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nekosmuseTitle: An Ideal Grace (11/?)
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Fandom: XMFC, a modern, non-powered AU
Rating: NC-17
Warning: non graphic reference to past dubcon.
Summary: Charles and Erik as university professors. Need I say more?
Notes: I'm still a little aflutter at the moment, because eira_cannaid made me the most beautiful cover in the world and I don't think I will ever wrap my head around someone wanting to make art for one of my stories. It is the most stunning thing I've ever seen, and I'm certain I will be choked up about it for days. I absolutely had to share it with you guys.
There are no words. Thank you.
Also, once again afrocurl has written our poetry. It's still as beautiful as ever, and I will never be able to thank her enough. We are so, so lucky to have her.
Back to chapter 10
Erik wasn't a morning person, but neither was he not a morning person. He was probably one of the few individuals in the world who could truly claim neutrality on the subject. He woke up--often without needing an alarm--rolled out of bed without much fanfare, and padded to the kitchen because if there was anything Erik was it was a coffee person. He liked coffee.
Shaw had preferred tea.
Erik didn't know what Charles preferred. He hoped it wasn't tea.
This morning, however, he woke a little earlier than usual, so instead of seeking out the day's first caffeine fix, he lingered in bed.
Erik never lingered.
It was... nice, he thought, stretching against the sheets, wiggling his toes, his muscles still pleasantly achy from yesterday's run--and later walk. After breakfast, he and Raven had taken advantage of the weather and rambled about the city, Erik's good mood lasting the entire day--and it seemed to have lasted the night as well, Erik feeling strangely serene this morning. Raven had dictated where they went, dragging him in and out of shops were she systematically spent a weekend's worth of tip money on frivolous things that Erik had no idea Raven had even wanted.
He'd kept track of some of it--who knew she had a fondness for tacky costume jewelry--planning on using his newfound knowledge the next time her birthday rolled around.
They'd eaten dinner in a little Italian place that sold pizza on flatbread, topped with fresh herbs and crumbled goat cheese, and after had gotten late night coffee in a cafe near Bryant Park. They'd detoured on the way home--heading north instead of south--so that Raven could see the lights of Broadway at night. She'd made Erik promise he'd take her to one--if not all--of the shows.
He suspected she meant sooner rather than later.
The apartment was still quiet, which meant Raven was still asleep--no surprise there--so Erik stretched again, this time bringing his hands over his head. He rarely allowed himself these luxuries, but yesterday had been so pleasant--right from the start--that he wanted to chase that feeling as long as it lasted.
Raising his hands above his head had lifted his undershirt, so that his sheets scratched against the bare skin of his back. It sparked something in him that after yesterday's fiasco he was almost afraid to acknowledge.
He approached it cautiously, bringing his hands down to fold across his stomach. When that didn't dispel it, he let his thumb slip beneath the hem of his shirt to rub absently at the space just above his belly button. Heat pooled in his groin.
He let his legs splay, just a little--limbs loose from a night of slumber--and drifted one hand down and another up. He reached the line of his briefs with one hand just as the other brushed against a nipple.
This was the point where this would either go forward--and Erik realized he probably needed it to go forward; certainly it wasn't healthy, how infrequently he did this, never mind that he'd been celibate for at least three years now--or it would peter out. So far it seemed to be moving forward.
He paused long enough to pull his shirt over his head, pushing the sheets down so that they pooled around his hips.
He did his best to clear his head--concentrating only on the sensation of his hands, trying to stay in the moment and not delve into fantasy. He ran his fingers across his low belly, skirting the edge of the sheet. His skin erupted into gooseflesh. Erik shivered, and then licked at his lips. So far, so good.
Unlike most of Erik's partners--and there hadn't been many, and they'd all been male--Erik liked having his nipples played with. He liked having them touched and kissed and bit. He rubbed at them now, occasionally taking a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and squeezing gently, then a little harder until pleasure spiked through him. His cock, already hard given the hour, showed no sign of losing interest.
He slid a hand into his underwear.
He avoided touching his cock directly, instead threading his fingers through his pubic hairs, running feather-light touches across the insides of his thighs and the creases of his legs. None of his partners had liked being touched so gently either. It seemed in that--as in many things--Erik was an anomaly. Certainly Shaw had never touched him gently. Even his caresses were weighted by intent.
Erik wasn't entirely certain how he'd allowed Shaw to creep into his thoughts, so Erik banished him to a dark corner of his mind before his presence threatened to derail this entire experiment. He was half expecting it to be too late, but his interest didn't seem to be waning, so Erik slowly--oh, so slowly--brought his fingers to the tip of his penis, wrapping them lightly around the head, thumb brushing across his slit.
And that was good. It was very good, Erik thought, smiling a little dopily as he blinked up at the ceiling--he was terrified to close his eyes, afraid of what he'd find written on the back of his eyelids. He could feel pressure building, some of his earlier caution dissipating as he gave himself over to the sensation. He ran his fingers down his length, then back up again, tracing absent patterns as he moved, hips arching slightly off the bed.
It was suddenly far, far too warm.
He used the hand not currently wrapped around his cock to toss aside the covers, cool air touching him in places it rarely touched him. He shivered against the sensation, even as it further aroused him. He knew it was a left over from Shaw--Shaw had liked to watch--but Shaw was still banished, so Erik didn't let it bother him, instead arching into his hand, stifling a moan with his free hand so that he didn't disturb Raven.
She would tease him mercilessly if she knew.
The hand on his cock was working a little bit faster now--his grip a little firmer. It was a little dry, so he stopped long enough to spit into his hand, using his spit and what little precome he produced as lubrication. And that was better, enough that Erik could get lost in the sensation--slick and hot, his fingertips occasionally brushing against his balls whenever his hand reached his base.
He was still trying desperately to keep his mind blank--to concentrate only on the sensation--but the occasional image drifted into awareness. Mostly he managed to keep it generic--sweat-soaked skin and hard curves, an unknown hand, an anonymous mouth--but unbidden the mouth became a familiar shade of red, soft skin growing pale. Flashes of blue eyes, pupils blown wide with arousal, flickered across his vision, but Erik was too far gone to feel anything other than want at their inclusion.
He let himself wonder. Let himself imagine running hands through soft brown hair; let himself imagine sliding against milky white flesh. Charles smiled at him, eyes flashing. Come on, my friend he whispered in Erik's ear, and Erik came.
It was a little startling, actually, how quickly it happened. Erik was used to having to work for it--used to giving up in the middle when it seemed it wouldn't happen. Now, ropes of sticky white come painted his stomach, his body stuttering through its orgasm, every nerve alight with pulsing satisfaction. Even as he came down from the high he couldn't find him in it to feel guilty--that would undoubtedly come later--it had been far too long and there was no one else who could have sent him over the edge so quickly.
Shaw was nowhere to be found, Erik was pleased to note.
He spent several long minutes basking in the afterglow--another luxury Erik rarely allowed--before he finally climbed out of bed and slipped into the bathroom to clean himself up. When he was done, he dressed and then headed towards the kitchen to see about breakfast.
He found Raven sitting on the couch, Erik's notebook open on her lap.
For a brief moment Erik panicked, certain then that she'd heard. She didn't say anything, though, merely smiled when she saw him and asked if he intended to make coffee. Raven's coffee making skills matched her culinary skills; which was to say, they were non-existent.
Erik nodded, and then shuffled into the kitchen, knees still a little rubbery. He set the coffee brewing and then returned to the couch, sinking down next to Raven. He glanced over her shoulder.
She was reading the poem he'd written yesterday.
"I might have been a little angry with him," Erik said, and there was no need to mention who, not with Raven. She nodded.
"I can tell. Still, it's good you're writing again."
