shades of grey (between need and want)
title: shades of grey (between need and want)
summary: they're mopping up the butcher's floor of your broken little hearts. Charles used to be a rentboy. Everyone finds out.
pairing: omcs/charles, implied/ust/intense bromance (you decide) charles/erik
words: ~7000
warnings: prostitution, seventeen-year-old having sex with adults, dubious discussions of consent, implied sexual assault of minor (v underage) -- none graphic. nasty nasty language, mentions of domestic abuse and even vaguer mentions of suicidal thoughts
notes: written for a prompt on the xmen_firstkink meme; please heed the warnings
When Charles was very young, before Brian Xavier died, he crawled into his father's lap every night before bed. That was when his father handled the books, information on cash flow between relatives and businesses and his multiple homes. Charles fell asleep to the rise and fall of his father's chest, senseless numbers pouring into his mind.
"All of this will be yours Charles," his father rumbled once, tapping his pen against a column where the smallest number indicated an unbelievable sum. Charles sighed sleepily but didn't have the energy to try and make sense of any of it right then. "You'll never want for anything."
Charles was a happy child then, and wanting seemed such a silly idea because he had been given everything before the thought even crossed his mind. Things changed though, as they were bound to, and just as Charles was realizing that his father hadn't spoken any of those numbers out loud his life changed.
Kurt Marko was a cruel man to be sure, but he was also a realist. He knew that Charles would never accept him or his bullying, and as a result Charles was left alone. Or at least Marko believed Charles was alone; he never knew about Raven. In the space left by the abandonment of Charles' mother and his stepfather's dismissal there was Raven, effectively sending away the loneliness with smiles and impersonations and want.
Charles enjoyed providing for Raven. He saw that she brushed her teeth each night, tucked her in, taught her to read, made her food. Whenever she seemed lonely or sad, she would look at him and he would know what she wanted and hug her tightly. Charles wasn't an old man but he did feel like a father and later a brother, and it was a good feeling. Raven didn't need him -- she was able to take care of herself -- but she welcomed the pampering and love.
This was how Charles realized early on that want and need were two very different things. Charles wanted a father, but he didn't need one, or else Marko would fill that void in his life. There was no way that awful man ever could though, because Charles would rather cling to his half-forgotten memories of his father carrying him to bed than remember for an instant the sort of things he overheard in Marko's head.
According to Marko, Charles' mother was -- "a dirty slut"; "ugly whore"; "saggy-ass bitch"; "only a good fuck if your eyes are closed"; "borderline comatose, might as well finish the job off." Dark thoughts like these weren't just confined to Marko. There wasn't much Charles hadn't heard through all the minds he met before he was even finished puberty, and at some point it stopped making him ill and left him curious.
What was it that inspired these thoughts in men (and women, and horrifyingly enough, sometimes children) when Charles could read that they had love and hopes and fears and dreams just like everyone else? Why was it never just black versus white, Marko versus Shannon, sexual and violent depravity versus chaste purity and goodness? It was only when Charles thought a lewd thought about the pretty woman who helped her husband tend the gardens that it him: there was never black and white, but so many shades of grey.
-
"I don't understand." Charles flipped the pages of the book, the numbers swimming before him. Charles was a genius among his peers, and he knew his math, but this wasn't math so much as a complex water system with tributaries that crossed each other and turned back on themselves. He looked up at the old family lawyer, Mr Carsons. "I'm unfamiliar with how the finances work, exactly, but Marko did them no harm and my father said I would inherit."
"And you will," assured Mr Carsons. "However, your father made it clear in the will --" Charles pulled that document out from underneath the books "-- that his only provision was that you must be twenty-one before you inherit."
"What about the trust fund?" Charles asked, scanning the thick paper and neat lettering. "That's separate from the main inheritance, isn't it?"
Mr Carsons coughed, and Charles didn't even need to reach to feel the embarrassment the man felt. "You're right that the late Mr Marko did not abuse the Xavier family finances, as they were tied up in stocks and businesses and savings. However, the late Mr Xavier tied up that money too well. They're inaccessible until you're twenty-one, and Mr Marko, not being of blood, had to get creative." Mr Carsons stopped, coughing again.
