." He gestured to Erik's helmet.
Erik stared at him like he'd grown two heads, but Charles maintained a level gaze, unwilling to relent. He half expected Erik to refuse; half expected Erik to stand from the table and storm from the restaurant. Charles let his expression turn beseeching. Erik cursed and then, in one quick motion, reached up and removed his helmet. He turned to Emma defiantly.
It was a mark, Charles thought, of how much Erik trusted him that he would take only Charles' word that he could trust a woman he had for years labelled as untrustworthy.
Emma narrowed her gaze--and Charles could hear her diving into his thoughts. Gently, please, he told her. Her expression softened, then grew shocked, eyes widening. She pulled back into her own mind.
"You really are an idiot," she said before turning to Charles. "But I take back what I said. He's still insane, but I can see what you see in him." Charles beamed at her.
He is kind of wonderful, isn't he? Emma merely laughed. Erik pulsed with annoyance and confusion, hating being left out of a conversation. Charles floated the same thought in his direction, watching Erik flush with pleasure.
Emma's laughter carried throughout the restaurant.
The rest of lunch was an awkward affair--because Erik refused to leave, and refused to replace his helmet, even though it was clear he wanted to, and because Emma sat, smug and amused by Erik's submission, and because they hadn't ordered nearly enough wine for Charles to deal with the pair of them.
After, Emma excused herself, saying she had an appointment.
"We should do this again, Charles," she said, leaning down to press a kiss to Charles' cheek. Charles glared at her, knowing she had done it only to infuriate Erik.
You could at least try to be nice, he told her.
Emma laughed, bright and amused like Charles had just told the best joke in the world. Erik's thoughts raged. Charles shook his head, reached out a hand and slid it into Erik's.
"Thank you for lunch, Emma," he said. She inclined her head, turned on her heel, and left the restaurant. Charles turned to Erik, who was standing behind his chair, looking uncertain.
"I really messed that up, didn't I?" he said. Charles squeezed his hand.
"Oh, yes, rather badly, I might add," Charles replied, but he was smiling. The shape of Emma's thoughts after Erik had removed his helmet had told him all he needed to know. Charles didn't say it, but if anything it was him who should be worried, not Erik. Fortunately for him, Emma was a woman of honour; she would never filch what wasn't hers.
"I'm sorry. I'm not good at sharing," Erik said, and Charles was acutely aware of just how different their lives had been up until this point.
Charles had never been forced to share--had had everything handed to him on a silver platter. Granted he would have given anything--shared his every possession--for something as simple as companionship or love or affection. Erik, on the other hand, had grown up without possessions, wearing hand-me-downs and not always having enough to eat--and that was before the camps. In the camps Erik had had nothing that belonged to him, not even himself. It was no wonder Erik was bad at sharing, especially now that he had something to share.
"It's not something you have to worry about, you know," Charles said. "I've never had this before. I rather think it's one of those once in a lifetime sort of things. Trust me when I say, I'm not going to do anything to screw it up."
Erik's expression softened at that. He smiled, a little hesitantly, but with genuine warmth.
"I told you we should have spent the day in bed," he said, and then, "Come on, Hank will be waiting for us." Charles could hear what he wasn't saying.
I love you, too, Charles floated in his direction. Erik's smile grew impossibly fond as he led them from the restaurant, Cerebro awaiting its first official test run.
On to chapter 19