It was, Erik realized. He hadn't really written anything in the last few years--had almost given up on ever being able to do so again.
"I was thinking I might put together a collection," Erik said. Raven smiled brightly at that, pride and relief flashing across her features. Coming to America, Erik thought, had been rather good for them.
Raven's smile shifted into a smirk. "Will you dedicate it to Charles?" she asked, teasing. Erik chuckled.
"If nothing else, he stands as my muse," he admitted, realizing too late the innuendo that had seeped into his tone.
If Raven heard, she didn't say anything, but she looked entirely too pleased, so Erik rolled his eyes at her and pushed himself off the couch. He headed back into the kitchen, rummaging through their fridge in search of something reasonable for breakfast. They had eggs and peppers and mushrooms, so he set about making them omelets. He was just cracking the first batch of eggs when Raven entered the kitchen. She jumped up to sit on the island counter.
"Why are you up so early, anyway?" Erik asked. He paused in what he was doing to pour them both a cup of coffee.
"Not sure," Raven shrugged. She didn't look particularly upset--nor did she look like she'd spent the entire night awake--so Erik let it drop and finished what he was doing.
It wasn't until later--after they'd eaten--that Raven smiled shyly and told him to stay put. Erik frowned, but nodded, watching as she disappeared into their shared office. He flashed back briefly to the last time she'd done so, the day she'd brought him Columbia's policy book and told him dating Charles was perfectly acceptable. It felt like such a long time ago now.
She returned a minute later, holding something behind her back. When Erik cocked his head, she pulled it out and handed it to him with a flourish.
It was a leather bound notebook, the one Erik had seen in one of the shops Raven had dragged him through yesterday. He'd gone back to it several times, debating whether or not to buy it. He couldn't for the life of him figure out when Raven had purchased it.
He glanced at her now, the corners of his mouth pulling down into a frown.
"Raven..." he said.
"You kept looking at it, and then walking away, and then coming back to look at it." She shrugged.
Erik shook his head, even as he accepted the book, turning it over in his hand.
"I wasn't looking at it for me," he said. Raven snorted.
"Obviously." Erik's head shot up at that. "Please, Erik, you've been buying the same kind of notebook for like ten years now. You're not going to change now. But you should give it to him."
And of course she'd known he was looking at it for Charles. Not that he had intended to ever buy Charles a gift--at least, not now--but the second he'd seen the book it had reminded him of Charles. There was just something about it that screamed Charles--its soft leather cover, its hand-cut pages, its refined, classic appearance.
"How did you even afford this?" Erik asked, because there was no way Raven's tips had covered this.
"I used your credit card," she said, looking as though she was trying for guilty. Mostly she just looked smug. Erik laughed--he supposed it was fair, given that she was expecting him to be the one to give it to Charles.
"It's beautiful, Raven, and I appreciate the thought, but I can't give this to Charles." It was one of those lines he couldn't cross. Doing so would only complicate the issue. In response to Raven's frown, he added, "But I love it. I'll use it."
He could learn to love another notebook. How hard could it be to undo ten years' worth of conditioning?
~*~
Sometime between Sunday night and Monday morning a cold front moved in. Charles stepped outside his apartment, only to turn around and head back in, seeking his coat. He thought seriously about grabbing a scarf, but it wasn't really that cold--it only felt it, the extreme shift in temperature making it feel colder than it actually was.
It seemed a fitting way to mark the transition into October.
He'd spent the bulk of yesterday--after he'd gotten over his high from talking to Erik--obsessively re-reading his musty boarding school notes on Ancient Mariner. He fully intended to get them back on track today--yesterday had been a nice start, but today he would solidify his place in Erik's life.
After last week, it felt nice to enjoy a good mood. Charles' steps felt light, and he took his time crossing Morningside Park. The leaves were fully turned now, vibrant reds and oranges as far as the eye could see. He'd been too distracted by waiting for Erik--and then Erik--to appreciate the foliage in Central Park. He took his time admiring it today.
The cooler weather, too, renewed his spirit, the scent of approaching winter carrying on the wind. Charles breathed deep, enjoying the burn of it against the back of his throat. The semester felt well and truly underway. His research with Hank was going well, his students were getting into a routine and for the first time in forever Charles' personal life seemed destined for good things.
Moira had once accused him of being the most unyielding optimist she had ever met, and Charles supposed that was true, because so much could still go so very wrong, and yet, Charles chose not to focus on that. He chose instead to focus on all the things that could go right--a far less depressing prospect and one that left him with a soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
He was still smiling when he made it onto campus.
On impulse--and because he'd regretted the decision last time--he bought two coffees at Brownie's. He was early enough that he'd likely be the first to arrive to Erik's class, and then he could simply leave the coffee on Erik's podium--Erik would know who it was from--without embarrassing Erik in front of his entire class.
What he wasn't expecting was to be the second to arrive in the classroom; he certainly wasn't expecting Erik to have been the first.
Charles stood inside the door, staring at Erik as Erik stared at him. The soft plum of his turtleneck seemed made for his complexion. Charles watched, fascinated, as twin spots of pink bloomed on Erik's cheeks. Erik glanced away, shook his head, and then resolutely turned back to look Charles in the eye. He looked as determined as he did nervous. Charles mastered his most confident smile and entered the room. He came to stand at Erik's side.
"Cappuccino, with whole milk?" Charles said, a little uncertain as he handed over his extra cup. Erik seemed startled, but he took the coffee from Charles' hand.
"How did you know?" he asked.
And huh, Charles thought--he really should have considered that. He suspected I made sure to check the last cup I saw you drinking might sound a little too stalkerish.
"Um... Lucky guess," he tried.
Erik seemed a little skeptical, but he didn't say anything, instead taking a sip and smiling appreciatively.
"Thank you." He hesitated, and then glanced to the door. For one delirious minute Charles thought he might lean forward and press a kiss to the side of Charles' mouth.
It was entirely possible he was spending far too much time fantasizing about Erik.
"What are you drinking?" he asked instead, gesturing to Charles' cup. Charles cocked his head, smile growing amused.
"Latte," he answered, "with skimmed milk." He wondered briefly if this meant Erik was going to start bringing him coffees. He let himself linger in the fantasy for several moments, images of Erik showing up at the lab, coffee in hand. Charles would parade him around the department, smug and proud.
"Good," Erik said, like Charles' hot beverage choice had the potential to be a sticking point.
Charles wanted to ask, but he wasn't entirely certain where to begin--the same could be said for this conversation, because he hadn't really planned on running into Erik before class. He had all sorts of things to say about Ancient Mariner--had made notes and everything, wanting to be sure to touch on the poem's symbolism and imagery. He had an entire speech prepared on the conception of sin, but nothing that could get him through the next five minutes without coming across as a complete and utter idiot.
Fortunately, it was Erik who broke the silence.
"I was thinking about you earlier," he said, though just as Charles' eyebrows shot up, he backtracked. "I mean, I was wondering about your work."
Charles, who was still a little giddy over the thought of Erik thinking about him, immediately thought Erik was asking about his research--which was something no one, save Hank, and perhaps Moira, ever wanted to talk about. You're in the most boring field ever, Scott used to say, shushing Charles whenever he tried to extol the wonders of genetics.
That thought stopped him before he could begin rambling on about mutations and evolution. It occurred to him then that Erik was probably talking about poetry. Charles coloured, embarrassed by his mistake--the last thing he wanted to do was scare Erik off by talking about RNA splicing or genomic imprinting.
"I guess it's mostly about nature," he said, which was probably as good an approximation as he was going to get. Erik smiled broadly at that.
"That would explain why you like the romantics," he said. He hesitated then, glancing again to the door, and then back to Charles. He seemed strangely torn. "Do you write in anything?" he asked.