"Meaning?" Charles prodded, concern making his gift flare. Meaning he used up the trust fund young Mr Xavier. "Meaning he used up my trust fund." Charles was too upset to even be cautious. "How? If it was meant for me, why wasn't it tied up like everything else?"
"Your mother was declared unfit to be your main guardian many years before she passed." Mr Carsons explained. This wasn't news to Charles, but now things were starting to make sense. "Mr Marko took on your guardianship as her husband and head of the household, and that was the in he needed to access your trust fund."
Charles fingers tightened on his pen, anger thrumming in his veins. That trust fund wasn't just for Charles -- he was relying on his inherited money to look after Raven as well, because her lack of actual records meant there wasn't much she could do despite her bright mind and willingness to learn. Now he learned that Marko had spent it all, and Charles had no idea what he would do.
"Don't blame the late Mr Marko entirely, young Mr Xavier." Mr Carsons rose to his feet, pulling out a handkerchief to cough into. "He was in a difficult situation."
"He should have used his own money," Charles snapped, standing abruptly and throwing the pen down.
"Easy to say, but now you're in a similar situation. What money will you use? Where will you live? You can't afford to upkeep and live at the family home."
Charles pressed his lips together, resisting the urge to scream. He was at university on a full ride, but he didn't have enough money in his bank account to pay for room and food and clothes and hospital bills and whatever else Raven needed. That would preclude getting a job, but in the years after the war the thousands of soldiers who came home were getting first pick on jobs and immigrants who sorely needed them were picking up the rest. A rich kid without any previous experience wouldn't have a chance.
"There's nothing? You're sure?" Charles leaned forward, desperate and a little out of control. For a moment the lawyer staggered, eyes going unfocused. Then he shook his head, coughing again.
"Nothing." Mr Carsons folded his handkerchief neatly, avoiding Charles' gaze. He tucked it away in his pocket then smiled sadly at Charles. "I am sorry. It's easy for an old man like me to say that it's only five years, but it must seem an eternity to you. So I offer my help -- I will put you up."
Charles could see, floating dreamily in that strange space that wasn't in heads but not in air either, pictures and thoughts. Money spent on a sickly grandchild, money spent rescuing the entirety of his late wife's Jewish family from Poland, money spent assuring he could keep up the appearance of an expensive life, money spent a little too often at the horse races. Mr Carsons bled money and Charles couldn't burden him with two more people to support. He plastered on a fake smile.
"I'll keep that in mind, thank you." Charles moved around the desk, reaching out to shake Mr Carsons' hand. "Hopefully we needn't meet again until five years from now."
"Good luck, young Mr Xavier." Mr Carsons squeezed Charles' hand warmly. "You're sure to do well." Charles didn't reply, only watched Mr Carsons leave before returning to his seat behind the desk. He needed to make sure the family home was closed up properly and taken care of until he could return, he needed to figure out housing by Harvard before he and Raven moved, he needed to find them jobs.
Sighing, Charles dropped his head into his hands and rubbed his temples tiredly.
-
"Professor!" Charles ran to catch up with his professor, who looked back at him with an annoyed look that faded quickly. Charles grinned as he finally pulled alongside the older man. "Charles Xavier, I'm in your freshman biology class?"
"Yes, you sit in the front row, and always participate." The professor nodded pleasantly. "I must say you look a little young for university, son."
"I skipped a few grades." Charles said, smiling proudly. The professor looked aside, and Charles suspected something might be wrong but he couldn't be sure. Fingers twitching, Charles fought back the urge to read what was the matter.
"Smart boy." The professor said, voice a little tight. "So how can I help you?"
"I was wondering about that student work position you mentioned in class. My grades are more than high enough, and I take direction easily." That last part wasn't exactly true, but Charles could fake it. His professor ground to a halt, and a concerned Charles stepped a little closer. "Sir?"
"That, uh, isn't available anymore." The professor said, and now Charles knew for certain that was something was off. Giving into temptation, Charles quickly scanned the professor's surface thoughts: he's so young I can't do it it's so wrong keep him away can't work close quarters look at those eyes hair in his face so sweet no I cannot no no send him away.
