Charles lifts a hand somewhere in the vicinity of his temple, fingers unsteady. "No, no, it's all right, my friend, I'm just- not at my best right now." But he's grateful, regardless, and after a moment he readjusts himself. Lies back down and gestures for Erik to do the same. Lost in each other. As far as concepts go, it had an infinite amount of appeal.
__
Erik is more than happy to oblige, careful to avoid jostling Charles’s injuries. The pain in his own hand is a dull ache as long as he remembers not to run it into something, and he settles himself so his good hand is free.
There’s an unspoken question in his actions, an offer when he gently brushes Charles’s temple, tracing his cheekbone, the line of his jaw. For him, centering himself is best accomplished when Charles is inside his head, filling every gap with his presence. But for a telepath, something more physical, perhaps. Something to drown out the memory of Shaw’s hands and his scalpels and his cruelty.
---
Charles makes a weak little noise. Gods, he is tempted. He knows exactly what is offered in that little deft gesture, but he catches Erik's hand in his and just holds it there against his cheek.
"Erik, I don't-I don't think it's a good idea. Not here."
He doesn't want Erik thinking it's something he needs, that it's the only thing the man can offer him. The same way he offered his hand so unflinchingly to Shaw.
__
He has to chuckle humorlessly.
“They already know. It’s no more foolish than anything else we could think to do.”
I can’t make you forget them, focus on the here and now, the same way you can do for me. This is the closest I can come to that.
And, more hesitantly:
...you belong to me, too. The only touch you should think about is mine, the only person you should think about leaving marks is me. These hurts-- and he brushes infinitely gentle fingers over one of the cuts, expression pained, --don’t exist. Pretend they don’t exist. Pretend there is nothing outside of us.
---
Charles rejects your telepathic shenanigans and speaks aloud, calmly. "That's not why I would refuse, Erik." He sounds infinitely weary, but there's something deeper than that. No. Charles Xavier sounds old.
"How can you even think about-being touched-after Shaw."
His voice breaks a little. God, there is so much he still doesn't know about Erik. Memories he's been too afraid to share. But that doesn't mean they can't hurt him.
__
...ah.
At least that answered the question he’d never asked, when Charles claimed to have been beside him for every moment in his memories, how deep that experience actually went. He certainly wouldn’t blame someone for shying away and he wouldn’t want Charles dwelling on them, of course.
“When I was a child, I believed that he was somehow responsible for my powers. He abused the flesh, the pain would start, and everything metal in the room would shake. I-- my mind was never part of it. That took a long time to learn.”
The memories bubble up, since they’re speaking of them, of how it used to be for him. Shaw had called him pure. Room for only one emotion in his head at a time, and the previous one forgotten just as quickly. When he was in pain, his universe was pain. When the pain stopped, he was just as obedient about letting Shaw do it all over again. There was no thought of stopping him, only living up to his expectations.
And Shaw had been so proud that he did not scream at the things that reduced grown men to gibbering terror. That his flesh had been Shaw’s canvas, a raw block of marble for a sculptor, and didn’t belong to him at all.
Uneasily, “It’s different with you. With your powers. I always know that it’s you. You can be overwhelming but it makes me forget everything else. I never think of him when you touch me, you don’t allow it.”
Charles lifts a hand somewhere in the vicinity of his temple, fingers unsteady. "No, no, it's all right, my friend, I'm just- not at my best right now." But he's grateful, regardless, and after a moment he readjusts himself. Lies back down and gestures for Erik to do the same. Lost in each other. As far as concepts go, it had an infinite amount of appeal.
__
Erik is more than happy to oblige, careful to avoid jostling Charles’s injuries. The pain in his own hand is a dull ache as long as he remembers not to run it into something, and he settles himself so his good hand is free.
There’s an unspoken question in his actions, an offer when he gently brushes Charles’s temple, tracing his cheekbone, the line of his jaw. For him, centering himself is best accomplished when Charles is inside his head, filling every gap with his presence. But for a telepath, something more physical, perhaps. Something to drown out the memory of Shaw’s hands and his scalpels and his cruelty.
---
Charles makes a weak little noise. Gods, he is tempted. He knows exactly what is offered in that little deft gesture, but he catches Erik's hand in his and just holds it there against his cheek.
"Erik, I don't-I don't think it's a good idea. Not here."
He doesn't want Erik thinking it's something he needs, that it's the only thing the man can offer him. The same way he offered his hand so unflinchingly to Shaw.
__
He has to chuckle humorlessly.
“They already know. It’s no more foolish than anything else we could think to do.”
I can’t make you forget them, focus on the here and now, the same way you can do for me. This is the closest I can come to that.
And, more hesitantly:
...you belong to me, too. The only touch you should think about is mine, the only person you should think about leaving marks is me. These hurts-- and he brushes infinitely gentle fingers over one of the cuts, expression pained, --don’t exist. Pretend they don’t exist. Pretend there is nothing outside of us.
---
Charles rejects your telepathic shenanigans and speaks aloud, calmly. "That's not why I would refuse, Erik." He sounds infinitely weary, but there's something deeper than that. No. Charles Xavier sounds old.
"How can you even think about-being touched-after Shaw."
His voice breaks a little. God, there is so much he still doesn't know about Erik. Memories he's been too afraid to share. But that doesn't mean they can't hurt him.
__
...ah.
At least that answered the question he’d never asked, when Charles claimed to have been beside him for every moment in his memories, how deep that experience actually went. He certainly wouldn’t blame someone for shying away and he wouldn’t want Charles dwelling on them, of course.
“When I was a child, I believed that he was somehow responsible for my powers. He abused the flesh, the pain would start, and everything metal in the room would shake. I-- my mind was never part of it. That took a long time to learn.”
The memories bubble up, since they’re speaking of them, of how it used to be for him. Shaw had called him pure. Room for only one emotion in his head at a time, and the previous one forgotten just as quickly. When he was in pain, his universe was pain. When the pain stopped, he was just as obedient about letting Shaw do it all over again. There was no thought of stopping him, only living up to his expectations.
And Shaw had been so proud that he did not scream at the things that reduced grown men to gibbering terror. That his flesh had been Shaw’s canvas, a raw block of marble for a sculptor, and didn’t belong to him at all.
Uneasily, “It’s different with you. With your powers. I always know that it’s you. You can be overwhelming but it makes me forget everything else. I never think of him when you touch me, you don’t allow it.”
---
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