It took Charles several seconds to figure out what Erik was talking about--remembering then the Moleskine he'd seen on Erik's desk only last week. He shook his head.
"Mostly my laptop," he said, because that was sort of true. Certainly he compiled lab reports and wrote research papers on his laptop.
This wasn't the first time he had lied to a potential partner--he was used to thinking on the fly, filling in details as necessary. It was, however, the first time he'd felt guilty about it. He knew he wasn't the most interesting person in the world--certainly he wasn't as interesting as Erik--but for the first time in his life he wanted someone to know him for him.
He was about to tell Erik exactly that--let him know that he didn't write poetry, but that he had several publications under his name, all in the field of genetics, but that his most creative talent was the ability to colour-code his filing cabinet, and that if the choice were his he'd spend pretty much all of his free time locked away inside his lab.
Unfortunately this was exactly when Erik, looking more nervous than Charles could ever remember seeing him, turned away to retrieve something from his bag. When he returned, he was carrying a very nice, very expensive looking journal. He handed it to Charles.
"I'm not really using this, so if you wanted it... I mean, obviously you don't have to take it, I just thought that rather than let it go to waste," he gestured absently, but Charles was too caught up in staring at the book to really notice.
Erik had just given him a present--a very nice, very thoughtful present.
Charles felt like a complete heel, even as his heart fluttered in his chest, eyes growing misty--it was just the chalk dust he told himself. He clutched the journal to his chest and met Erik's eye.
"It's beautiful. I love it. Thank you," he said, deciding then that he would write page after page after page of--probably really bad--poetry just to use the thing. He couldn't remember anyone having given him so thoughtful a gift--and if, technically, the thoughtfulness was due to Charles' misdirection, then Charles had no one to blame but himself. "I really don't know what to say."
"It's nothing. It was just sitting around collecting dust. I figured someone ought to get some use out of it," Erik said. He took another sip of his coffee, shuffling from one foot to the other as he did.
Charles nodded, but he didn't release his hold on the book. Much to horror, he realized his hands were trembling.
It was at that moment that voices drifted in through the open door. Erik, who had relaxed considerably since giving Charles the journal, came instantly to attention. He smiled, almost apologetically, Charles taking that as his hint to find a seat. He'd just sat--book still clenched to his chest--when the first of Erik's actual students came in through the door.
It took the better part of twenty minutes to get himself back under control--he'd tucked Erik's book into his messenger bag, nestled safely between his laptop and a paper on variation in genome-wide mutation rates. He didn't begin dominating the discussion until about the thirty minute mark. When he did, he earned the full of Erik's attention, Erik beaming at him.
The rest of the class passed that way. Charles suspected the other students could have slipped out the door, leaving only him and Erik behind, and Erik probably wouldn't have even noticed. He was so caught up in his lecture--so caught up in Charles' participation--hands moving throughout the air, countenance vibrating with energy, that Charles doubted anything could have distracted his attention.
Charles rather understood how he felt, save that the lecture topic wasn't, at present, what was keeping Charles captive. Erik was a thing of beauty when he lectured.
He supposed that was probably why none of the class took advantage of Erik's distraction to cut out of class.
When the lecture came to an end, Erik lingered at the podium, casting the occasional glance in Charles' direction. Charles took his time packing up his things, waiting until the few students with actual questions had had a chance to do so--Charles may be usurping their class, but he wasn't about to stand in the way of their education.
While he packed away his things--fingers brushing against the spine of Erik's journal--he couldn't help but overhear the conversation going on behind him. He recognized the voices of Kitty and Marie--his defectors. It took several seconds for Charles to realize they were talking about him--undoubtedly they thought their whispered conversation quiet enough to escape his notice.
Charles fought against a threatened smile, mouth pressing into a thin line to avoid laughing outright. They were debating, quite seriously, whether or not Professor Lehnsherr and Professor Xavier were sleeping together.
Not yet, Charles wanted to turn around and tell them, but that sort of thing would hardly be appropriate. Instead he glanced over his shoulder, caught Marie's eye--they grew wide when she spotted him--and winked. He then slid from his desk, sauntered across the room and smiled brightly at Erik.
~*~
Scott Interlude
"Promise me you'll be safe," Scott said, earning a light chuckle from the other end of the line. They did this every day, and every day he was promised the same thing, but it didn't stop him from saying it.
"I'm always safe, darlin'."
It was as much reassurance as he would ever get, and although it helped, it did nothing to extinguish the seed of worry in his chest. The price, he supposed, for having fallen in love with a cop. At least he was on the afternoon shift these days--when they'd first moved in together, he'd worked the overnight, and Scott would pace the floors of their condo, flinching whenever the phone rang. He'd hear reports on the news about cops injured in the line of duty--or worse, killed--and automatically pick up his phone.
"Well, be extra safe today," Scott said, and then, "I love you."
"I love you, too, babe, so stop worry and go teach those kids of yours."
Scott smiled fondly, and then disconnected the call.
His smile lasted just until he caught sight of the clipboard on his desk. Oh, right. Sometimes he really hated his job. He stood then, tucking the clipboard under his arm, intent on seeking out the twelve people who hadn't bothered to RRSP or decline their invitations.
Unfortunately, the man at the top of the list was their resident visiting professor, Erik Lehnsherr.
There wasn't much Scott was afraid of--hell, he'd heard his boyfriend's cop stories enough to have grown immune to most of humanities ugliness--but Erik Lehnsherr made the hackles stand up on the back of his neck. It wasn't just that Lehnsherr was abrupt and stand-offish, or even that his austerity extended into animosity, but rather that he couldn't get enough of a read on Lehnsherr to know whether he was simply lacking in social skills, or whether he had a pile of bodies stacked in his basement.
There were times when he thought seriously about getting his boyfriend to do a mainframe search on the man, perhaps after Scott had surreptitiously collected a DNA sample.
He really had no idea what Charles saw in the man, but then again, himself excepted, Charles had never had particularly good taste in men.
Lehnsherr's door was open when he arrived outside his office, Scott surprised to find the man wearing a soft smile. Scott knocked on the doorframe, Lehnsherr glancing up, his expression somewhat eager. The eagerness, along with his smile, vanished the second he registered who it was--and Scott wondered if perhaps this was just posturing; perhaps Lehnsherr was bothered by Scott's status as Charles' ex. He'd thought he'd made it abundantly clear that that was over, never mind that he'd been seeing someone else for over two years now.
Right now Lehnsherr looked like he wanted to jump across the desk and strangle Scott on the spot. Scott cleared his throat.
"Sorry to bother you, Professor Lehnsherr, but I'm trying to get a head count for the Poet Laureate dinner, and I was wondering if you intended to attend."
It was a remarkable thing, watching Lehnsherr's expression shift from murderous intent to something very akin to horror. Scott wondered what it was he had said--although perhaps Lehnsherr simply abhorred the thought of attending social functions. Certainly he seemed like the sort to despise them.
"No, I won't be attending, Professor Summers," Erik said, tone even, despite the sudden pallor of his face. Scott had no idea why he had decided to stress his title.
"Right, thank you," Scott said, and since there was no reason to stick around, he bid a hasty retreat.
One down, eleven left to go, and fortunately Ms. Grey was far more pleasant to speak with.
~*~
Charles had office hours on Monday afternoons--or rather, he was supposed to have office hours, but Charles never bothered holding them until the first month of school was over. Today marked the transition point, so he sat in his office, fully expecting no one to show up--his graduate students weren't far enough into the material to have hit any snags, and his undergraduates wouldn't start showing up until closer to midterms.
He busied himself by reviewing some of the results from yesterday's lab work--there were some inconsistencies, which probably meant he and Hank were going to need to rerun some samples. He had just spotted the problem when his phone rang.