Charles stared. It wasn't the first time a man had thought such things about him, but coming from his professor ... say if Charles was actually attracted to this man, and slept with him. It wouldn't be right, because the professor was in a position to award things like extra grades and that was the last thing Charles was worried about at the moment. Maybe if it were money --
"I'll just have to move more quickly next time, sir." Charles fell back on empty charm, then booked a hasty retreat. He could sense the professor's worry at his abrupt departure: could he tell could he tell please don't tell too sweet to tell so smart though and it made Charles glad that he left when he had. What if he had stayed longer and deepened his professor's attraction somehow? What if grew mad himself, standing there knowing what his teacher really wanted? What had been that thought, for money -- no, he couldn't.
Shades of grey, some secret corner of his mind whispered. You already argue that sex isn't evil, so why should making a profit out of it be? It's shades of grey. You would be doing what you need to do.
"No." Charles said, but his voice didn't even sound firm to his own ears. Shaking his head, he hurried on. He was only seventeen. He couldn't be thinking these sorts of things -- even if the had already been taught to him by people who didn't know better.
-
"You could be a waitress too," Raven teased, but there was an anxiety in her eyes that said she was worried for him. She was on a short break at the diner, her gift meaning that she looked fresh despite the long shift she had just pulled. Charles tugged at her polyester uniform.
"I'm afraid orange isn't my colour, darling." Charles smiled at the face she made. She complained at length about how ugly her work clothes were, filling their tiny flat with what Charles had dubbed Griping Hour. "Don't worry, I'll find work."
The assurance was solely for her, because Charles doubted it heavily. He couldn't find a job for the life of him that didn't interfere with his classes and he had the proper experience for. He had thought of older men and money for a pleasure, but that just wasn't an option. Not at all. The rejections from reputable jobs were piling up higher than his coursework and he was starting to feel frayed around the edges.
"Charles?" Raven said worriedly, brushing a hand along his shoulder. Charles blinked up at her, smiling guilelessly. "You're sure, right? Because I can get a second waitressing job." She meant it too, but Charles could never -- this one wore her out enough, and he was supposed to be the one who looked out for her, not the other way around.
"I'm alright. In fact, I'm going to speak to someone tonight." The lie burned Charles' tongue, but he couldn't stop himself. There was nothing he hated more than seeing sadness of any kind on her face, no matter what face she wore at the time. Sure enough, she beamed at his words.
"That's fab!" Raven bowed to hug him tightly, and he pressed a kiss into her hair (since their move to Harvard, inky black and shoulder-length) to hide his guilty expression. "My break is over, but we'll talk when I'm home. Sure you don't want desert?"
"I'm fine," Charles said, patting her arm. Raven smiled at him again before spinning on her heel and heading for the other side of the diner with a new bounce to her step. Following the swing of her dark hair, Charles' eyes grew unfocused and he allowed his mental guards to relax some.
Ravenette dating pretty boy not fair --
Health commission lying, tobacco grown in sun --
Where is he, where is he, where is he --
Can't believe they let that type into here --
Look at that ass, yes sir that's --
Ravenette looks nice enough --
Charles followed that voice with a frown to a bland business man seated by the window, who was staring right at him. Flushing, Charles glanced aside again. He didn't approve of those kind of thoughts about Raven, but there was something strange in that man's eyes that Charles didn't understand. So, like with all things that he didn't understand, he tried his best to change that, fine-tuning his focus to the man.
Still not good enough for him, those eyes and those lips and and and his cheeks and his smile and oh he's so red, I wonder if he knows, I wonder what he wants me like I want him, needs a real man, needs what I can give him, I would pay for a chance with him --
Charles had been stuck in that stream of thought, pulled along by the man's red-hot passion. Underneath it there was the fear, because homosexuality was illegal in most of the country, and shame, and self-hatred, and so many intense feelings that it was hard to shake them off when he finally reemerged.
That was the second time in as many weeks that the idea had come up. Charles didn't believe in fate but he did believe that the mind clung to that which intrigued it, forming coincidences and "signs". It would be a lie to say that Charles wasn't interested in the idea of setting aside his relatively weak moral objections in face of a job. Well, not a job per se. There were no worries about experience or hours. It was guaranteed to be discreet and seemingly non-existent because no client would want it brought to light, and all it would take was sex.