His ringtone startled him--not many people called Charles, save his mother, but even that was infrequent, and she didn't have his cell number. Most of the people who might get in touch with him--and that pretty much included only Moira and Hank--tended to text. Charles pulled his iPhone out of his lab coat pocket and glanced at the screen.
He was surprised to see Mystique come up on the display.
"Hello?" Charles said, not entirely certain why Raven would be calling him in the middle of the day, or why she used Mystique as a screen name.
"Where are you?" she asked. Charles frowned.
"At the school?" he answered, uncertain.
"Yeah, so am I, but where--what building?" There was an edge of annoyance in her voice.
"Oh," Charles said, realizing what she was driving at. "I'm actually at the Medical Centre, in Hammer, but I can come to you if you'd rather. It might be easier."
"Nope, on my way. Meet me out front." She hung up before Charles could get another word in. He wondered if she even knew where she was going.
Charles pulled his phone away from his ear, stared at it, and then tucked it back into his pocket. On second thought, he pulled it out, shucked off his lab coat, and then slid his phone into his trouser pocket. He had no idea how close Raven was--he guessed the main campus--but he figured he ought to be waiting for her when she arrived, so he slipped on his winter coat and headed outside.
His office hours were almost over anyway.
The streets were busy with mid-afternoon traffic, the sidewalk outside Hammer's main entrance a bustling place, a street vendor on the corner doing good business as people sought their 3:00 caffeine fix. Charles pulled his coat tighter against the slight chill in the air, and waited.
He didn't have to wait long, though only because Raven showed up on the back of a motorcycle not ten minutes later. She was wrapped around some guy who, after he'd removed his helmet, seemed oddly familiar. A second later Charles placed him as the bartender from the club that had hit on Sean. Charles smiled and made his way towards them.
"Little cold," he said, in reference to the bike, but the bartender merely laughed.
"You Americans are so delicate," he said with a Russian accent. To Raven, he said, "You can find your own way back, da?" She nodded, and then handed him back her helmet.
"That's Azazel," she said when he had left, bike tearing down Fort Washington Ave like the devil himself was on his heels. "He owns the club where I work--the one you were at the other night."
"Oh," Charles said, because he hadn't realized club owners tended bar. He wondered if there was anything between them--he had thought the man gay, but then again, Charles tended to assume most men were gay.
"Anyway," Raven said, overriding anything else he might have said. "We need to talk strategy."
Charles wasn't too sure what she meant by that, but he suspected it had to do with Erik. He found himself smiling broadly, earning a raised eyebrow from Raven even as she dug a pack of smokes out of her jacket pocket and set about getting one lit.
"He bought me a journal," Charles said, wanting then to drag her inside and show her it--coo over the quality of the paper and the softness of the leather cover. Raven's eyes went wide. She smiled.
"He gave it to you? He wasn't going to," she said, exhaling smoke over her shoulder to avoid blowing it in Charles' face. Charles still coughed, suddenly glad that Erik didn't share her habit.
"You knew about it?" Charles asked. Raven merely smiled around the cigarette in her mouth.
Their conversation seemed to remind her of something else, because she grunted and then began digging around in her pockets--he'd never seen her carry a purse--pulling out her iPhone a second later. She stared at it intently for several seconds, obviously searching for something. When she found what she was looking for, she handed it over.
Charles stared at the screen for several long minutes.
"You took a picture of one of his poems?" he asked, thinking in that moment that he might just love this woman as much as he loved her brother--though in an entirely different way.
"It was either that or photocopy it, and Erik rarely lets the book out of his sight, so this was far easier," she said.
Charles turned back to the poem.
He'd thought Erik giving him a journal had made him giddy, but this--this was overwhelming. Charles felt a lump form in the back of his throat, his hand shaking as he read Erik's words again and again and again. It should have probably made him feel guilty, invading Erik's privacy like this, but he was too overwhelmed by the idea of someone--of Erik--writing poetry about him.
"I'm someone to believe in," he said, because what else was there to say? He wanted that--wanted Erik to bare his soul, to let Charles into his world so that they could share everything with each other.
"This morning he called you his muse," Raven said. Charles glanced away from the phone, startled.
"His muse?"
Raven nodded, smile growing broad. It was nothing like Erik's smile--he had never seen so dissimilar a pair of siblings--though just as vibrant. "He's written at least half a dozen poems about you so far, and that's more than he's written in years. He was talking about putting together a collection. I told him he should dedicate it to you."
It was too much for Charles to hear--too startling--his knees going weak, so he sat down on the edge of one of the red brick planter boxes that ringed the sidewalk outside the towering building.
Raven tossed her butt onto the sidewalk, and then came to sit next to him.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" she asked. "I thought you were an English guy."
Charles frowned at that, because surely Erik had told her--although, Erik did seem more of the strong silent type, so it was entirely possible he didn't spend a lot of time filling Raven in on the details of Charles' background. Still, he wasn't used to anyone not knowing who he was.
Being an Xavier in New York kind of precluded that.
"No," he said, "genetics."
Raven looked surprised to hear that. "That's a PhD, right?" she asked, which seemed odd, because he didn't know anyone on track to full professor who didn't have a PhD. Perhaps things were structured differently in Germany.
"Yes," he said, and then, because he liked talking about his work and Raven seemed the type of person who might actually listen, he began telling her about his latest project.
"My lab partner and I are currently involved in stem cell research," he said, well aware that it was still a controversial subject. "It's a very fascinating avenue of study, because stem cell treatments hold the potential to change the face of human disease. Modern medicine is by far the greatest evolutionary tool we have control of."
Raven didn't look like she had particularly understood anything Charles had said, but she was listening intently, and hadn't asked him to stop talking. Charles pressed on.
When he was done explaining his goal of engineering mutated stem cells in an effort to combat pre-existing genetic disorders, Raven asked, "When do expect to be finished?"
Charles considered--because answering the question was probably impossible. "It all depends on the research, I suppose," Charles confessed, "though I'm hoping sometime in the spring." At the very least he hoped he and Hank would have a paper out for peer review that spring.
Raven, who was smiling again, nodded like she approved of Charles' research schedule, said, "Good. That's good."
And then she launched into an explanation of exactly how Charles was going to spend the next few weeks seducing Erik. Apparently it involved lots of chance meetings and pseudo dates until Erik got past whatever it was that was making him hesitate--and when Charles asked, Raven had only said, His asshole ex kind of messed him up, but it's not my place to say anything more, which only served to make Charles that much more determined.
On to chapter 12
Pairing: Charles/Erik
Fandom: XMFC, a modern, non-powered AU
Rating: NC-17
Warning: non graphic reference to past dubcon.
Summary: Charles and Erik as university professors. Need I say more?
Notes: I'm still a little aflutter at the moment, because eira_cannaid made me the most beautiful cover in the world and I don't think I will ever wrap my head around someone wanting to make art for one of my stories. It is the most stunning thing I've ever seen, and I'm certain I will be choked up about it for days. I absolutely had to share it with you guys.
There are no words. Thank you.
Also, once again afrocurl has written our poetry. It's still as beautiful as ever, and I will never be able to thank her enough. We are so, so lucky to have her.
Back to chapter 10
Erik wasn't a morning person, but neither was he not a morning person. He was probably one of the few individuals in the world who could truly claim neutrality on the subject. He woke up--often without needing an alarm--rolled out of bed without much fanfare, and padded to the kitchen because if there was anything Erik was it was a coffee person. He liked coffee.
Shaw had preferred tea.
Erik didn't know what Charles preferred. He hoped it wasn't tea.
This morning, however, he woke a little earlier than usual, so instead of seeking out the day's first caffeine fix, he lingered in bed.
Erik never lingered.
It was... nice, he thought, stretching against the sheets, wiggling his toes, his muscles still pleasantly achy from yesterday's run--and later walk. After breakfast, he and Raven had taken advantage of the weather and rambled about the city, Erik's good mood lasting the entire day--and it seemed to have lasted the night as well, Erik feeling strangely serene this morning. Raven had dictated where they went, dragging him in and out of shops were she systematically spent a weekend's worth of tip money on frivolous things that Erik had no idea Raven had even wanted.
He'd kept track of some of it--who knew she had a fondness for tacky costume jewelry--planning on using his newfound knowledge the next time her birthday rolled around.
They'd eaten dinner in a little Italian place that sold pizza on flatbread, topped with fresh herbs and crumbled goat cheese, and after had gotten late night coffee in a cafe near Bryant Park. They'd detoured on the way home--heading north instead of south--so that Raven could see the lights of Broadway at night. She'd made Erik promise he'd take her to one--if not all--of the shows.
He suspected she meant sooner rather than later.
The apartment was still quiet, which meant Raven was still asleep--no surprise there--so Erik stretched again, this time bringing his hands over his head. He rarely allowed himself these luxuries, but yesterday had been so pleasant--right from the start--that he wanted to chase that feeling as long as it lasted.
Raising his hands above his head had lifted his undershirt, so that his sheets scratched against the bare skin of his back. It sparked something in him that after yesterday's fiasco he was almost afraid to acknowledge.
He approached it cautiously, bringing his hands down to fold across his stomach. When that didn't dispel it, he let his thumb slip beneath the hem of his shirt to rub absently at the space just above his belly button. Heat pooled in his groin.
He let his legs splay, just a little--limbs loose from a night of slumber--and drifted one hand down and another up. He reached the line of his briefs with one hand just as the other brushed against a nipple.
This was the point where this would either go forward--and Erik realized he probably needed it to go forward; certainly it wasn't healthy, how infrequently he did this, never mind that he'd been celibate for at least three years now--or it would peter out. So far it seemed to be moving forward.
He paused long enough to pull his shirt over his head, pushing the sheets down so that they pooled around his hips.
He did his best to clear his head--concentrating only on the sensation of his hands, trying to stay in the moment and not delve into fantasy. He ran his fingers across his low belly, skirting the edge of the sheet. His skin erupted into gooseflesh. Erik shivered, and then licked at his lips. So far, so good.
Unlike most of Erik's partners--and there hadn't been many, and they'd all been male--Erik liked having his nipples played with. He liked having them touched and kissed and bit. He rubbed at them now, occasionally taking a nipple between his thumb and forefinger and squeezing gently, then a little harder until pleasure spiked through him. His cock, already hard given the hour, showed no sign of losing interest.
He slid a hand into his underwear.
He avoided touching his cock directly, instead threading his fingers through his pubic hairs, running feather-light touches across the insides of his thighs and the creases of his legs. None of his partners had liked being touched so gently either. It seemed in that--as in many things--Erik was an anomaly. Certainly Shaw had never touched him gently. Even his caresses were weighted by intent.
Erik wasn't entirely certain how he'd allowed Shaw to creep into his thoughts, so Erik banished him to a dark corner of his mind before his presence threatened to derail this entire experiment. He was half expecting it to be too late, but his interest didn't seem to be waning, so Erik slowly--oh, so slowly--brought his fingers to the tip of his penis, wrapping them lightly around the head, thumb brushing across his slit.
And that was good. It was very good, Erik thought, smiling a little dopily as he blinked up at the ceiling--he was terrified to close his eyes, afraid of what he'd find written on the back of his eyelids. He could feel pressure building, some of his earlier caution dissipating as he gave himself over to the sensation. He ran his fingers down his length, then back up again, tracing absent patterns as he moved, hips arching slightly off the bed.
It was suddenly far, far too warm.
He used the hand not currently wrapped around his cock to toss aside the covers, cool air touching him in places it rarely touched him. He shivered against the sensation, even as it further aroused him. He knew it was a left over from Shaw--Shaw had liked to watch--but Shaw was still banished, so Erik didn't let it bother him, instead arching into his hand, stifling a moan with his free hand so that he didn't disturb Raven.
She would tease him mercilessly if she knew.
The hand on his cock was working a little bit faster now--his grip a little firmer. It was a little dry, so he stopped long enough to spit into his hand, using his spit and what little precome he produced as lubrication. And that was better, enough that Erik could get lost in the sensation--slick and hot, his fingertips occasionally brushing against his balls whenever his hand reached his base.
He was still trying desperately to keep his mind blank--to concentrate only on the sensation--but the occasional image drifted into awareness. Mostly he managed to keep it generic--sweat-soaked skin and hard curves, an unknown hand, an anonymous mouth--but unbidden the mouth became a familiar shade of red, soft skin growing pale. Flashes of blue eyes, pupils blown wide with arousal, flickered across his vision, but Erik was too far gone to feel anything other than want at their inclusion.
He let himself wonder. Let himself imagine running hands through soft brown hair; let himself imagine sliding against milky white flesh. Charles smiled at him, eyes flashing. Come on, my friend he whispered in Erik's ear, and Erik came.
It was a little startling, actually, how quickly it happened. Erik was used to having to work for it--used to giving up in the middle when it seemed it wouldn't happen. Now, ropes of sticky white come painted his stomach, his body stuttering through its orgasm, every nerve alight with pulsing satisfaction. Even as he came down from the high he couldn't find him in it to feel guilty--that would undoubtedly come later--it had been far too long and there was no one else who could have sent him over the edge so quickly.
Shaw was nowhere to be found, Erik was pleased to note.
He spent several long minutes basking in the afterglow--another luxury Erik rarely allowed--before he finally climbed out of bed and slipped into the bathroom to clean himself up. When he was done, he dressed and then headed towards the kitchen to see about breakfast.
He found Raven sitting on the couch, Erik's notebook open on her lap.
For a brief moment Erik panicked, certain then that she'd heard. She didn't say anything, though, merely smiled when she saw him and asked if he intended to make coffee. Raven's coffee making skills matched her culinary skills; which was to say, they were non-existent.
Erik nodded, and then shuffled into the kitchen, knees still a little rubbery. He set the coffee brewing and then returned to the couch, sinking down next to Raven. He glanced over her shoulder.
She was reading the poem he'd written yesterday.
"I might have been a little angry with him," Erik said, and there was no need to mention who, not with Raven. She nodded.
"I can tell. Still, it's good you're writing again."
It was, Erik realized. He hadn't really written anything in the last few years--had almost given up on ever being able to do so again.
"I was thinking I might put together a collection," Erik said. Raven smiled brightly at that, pride and relief flashing across her features. Coming to America, Erik thought, had been rather good for them.
Raven's smile shifted into a smirk. "Will you dedicate it to Charles?" she asked, teasing. Erik chuckled.
"If nothing else, he stands as my muse," he admitted, realizing too late the innuendo that had seeped into his tone.
If Raven heard, she didn't say anything, but she looked entirely too pleased, so Erik rolled his eyes at her and pushed himself off the couch. He headed back into the kitchen, rummaging through their fridge in search of something reasonable for breakfast. They had eggs and peppers and mushrooms, so he set about making them omelets. He was just cracking the first batch of eggs when Raven entered the kitchen. She jumped up to sit on the island counter.
"Why are you up so early, anyway?" Erik asked. He paused in what he was doing to pour them both a cup of coffee.
"Not sure," Raven shrugged. She didn't look particularly upset--nor did she look like she'd spent the entire night awake--so Erik let it drop and finished what he was doing.