Charles sipped the last dregs of his coffee pensively, keeping the businessman in the corner of his eye. Despite what the man (named John, lost a son in the war and divorced his wife after it) assumed thanks to his boyish features, Charles was not a virgin. There had been Sally-Anne and once, rather thrillingly in a stable, Andrew. He wouldn't be auctioning off his virginity like some sort of child-bride, he would be a mature young man taking advantage of what was apparently his hottest commodity: his body.
Taking a deep breath, Charles set aside his coffee cup and strode over to John's table. Smile in place, he took a seat. "Um, sir, I was wondering if you could help me -- see, I need a little money ..."
-
John turned into Adam turned into Mr Almaro turned into Jacobs turned into an anonymous man with cigarette breath turned into an ad man on vacation turned into Adam again and John always John and Jacobs again and again and again. There were many whose names he didn't even remember and some who he wasn't sure if he had slept with or made up out of middle-aged acquaintances. It was a list much longer than Charles could every admit to and that came with its own dangers.
One time, Charles was eating at the restaurant Raven had moved onto, and saw a man out for dinner with his wife and two kids. They seemed a happy family, dad getting scolded for hogging the butter dish. The sense that he knew the man had made Charles fumble with his glass. When the sound of shattering glass filled the air, however, it wasn't him who had caused it: the man had done so, while staring in horror at Charles.
Raven had swept in to handle the situation, and the man had boomed something about his fingers being butter-slick. Charles had known though, remembering why can't sex with her be like this as he clung to broad shoulders. The man (Jones) had a pretty, petite wife, all honeyed curls and wide grey eyes. He didn't need to read her mind to tell that she thought her husband dropping his glass was suspicious.
Charles felt terrible, for the wife (Anna) who knew her husband didn't enjoy her company and had to face that truth every time they lay down at night; for the children (Jerry, Robert) who almost knew Daddy drank too much but were too young to truly appreciate their family problems; for Jones, who hated himself so much at this moment that he thought of leaving it all behind.
Above all, Charles felt terrible because he had caused so much of this. He hadn't needed the two hundred Jones had paid him that evening, but wanted to treat Raven to a night on the town. It was easy to forget that a fair few of the men that he slept with had people waiting at home for them, and it was easier than that to forget deliberately in face of the money. He told Raven he had a boring night filing job at the university and hid much of his finances from her so she wouldn't suspect that there was too much.
The thing was though, Charles didn't regret it as a whole. He had done what he needed to do, he was never hurt or made sick and never forced into doing anything he didn't want to do (though his horizons had been significantly broadened) and above all he was discreet. If it was just Charles and those shades of grey, hot hands and shuddery breaths, it was alright.
He was a man with one foot in the future, not concerned with the shame his generation felt about sex, but the problem was few people agreed with him. To have his peers and people who knew his parents know would be bad enough; to have Raven know he lied to her for five years straight ...
"Re-filing old system tonight."
(Going to have sex with a man I barely know.)
"I'm going to be studying at the library."
(I'm getting tested for diseases.)
"Oh, the man dropped a handkerchief, I was returning it."
(We propositioned each other.)
Charles couldn't bear the thought.
When Sean and Hank and Alex and Moira and Erik (Erik) joined Raven in that exclusive little group of people who mattered most, Charles hadn't even thought it would be a concern. It wasn't ages ago, but who would they even bump into in New York, when most of his clientele had been from Boston? Who would remember a random fuck they paid for a few years back, and even if they did, who would bring it up? Charles was confident about that, but perhaps in being confident he grew cocky, and that only led to trouble.
-
"New York New York!" Sean announced, dancing a few steps down the street. Behind him Alex was cautiously avoiding the many (mostly drunk) people streaming past, while Raven and Moira walked arm-in-arm, Raven acting as a tour guide. Hank was squinting at his map, trying to figure out where exactly his supplier wanted to meet by the glow cast by the dim streetlights. Charles and Erik brought up the rear, chatting quietly amongst themselves, elbows bumping.
"That's where Charles was nearly mugged," Raven declared, waving an arm at a nearby streetcorner. Everyone looked back at him, and he shrugged. Erik was frowning at the kerb as if it had done him some great injustice. "He did his mind magic though and the mugger was crying like a baby by the time he was done. Said he was going to repent his sins or something."