It wasn't until later--after they'd eaten--that Raven smiled shyly and told him to stay put. Erik frowned, but nodded, watching as she disappeared into their shared office. He flashed back briefly to the last time she'd done so, the day she'd brought him Columbia's policy book and told him dating Charles was perfectly acceptable. It felt like such a long time ago now.
She returned a minute later, holding something behind her back. When Erik cocked his head, she pulled it out and handed it to him with a flourish.
It was a leather bound notebook, the one Erik had seen in one of the shops Raven had dragged him through yesterday. He'd gone back to it several times, debating whether or not to buy it. He couldn't for the life of him figure out when Raven had purchased it.
He glanced at her now, the corners of his mouth pulling down into a frown.
"Raven..." he said.
"You kept looking at it, and then walking away, and then coming back to look at it." She shrugged.
Erik shook his head, even as he accepted the book, turning it over in his hand.
"I wasn't looking at it for me," he said. Raven snorted.
"Obviously." Erik's head shot up at that. "Please, Erik, you've been buying the same kind of notebook for like ten years now. You're not going to change now. But you should give it to him."
And of course she'd known he was looking at it for Charles. Not that he had intended to ever buy Charles a gift--at least, not now--but the second he'd seen the book it had reminded him of Charles. There was just something about it that screamed Charles--its soft leather cover, its hand-cut pages, its refined, classic appearance.
"How did you even afford this?" Erik asked, because there was no way Raven's tips had covered this.
"I used your credit card," she said, looking as though she was trying for guilty. Mostly she just looked smug. Erik laughed--he supposed it was fair, given that she was expecting him to be the one to give it to Charles.
"It's beautiful, Raven, and I appreciate the thought, but I can't give this to Charles." It was one of those lines he couldn't cross. Doing so would only complicate the issue. In response to Raven's frown, he added, "But I love it. I'll use it."
He could learn to love another notebook. How hard could it be to undo ten years' worth of conditioning?
~*~
Sometime between Sunday night and Monday morning a cold front moved in. Charles stepped outside his apartment, only to turn around and head back in, seeking his coat. He thought seriously about grabbing a scarf, but it wasn't really that cold--it only felt it, the extreme shift in temperature making it feel colder than it actually was.
It seemed a fitting way to mark the transition into October.
He'd spent the bulk of yesterday--after he'd gotten over his high from talking to Erik--obsessively re-reading his musty boarding school notes on Ancient Mariner. He fully intended to get them back on track today--yesterday had been a nice start, but today he would solidify his place in Erik's life.
After last week, it felt nice to enjoy a good mood. Charles' steps felt light, and he took his time crossing Morningside Park. The leaves were fully turned now, vibrant reds and oranges as far as the eye could see. He'd been too distracted by waiting for Erik--and then Erik--to appreciate the foliage in Central Park. He took his time admiring it today.
The cooler weather, too, renewed his spirit, the scent of approaching winter carrying on the wind. Charles breathed deep, enjoying the burn of it against the back of his throat. The semester felt well and truly underway. His research with Hank was going well, his students were getting into a routine and for the first time in forever Charles' personal life seemed destined for good things.
Moira had once accused him of being the most unyielding optimist she had ever met, and Charles supposed that was true, because so much could still go so very wrong, and yet, Charles chose not to focus on that. He chose instead to focus on all the things that could go right--a far less depressing prospect and one that left him with a soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth.
He was still smiling when he made it onto campus.
On impulse--and because he'd regretted the decision last time--he bought two coffees at Brownie's. He was early enough that he'd likely be the first to arrive to Erik's class, and then he could simply leave the coffee on Erik's podium--Erik would know who it was from--without embarrassing Erik in front of his entire class.
What he wasn't expecting was to be the second to arrive in the classroom; he certainly wasn't expecting Erik to have been the first.
Charles stood inside the door, staring at Erik as Erik stared at him. The soft plum of his turtleneck seemed made for his complexion. Charles watched, fascinated, as twin spots of pink bloomed on Erik's cheeks. Erik glanced away, shook his head, and then resolutely turned back to look Charles in the eye. He looked as determined as he did nervous. Charles mastered his most confident smile and entered the room. He came to stand at Erik's side.
"Cappuccino, with whole milk?" Charles said, a little uncertain as he handed over his extra cup. Erik seemed startled, but he took the coffee from Charles' hand.
"How did you know?" he asked.
And huh, Charles thought--he really should have considered that. He suspected I made sure to check the last cup I saw you drinking might sound a little too stalkerish.
"Um... Lucky guess," he tried.
Erik seemed a little skeptical, but he didn't say anything, instead taking a sip and smiling appreciatively.
"Thank you." He hesitated, and then glanced to the door. For one delirious minute Charles thought he might lean forward and press a kiss to the side of Charles' mouth.
It was entirely possible he was spending far too much time fantasizing about Erik.
"What are you drinking?" he asked instead, gesturing to Charles' cup. Charles cocked his head, smile growing amused.
"Latte," he answered, "with skimmed milk." He wondered briefly if this meant Erik was going to start bringing him coffees. He let himself linger in the fantasy for several moments, images of Erik showing up at the lab, coffee in hand. Charles would parade him around the department, smug and proud.
"Good," Erik said, like Charles' hot beverage choice had the potential to be a sticking point.
Charles wanted to ask, but he wasn't entirely certain where to begin--the same could be said for this conversation, because he hadn't really planned on running into Erik before class. He had all sorts of things to say about Ancient Mariner--had made notes and everything, wanting to be sure to touch on the poem's symbolism and imagery. He had an entire speech prepared on the conception of sin, but nothing that could get him through the next five minutes without coming across as a complete and utter idiot.
Fortunately, it was Erik who broke the silence.
"I was thinking about you earlier," he said, though just as Charles' eyebrows shot up, he backtracked. "I mean, I was wondering about your work."
Charles, who was still a little giddy over the thought of Erik thinking about him, immediately thought Erik was asking about his research--which was something no one, save Hank, and perhaps Moira, ever wanted to talk about. You're in the most boring field ever, Scott used to say, shushing Charles whenever he tried to extol the wonders of genetics.
That thought stopped him before he could begin rambling on about mutations and evolution. It occurred to him then that Erik was probably talking about poetry. Charles coloured, embarrassed by his mistake--the last thing he wanted to do was scare Erik off by talking about RNA splicing or genomic imprinting.
"I guess it's mostly about nature," he said, which was probably as good an approximation as he was going to get. Erik smiled broadly at that.
"That would explain why you like the romantics," he said. He hesitated then, glancing again to the door, and then back to Charles. He seemed strangely torn. "Do you write in anything?" he asked.
It took Charles several seconds to figure out what Erik was talking about--remembering then the Moleskine he'd seen on Erik's desk only last week. He shook his head.
"Mostly my laptop," he said, because that was sort of true. Certainly he compiled lab reports and wrote research papers on his laptop.
This wasn't the first time he had lied to a potential partner--he was used to thinking on the fly, filling in details as necessary. It was, however, the first time he'd felt guilty about it. He knew he wasn't the most interesting person in the world--certainly he wasn't as interesting as Erik--but for the first time in his life he wanted someone to know him for him.
He was about to tell Erik exactly that--let him know that he didn't write poetry, but that he had several publications under his name, all in the field of genetics, but that his most creative talent was the ability to colour-code his filing cabinet, and that if the choice were his he'd spend pretty much all of his free time locked away inside his lab.
Unfortunately this was exactly when Erik, looking more nervous than Charles could ever remember seeing him, turned away to retrieve something from his bag. When he returned, he was carrying a very nice, very expensive looking journal. He handed it to Charles.
"I'm not really using this, so if you wanted it... I mean, obviously you don't have to take it, I just thought that rather than let it go to waste," he gestured absently, but Charles was too caught up in staring at the book to really notice.