"And what were you doing during this?" Moira asked teasingly.
"Ready to jump in if Charles froze, don't worry." Raven said with a roll of her eyes.
"My shining knight on standby," Charles intoned dramatically. Erik chuckled, leaning in a little into Charles' personal space as they grouped around Hank around the corner from where a mugger did, in fact, claim he would repent his sins. The side-street was less busy and much quieter. "So tell me Hank, have you figured out that map yet?"
"Just tell us where we should go, me and Charles could find it," Raven said, making a half-hearted grabbing motion at the map. Hank pulled it closer, squinting at the street names.
"I nearly got it ... we're on the right street ..." Hank twisted the map. Raven looked ready to roll her eyes again, and Alex obviously had a cutting comment ready. Charles held up a hand to calm them, exchanging amused looks with Moira. Children, honestly. "Okay, we need a place called Foxery." Hank looked up triumphantly.
"Where all shady government contacts should meet," Erik deadpanned. "A place that sounds like it rents rooms upstairs by the hour." Sean murmured an impressed "Dude" while Alex and Raven sniggered identically, Hank smiling slightly. Moira and Charles shared another look.
Time to find this bar then. "Well --" Moira began.
"If it isn't little Francis!" Everyone else didn't pay attention to this drunken cry, but Charles stiffened momentarily. The voice tickled at his memory, and that tickle plus the name he only used when making a living in Cambridge was an immediate warning sign. As Moira continue to describe their plan of attack, Charles looked up and saw a man, handsome gone to seed from too many hard nights, glaring at him from the nearby pub. He began to stomp over. "Fancy fucking Francis!"
"Ready?" Moira asked, but before the group could split up the man had reached the outskirts of their group. Erik was staring intently at him now, judging if he was a threat. Charles felt the panic begin to brew in his gut, but he forced himself not to lash out and possibly worsen things. There were still random people about, though they were all too far gone to care about the confrontation about to happen.
"HEY! I'm talking to you, Francis! Dirty slut!" The shout from so close to their group made everyone else jump and turn, paying attention to the drunken man. Charles did a quick dip into the man's mind and got: Allen, former ad man on Madison avenue. The lust in his mind when he looked at Charles was not the result of wishful thinking but of first-hand experience, and for a second Charles caught the tail end of an image of himself, moaning.
"There's no Francis here man." Alex said, hackles raising, turning slightly to protect the rest of the group. Moira looked similarly ready to attack, while Erik had moved closer to Charles. Did he realize Allen was talking to him, or was it just an instinct? Either way, Charles needed to get out of here, but he couldn't seem to get his mind or feet to move.
"Don't fuck with me kid," Allen snorted, eyes narrowed. "See the guy with the blue eyes and the mouth meant for sucking cock? I'd recognize Francis anywhere." Slowly, the group turned to look at Charles. Raven looked terribly anxious, but of course she knew Charles' middle name.
"Sir," Charles began, flinching when the client signifier came out automatically. "Please, not here."
"Charles, there's no need to be polite to this scum," Erik said, dismissively glancing over Allen, who glared. Charles could feel the word lurking on the tip of Allen's tongue, but the last thing Erik needed was to hear that, so Charles diverted Allen's attention.
"Sir."
"You remember me, I know you do!" Allen crowed. "Sweetheart, I never forgot you either." That hurt like a fist to the gut -- Charles had always assumed he meant nothing to these men and it was strange to hear that Allen's recognition of him was not so much drunken memory therapy as it was a long-standing remembrance. It was harder to be anonymous if you were known, and Charles counted on anonymity, always had.
"What are you even saying?" Sean asked angrily, beyond his usual laconic self. "No way he would ever get with you." The others nodded, and Charles would have been touched if it weren't for the fact that they were so wrong. They were making fools of themselves without even realizing, because Charles wasn't denying -- or confirming -- anything.
"He would if I paid him to," Allen said smugly. "Had a friend, Adam, who said the only fun I'd have in Harvardtown would be this dish named Francis who wanted a hundred to take it like a girl. Worth every fucking penny, let me tell you that." He leered at Charles, and the gaze alone made Charles feel dirtier than any sexual act he had ever performed for money. At least he had enjoyed most of those, and it was about two people -- this was all about Allen, asserting his dominance.