Erik had just given him a present--a very nice, very thoughtful present.
Charles felt like a complete heel, even as his heart fluttered in his chest, eyes growing misty--it was just the chalk dust he told himself. He clutched the journal to his chest and met Erik's eye.
"It's beautiful. I love it. Thank you," he said, deciding then that he would write page after page after page of--probably really bad--poetry just to use the thing. He couldn't remember anyone having given him so thoughtful a gift--and if, technically, the thoughtfulness was due to Charles' misdirection, then Charles had no one to blame but himself. "I really don't know what to say."
"It's nothing. It was just sitting around collecting dust. I figured someone ought to get some use out of it," Erik said. He took another sip of his coffee, shuffling from one foot to the other as he did.
Charles nodded, but he didn't release his hold on the book. Much to horror, he realized his hands were trembling.
It was at that moment that voices drifted in through the open door. Erik, who had relaxed considerably since giving Charles the journal, came instantly to attention. He smiled, almost apologetically, Charles taking that as his hint to find a seat. He'd just sat--book still clenched to his chest--when the first of Erik's actual students came in through the door.
It took the better part of twenty minutes to get himself back under control--he'd tucked Erik's book into his messenger bag, nestled safely between his laptop and a paper on variation in genome-wide mutation rates. He didn't begin dominating the discussion until about the thirty minute mark. When he did, he earned the full of Erik's attention, Erik beaming at him.
The rest of the class passed that way. Charles suspected the other students could have slipped out the door, leaving only him and Erik behind, and Erik probably wouldn't have even noticed. He was so caught up in his lecture--so caught up in Charles' participation--hands moving throughout the air, countenance vibrating with energy, that Charles doubted anything could have distracted his attention.
Charles rather understood how he felt, save that the lecture topic wasn't, at present, what was keeping Charles captive. Erik was a thing of beauty when he lectured.
He supposed that was probably why none of the class took advantage of Erik's distraction to cut out of class.
When the lecture came to an end, Erik lingered at the podium, casting the occasional glance in Charles' direction. Charles took his time packing up his things, waiting until the few students with actual questions had had a chance to do so--Charles may be usurping their class, but he wasn't about to stand in the way of their education.
While he packed away his things--fingers brushing against the spine of Erik's journal--he couldn't help but overhear the conversation going on behind him. He recognized the voices of Kitty and Marie--his defectors. It took several seconds for Charles to realize they were talking about him--undoubtedly they thought their whispered conversation quiet enough to escape his notice.
Charles fought against a threatened smile, mouth pressing into a thin line to avoid laughing outright. They were debating, quite seriously, whether or not Professor Lehnsherr and Professor Xavier were sleeping together.
Not yet, Charles wanted to turn around and tell them, but that sort of thing would hardly be appropriate. Instead he glanced over his shoulder, caught Marie's eye--they grew wide when she spotted him--and winked. He then slid from his desk, sauntered across the room and smiled brightly at Erik.
~*~
Scott Interlude
"Promise me you'll be safe," Scott said, earning a light chuckle from the other end of the line. They did this every day, and every day he was promised the same thing, but it didn't stop him from saying it.
"I'm always safe, darlin'."
It was as much reassurance as he would ever get, and although it helped, it did nothing to extinguish the seed of worry in his chest. The price, he supposed, for having fallen in love with a cop. At least he was on the afternoon shift these days--when they'd first moved in together, he'd worked the overnight, and Scott would pace the floors of their condo, flinching whenever the phone rang. He'd hear reports on the news about cops injured in the line of duty--or worse, killed--and automatically pick up his phone.
"Well, be extra safe today," Scott said, and then, "I love you."
"I love you, too, babe, so stop worry and go teach those kids of yours."
Scott smiled fondly, and then disconnected the call.
His smile lasted just until he caught sight of the clipboard on his desk. Oh, right. Sometimes he really hated his job. He stood then, tucking the clipboard under his arm, intent on seeking out the twelve people who hadn't bothered to RRSP or decline their invitations.
Unfortunately, the man at the top of the list was their resident visiting professor, Erik Lehnsherr.
There wasn't much Scott was afraid of--hell, he'd heard his boyfriend's cop stories enough to have grown immune to most of humanities ugliness--but Erik Lehnsherr made the hackles stand up on the back of his neck. It wasn't just that Lehnsherr was abrupt and stand-offish, or even that his austerity extended into animosity, but rather that he couldn't get enough of a read on Lehnsherr to know whether he was simply lacking in social skills, or whether he had a pile of bodies stacked in his basement.
There were times when he thought seriously about getting his boyfriend to do a mainframe search on the man, perhaps after Scott had surreptitiously collected a DNA sample.
He really had no idea what Charles saw in the man, but then again, himself excepted, Charles had never had particularly good taste in men.
Lehnsherr's door was open when he arrived outside his office, Scott surprised to find the man wearing a soft smile. Scott knocked on the doorframe, Lehnsherr glancing up, his expression somewhat eager. The eagerness, along with his smile, vanished the second he registered who it was--and Scott wondered if perhaps this was just posturing; perhaps Lehnsherr was bothered by Scott's status as Charles' ex. He'd thought he'd made it abundantly clear that that was over, never mind that he'd been seeing someone else for over two years now.
Right now Lehnsherr looked like he wanted to jump across the desk and strangle Scott on the spot. Scott cleared his throat.
"Sorry to bother you, Professor Lehnsherr, but I'm trying to get a head count for the Poet Laureate dinner, and I was wondering if you intended to attend."
It was a remarkable thing, watching Lehnsherr's expression shift from murderous intent to something very akin to horror. Scott wondered what it was he had said--although perhaps Lehnsherr simply abhorred the thought of attending social functions. Certainly he seemed like the sort to despise them.
"No, I won't be attending, Professor Summers," Erik said, tone even, despite the sudden pallor of his face. Scott had no idea why he had decided to stress his title.
"Right, thank you," Scott said, and since there was no reason to stick around, he bid a hasty retreat.
One down, eleven left to go, and fortunately Ms. Grey was far more pleasant to speak with.
~*~
Charles had office hours on Monday afternoons--or rather, he was supposed to have office hours, but Charles never bothered holding them until the first month of school was over. Today marked the transition point, so he sat in his office, fully expecting no one to show up--his graduate students weren't far enough into the material to have hit any snags, and his undergraduates wouldn't start showing up until closer to midterms.
He busied himself by reviewing some of the results from yesterday's lab work--there were some inconsistencies, which probably meant he and Hank were going to need to rerun some samples. He had just spotted the problem when his phone rang.
His ringtone startled him--not many people called Charles, save his mother, but even that was infrequent, and she didn't have his cell number. Most of the people who might get in touch with him--and that pretty much included only Moira and Hank--tended to text. Charles pulled his iPhone out of his lab coat pocket and glanced at the screen.
He was surprised to see Mystique come up on the display.
"Hello?" Charles said, not entirely certain why Raven would be calling him in the middle of the day, or why she used Mystique as a screen name.
"Where are you?" she asked. Charles frowned.
"At the school?" he answered, uncertain.
"Yeah, so am I, but where--what building?" There was an edge of annoyance in her voice.
"Oh," Charles said, realizing what she was driving at. "I'm actually at the Medical Centre, in Hammer, but I can come to you if you'd rather. It might be easier."
"Nope, on my way. Meet me out front." She hung up before Charles could get another word in. He wondered if she even knew where she was going.
Charles pulled his phone away from his ear, stared at it, and then tucked it back into his pocket. On second thought, he pulled it out, shucked off his lab coat, and then slid his phone into his trouser pocket. He had no idea how close Raven was--he guessed the main campus--but he figured he ought to be waiting for her when she arrived, so he slipped on his winter coat and headed outside.