The rest of the group reacted angrily to the accusation, Hank making a face so murderously unlike his own that it frightened Charles for a moment. The nearby streetlight was shuddering slightly, and Charles automatically nudged a foot against Erik's with a simple mental message: calm yourself.
"Charles would never --" Moira spluttered, rage clouding her ability to speak. Charles flinched.
"He doesn't need money!" Added Alex. Everyone nodded except for Raven, who was looking at Charles with an unreadable expression and Erik, who seemed to be putting all his focus into not tearing all the metal out of the ground.
"Maybe he did it for kicks," Allen said with a shrug. "Like I care why. Why don't you ask him, he's being awfully quiet for a screamer." Everyone looked back to Charles, and Raven finally spoke up.
"You told me you did office work. Filing." There was no accusation in her voice. In fact she almost seemed to be pleading with him to confirm that he did have a dull night job. Charles knew then and there that he couldn't lie again, not to her, not like this.
Forcing his gaze away from hers he met Allen's, channelling every inch of his current displeasure with the man into his glare. Allen backed up a step. "I lied." The metal in the street stopped trembling and varying levels of confusion and shock broke across everyone's faces, except for Raven, who was horrified. Allen looked grimly victorious.
"Leave us." Charles snapped at Allen, putting his power behind it. Allen didn't even struggle, eyes unfocusing more than even booze could do, as he turned on his heel and walked off. Charles watched him go, then turned back to everyone else. He needed and wanted to explain, but he had no idea where to start.
"Down the street, where it's emptier?" Raven said, jerking her head. Charles nodded, and the group trudged a hundred feet down until they were outside an abandoned building and the nervous energy, the repetitive why why no why he wouldn't no why filling his mind. When they finally stopped, Charles looked at all of them in turn, each face a silent accusation, a plea.
"Raven knows the beginning of the story. I was seventeen, and I had no money during my college days." Charles decided to speak to Raven, because as he said she was the only one who knew at least half of this. Her shock and horror might be less than everyone else's. "All of my immediate family was dead, I couldn't afford the upkeep of the family home and I had no way to support myself."
"You went to Harvard though," Hank said desperately, and Charles felt another twist that they all needed to justify so readily that he would never do something so depraved as sell sex for money. Was he not worthy in their eyes otherwise? He kept that to himself -- they deserved their outrage.
"Full ride thanks to my excellent marks. As I said, I was seventeen when I went, so while I wasn't at your level Hank, I was still doing better than most."
"Seventeen?" Moira asked, and there was a second question there: when it started, were you --
"Yes," Charles answered, and more disquiet spread throughout the group. One of Raven's eyes was starting to gleam yellow, but Charles didn't have it in him to reprimand her. There was no one else around anyway. "It's a funny thing though, telepathy. I wasn't ... unaware of the seedier underbelly of life, so to speak. I imagine you won't all be terribly shocked to learn that most people do have sex on the brain at least a few times a day."
No one laughed, but Charles supposed that was a given. He wished they would though. He wished they could break some of the tension that was tightening his skin, like flesh put too close to a fire.
"Sometimes it was thoughts about me, and I remember thinking something about how my professor's attraction to me was useless since I didn't need the grades, I needed money ... then I was at that diner, do you remember Raven? The first one you worked? With the awful uniforms?"
"Polyester orange." Raven said, eyes (both golden) as distant as her face. Charles could sense her retreating mentally to that time, trying to piece together the puzzle as he spelled it out. Oddly enough this helped put those days into a clearer focus for him as well.
"I met John there. He thought something about how he would pay for me and I decided that if I had something people would pay so much just to visit, and I couldn't get a 'real' job, it would be selfish to not do it." Charles smiled. "It wasn't that bad, though he was conflicted between doing what he wanted for the first time in his life and corrupting me."
John had shared his cigarettes with Charles afterwards, and watched him smoke with soft sad eyes. "He was one of my favourites. He was also my last one before we moved to England for Oxford. Remember my mystery pen pal back in the States?"
Raven made a noise of outrage. "He wrote you? You wrote back? What did he say, 'remember when I took your virginity?'!"