His office hours were almost over anyway.
The streets were busy with mid-afternoon traffic, the sidewalk outside Hammer's main entrance a bustling place, a street vendor on the corner doing good business as people sought their 3:00 caffeine fix. Charles pulled his coat tighter against the slight chill in the air, and waited.
He didn't have to wait long, though only because Raven showed up on the back of a motorcycle not ten minutes later. She was wrapped around some guy who, after he'd removed his helmet, seemed oddly familiar. A second later Charles placed him as the bartender from the club that had hit on Sean. Charles smiled and made his way towards them.
"Little cold," he said, in reference to the bike, but the bartender merely laughed.
"You Americans are so delicate," he said with a Russian accent. To Raven, he said, "You can find your own way back, da?" She nodded, and then handed him back her helmet.
"That's Azazel," she said when he had left, bike tearing down Fort Washington Ave like the devil himself was on his heels. "He owns the club where I work--the one you were at the other night."
"Oh," Charles said, because he hadn't realized club owners tended bar. He wondered if there was anything between them--he had thought the man gay, but then again, Charles tended to assume most men were gay.
"Anyway," Raven said, overriding anything else he might have said. "We need to talk strategy."
Charles wasn't too sure what she meant by that, but he suspected it had to do with Erik. He found himself smiling broadly, earning a raised eyebrow from Raven even as she dug a pack of smokes out of her jacket pocket and set about getting one lit.
"He bought me a journal," Charles said, wanting then to drag her inside and show her it--coo over the quality of the paper and the softness of the leather cover. Raven's eyes went wide. She smiled.
"He gave it to you? He wasn't going to," she said, exhaling smoke over her shoulder to avoid blowing it in Charles' face. Charles still coughed, suddenly glad that Erik didn't share her habit.
"You knew about it?" Charles asked. Raven merely smiled around the cigarette in her mouth.
Their conversation seemed to remind her of something else, because she grunted and then began digging around in her pockets--he'd never seen her carry a purse--pulling out her iPhone a second later. She stared at it intently for several seconds, obviously searching for something. When she found what she was looking for, she handed it over.
Charles stared at the screen for several long minutes.
"You took a picture of one of his poems?" he asked, thinking in that moment that he might just love this woman as much as he loved her brother--though in an entirely different way.
"It was either that or photocopy it, and Erik rarely lets the book out of his sight, so this was far easier," she said.
Charles turned back to the poem.
He'd thought Erik giving him a journal had made him giddy, but this--this was overwhelming. Charles felt a lump form in the back of his throat, his hand shaking as he read Erik's words again and again and again. It should have probably made him feel guilty, invading Erik's privacy like this, but he was too overwhelmed by the idea of someone--of Erik--writing poetry about him.
"I'm someone to believe in," he said, because what else was there to say? He wanted that--wanted Erik to bare his soul, to let Charles into his world so that they could share everything with each other.
"This morning he called you his muse," Raven said. Charles glanced away from the phone, startled.
"His muse?"
Raven nodded, smile growing broad. It was nothing like Erik's smile--he had never seen so dissimilar a pair of siblings--though just as vibrant. "He's written at least half a dozen poems about you so far, and that's more than he's written in years. He was talking about putting together a collection. I told him he should dedicate it to you."
It was too much for Charles to hear--too startling--his knees going weak, so he sat down on the edge of one of the red brick planter boxes that ringed the sidewalk outside the towering building.
Raven tossed her butt onto the sidewalk, and then came to sit next to him.
"What are you doing here, anyway?" she asked. "I thought you were an English guy."
Charles frowned at that, because surely Erik had told her--although, Erik did seem more of the strong silent type, so it was entirely possible he didn't spend a lot of time filling Raven in on the details of Charles' background. Still, he wasn't used to anyone not knowing who he was.
Being an Xavier in New York kind of precluded that.
"No," he said, "genetics."
Raven looked surprised to hear that. "That's a PhD, right?" she asked, which seemed odd, because he didn't know anyone on track to full professor who didn't have a PhD. Perhaps things were structured differently in Germany.
"Yes," he said, and then, because he liked talking about his work and Raven seemed the type of person who might actually listen, he began telling her about his latest project.
"My lab partner and I are currently involved in stem cell research," he said, well aware that it was still a controversial subject. "It's a very fascinating avenue of study, because stem cell treatments hold the potential to change the face of human disease. Modern medicine is by far the greatest evolutionary tool we have control of."
Raven didn't look like she had particularly understood anything Charles had said, but she was listening intently, and hadn't asked him to stop talking. Charles pressed on.
When he was done explaining his goal of engineering mutated stem cells in an effort to combat pre-existing genetic disorders, Raven asked, "When do expect to be finished?"
Charles considered--because answering the question was probably impossible. "It all depends on the research, I suppose," Charles confessed, "though I'm hoping sometime in the spring." At the very least he hoped he and Hank would have a paper out for peer review that spring.
Raven, who was smiling again, nodded like she approved of Charles' research schedule, said, "Good. That's good."
And then she launched into an explanation of exactly how Charles was going to spend the next few weeks seducing Erik. Apparently it involved lots of chance meetings and pseudo dates until Erik got past whatever it was that was making him hesitate--and when Charles asked, Raven had only said, His asshole ex kind of messed him up, but it's not my place to say anything more, which only served to make Charles that much more determined.
On to chapter 12
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Date: 2011-11-11 07:53 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-11-11 11:55 pm (UTC)Yay!
Date: 2011-11-12 12:03 am (UTC)At least she knows he's more than an undergrad (well, she's thinking Ph.D student, but that's better than assuming Charles is an undergrad). The big question is if she's going to tell Erik anytime soon (I'm guessing not cause then he'll know she's plotting behind his back).
It's really interesting seeing just how close the whole "Charles is really a professor" thing is to getting revealed, only to be stopped by some happenstance (eg. Charles being too embarrassed to tell Erik, Charles assuming his Xavier name would make him well known, and Charles thinking being a professor works different in Germany). Oh Charles... you ignorant bumpkin!
It's kind of funny how stalkerish both of them are, especially Charles (cappuccino with whole milk is my favorite too!) They don't even seem to realize just how stalkerish their tendencies are (I do like that word: "stalkerish") and it's sooooo much fun to read!
I really liked the Scott interlude. His cop boyfriend wasn't given a name, and I can't remember if it was mentioned in an earlier chapter or not. I'm going to assume it's Logan cause I'm a big fangirl :)
Re: Yay!
Date: 2011-11-12 12:36 am (UTC)And I suspect anything she may tell Erik will only serve to further muddy the waters.
I'm so glad my quest to keep Erik in the dark is still somewhat realistic. I swear, this whole story seems so absurd sometimes all I can do is laugh and laugh. I love it, but it's totally ludicrous.
And I purposely didn't mention Scott's boyfriend's name, because it's important later. I suspect it'll be a fun, amusing, and oh so embarrassing experience for everyone involved. *g*
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Date: 2011-11-13 11:37 pm (UTC)Some of Erik' actual students probably already know that Prof. Xavier's sitting in Poetry Class and making googly eyes...(and are probably starting a betting pool concerning it). But English professors (foreign Lit profs in particular perhaps ;)) tend to be pretty bad with technology compared to science professors.
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Date: 2011-11-14 01:47 am (UTC)And there is totally a betting pool going on. It's going to feature in one of my "ways it doesn't happen" side series.
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Date: 2011-11-14 04:06 am (UTC)But besides that? AMAZING chapter and yes you are milking this for all its worth but it works with you!
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Date: 2011-11-14 02:16 pm (UTC)And thanks.