"Hardly." Charles shot her a scandalized look. "You are fully aware that I wasn't a virgin when I met him. No, we talked about books and movies and music. It was nice."
"Why?" Erik finally spoke up, barely restrained fury shaking his voice. "Why would you be so pleasant with the man who did so much to you?" Charles sighed, knowing Erik was thousands of miles away and years and years ago in a lab with Shaw.
"He didn't do anything to me I didn't allow, and I would think I enjoyed it for the most part," Charles explained carefully, still focusing on Raven's distressed face so he wouldn't look to Erik. "There are so many shades of grey, Erik. He wasn't free to want what he wanted to, and he felt that his losses were a divine sign that his preferences were truly wicked. He had nobody in his life and his mind was one of the bleakest I had ever seen.
"Are all the men I slept with similarly tragic? No. Some were nasty, some were mean, some I refused to ever go near again for safety's sake. But they were their own people, and selling yourself surprisingly requires two or more individuals."
"So, what." Moira snapped. "You want us to just forgive them for taking advantage of an underage boy because they were individuals?" Underage. That was a funny way to put it -- Charles looked back and saw that some of his riskier decisions were certainly a result of the arrogance of youth, but he had never felt like he started too young. One of his few fond memories of his mother included her cradling him close, gin air in his nostrils, and saying, my boy has an old soul, old as the trees. Then there was the other thought in the back of her head, which was oh God why did you give me a child I can't mother, too old for me to love properly, too old for lies and all mother's love is based on lies, God, you made it that way.
"I'm not saying you should forgive them, I'm saying you should let it go." Charles glanced at Erik for a moment there and Erik was staring back, eyes wide and still so angry. He turned back to Raven, who was crying silently. Her eyes were hazel again, and Charles could only hope this was a good sign. "Otherwise it consumes you. I would hate them sometimes, but I also knew it was my choice. Not everyone has that choice, but I did and that's important to me. What I want is ..."
Charles started again. "What I need is for you to recognize my choice in the matter. Hate them if you want, for being weak to temptation, for having young taste, but don't hate me for doing what I needed to."
Saying it out loud was more vulnerable than his most naked moments and Charles exhaled shakily, trying to keep himself together. A rejection at this point would hurt more than having dirty slut engraved in the back of his brain, more than knowing that you'll never want was a lie.
"Oh Charles," Raven sighed, stepping forward. Charles stiffened, and then she was wrapping her arms tightly around him, wet face buried in his neck. "I don't -- I could never. You always looked out for me. Always." I hope it wasn't all for me.
"I always will," Charles assured her, squeezing her tightly back, a little too tightly. It felt like that invisible rift that had existed since the first time a lie burned his tongue was healing itself, and they were moving to be side by side again. "Never doubt that." It was for me as well, and us.
There was a long silence after that, when Moira's arm also found its way around him and Alex, Sean and Hank's thoughts ran rampant, angry and confused across Charles' head. I hate those guys, not him -- and who likes them that young, sicksicksick -- . Alex (need hurts) understood it best, oddly enough, but then again this was the man who got himself into solitary confinement voluntarily. Erik's thoughts were carefully closed off, and Charles knew they would have to have a moment to themselves later.
It was Sean who broke the silence. "You sure we can't go beat up that guy back there?"
"Just say the word," Hank added, and Alex made a noise of agreement. Charles pulled away from Raven and Moira but linked arms with them. The contact was very nice now that despite their sensibilities being shot to hell and back by what he had done, they still wanted to be near him. Perhaps his footing in the future wasn't alone.
"I think that we would be better off finding that contact before he gets tired of waiting," Charles said firmly. Hank stared at him for a long moment before looking away and nodding. "It was the Foxery, correct?"
"We'll find it," Moira said, and pressed close for a moment, darting a kiss to his cheek before untangling herself. She added with a near-shout mentally, keep Erik away from the public for the moment, please. Her eyes darted subtly in Erik's direction before she grabbed Raven's free arm. "Come along team. Erik and Charles are going to cover this escape route in case he's already left."
It was a paper-thin excuse but the team got moving, without the usual looks and barely-decent thoughts that accompanied a suggestion that he and Erik be alone. Charles bit back a snort of amusement, as they seemed to think him quite delicate now.
Perhaps he was, but not in a way that would shatter from handling a put-out Erik.
-
When they were alone, Charles moved to lean against the half-rusted fence in front of the building, watching the busy bar street down the way. Erik remained near the kerb, face half-dappled in shadows. "It's funny how the threat of nuclear war brings them out in droves for one last hurrah, isn't it?" Charles kept his eyes on the people, but heard Erik move closer.
"I don't know if funny is the word I would use," Erik said flatly. Even he seemed worried about breaking Charles, and it would be sweet if it wasn't so terribly condescending. Nothing had changed between then and now except now they all thought something had changed.
"Charles ..." Erik trailed off, making a frustrated noise.
"Erik, I don't bite." Charles looked to him, pushing himself off the fence so they were standing a foot apart. He jerked his chin mulishly. "I find it doesn't go over well in polite society."
"I don't understand you," Erik said, crossing his arms, aggravation rolling off him in waves. "I would have killed that man back there. I would have told him to walk himself in front of a car."
"For doing what he did to me or for reminding you of what was done to you?" Charles made sure Erik wasn't about to stop as he reached out slowly, placing a solid hand on Erik's folded arms. Erik met his gaze squarely, but the slightest tremble Charles felt gave him away. "My friend, those aren't the same."
"You say you chose but what other options did you have?" Erik asked, edging a little closer. Charles held his arms as the tremble became more pronounced. "It's not a choice if it's the only thing you can do."
"I could have given up school. I could have borrowed money from people who respected that a Xavier pays his debts. I could have flown to England and lived with the great-aunt who calls me Charlie. But I am a stubborn man, and I knew that this was my father's only test -- I don't think he expected it to be quite so dramatic, but what have you?" Charles shrugged.
"Erik, I want you to understand something. Life may have taken away my more obvious choices, but it was men who took away all of yours. You cannot blame all of mankind for the actions of those few." Erik startled, arm twisting so he could wrap one hand below Charles' elbow, as if he was going to throw off Charles' hand. He did nothing past that though, and Charles' twisted his arm slightly in Erik's grasp so he could mimic the hold on Erik, grabbing onto his forearm. Erik's hand flexed once then he stilled, allowing Charles to draw him a little closer.
"Between the men you suffered and the men I suffered, it does not build a great case for your precious mankind," Erik pointed out bitterly.
"Shades of grey, friend. You unfortunately found yourself at the mercy of darker ones and I more in the middle, but light does exist out there." Charles smiled. "I see it in charity drives and charitable acts. I see it in the people who don't judge us, like Moira, and those who do but can be changed. I see it in everyday acts of kindness, and I see those far more than ones of cruelty."
"Maybe because you don't look for them," Erik said. "Maybe because you wilfully ignore them so you can tell yourself that what you went through was okay."
"And maybe you should realize that what those men did with and to me had nothing to do with being undesirable," Charles squeezed Erik's arm, well aware that this was the one with Erik's tattoo. "Quite the opposite, actually. But what you suffered was born of fear and hatred, not wanting." Erik considered this, then nodded. His trembling had nearly passed.
"You wouldn't have though, if you had no need of money?" Erik pressed a little closer. "Not with them."
"No, I wouldn't have," Charles murmured. He felt very old, and very tired. "But a man will drink cactus juice in the desert."
"You're nonsensical," Erik said, a thin smile lightening his face. Charles knew then that things may not be okay, but they were better. "I don't know why I even try to talk to you."
"I'm never dull."
"That's true."
-
After they found the contact and collected the data, the weary group trudged back to the mansion. Early next morning saw Charles leaving his still-warm bed and heading outside to the east terrace, where Raven was watching the sun rise. With a loud yawn to announce his presence he ambled over to her side. She automatically wound a blue arm around him, eyes never leaving the horizon.
"It's too early to change," Raven said apologetically.
"It's okay," Charles said, acceptance in turn. Raven gave a brilliant smile and offered her coffee to Charles, who took it with a quiet thank you, taking a fortifying sip before handing it back.
They shared it back and forth until the sun was firmly up in the sky and the pre-dawn mist had been burned away.
end