[fic] xm:fc - melted ice cream and macaroni art - pg - charles/erik
SO. I think the story goes like this: I became obsessed with this piece of fanart and posted this plea for fic on my LJ. Then brilligspoons, wonderful friend that she is, wrote this story about Charles and Erik and meeting at a bookstore and the daycare Charles runs and Erik's inability to take him seriously and the day that changes.
And then I was like, "Um, I have this idea for Daycare 'verse."
And Margaret was like, "OMG WRITE IT IMMEDIATELY."
And then, for three nights in a row, at three o'clock in the morning when I couldn't sleep, I did just that.
Title: Melted Ice Cream and Macaroni Art
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters: Charles/Erik, bb!Alex, Alex's dad
Rating: PG
Length: ~3600
Summary: Everybody likes Charles. Nobody likes Erik. And that's really the source of Erik's doubts. Also, there's ice cream and a baby.
Notes: Total unrepentant fluff. I know, you're shocked. Me? Kidfic? You'd never have guessed, right? But, seriously, this has no artistic merit. Also, they talk about ~*feelings*~. Um, unbetaed, all the hearts and flowers to brilligspoons for letting me play in this verse. This story makes a lot more sense if you read My Heart Goes Sha-la-la-la-la first.
The thing about Charles is that... well, it's almost embarrassing how easily he gets under your skin. Erik thought it was just him, at first--he doesn't make a habit of asking out guys who break his nose, even if they have incredibly blue eyes and adorable floppy hair--but everyone loves Charles. Moira, of course, who jokes that Charles is the brother she never wanted and always needed, and the children at the daycare, but also people on the street. The girl who checks out their groceries at the supermarket. The entire staff of the children's department at the bookstore where they first met. Even the homeless man on the corner always has a smile for Charles. Everyone's drawn to him. He knows it's not just a telepath thing--Erik used to work with a woman called Emma Frost, a world-renown heiress and telepath whom Erik hated on sight and would be happy to never see again. It's just a... Charles thing. It's like he leaves a trail of rainbows and goodwill in his wake.
It would be annoying, if it wasn't so fucking endearing.
***
They're at the grocery store. Erik's not a particularly good boyfriend, usually, though Charles seems happy to put up with him, but he's trying to pull together everything he knows about making Charles happy. The cart is filled with Charles' very particular idea of comfort food and some appalling overpriced tea. A month ago, if Charles came home exhausted and covered in paste and too tired to even mentally fill Erik in on the day, he would have made fun of him. After helping Charles at the daycare, however, Erik is quick to offer what little comforts he can. He had tried, even, to get Charles to stay home, but after a quick nap, Charles insisted he'd better come along, lest Erik forget something important.
(He said "forget" in a tone of voice that made it clear how much forgetfulness Charles thought was involved in Erik conveniently leaving the store with two canisters of coffee and no tea the last time he went shopping on his own.)
So they're at the grocery store and Charles has wandered off as Erik surveys the ice cream, searching for the elusive chocolate peanut butter that Charles loves so much, but never seems to be in stock. It takes more hunting in the freezer than is probably socially acceptable, but Erik finds the last two pints and triumphantly cradles them to his chest as he steps back, glaring at the middle-aged woman giving him a dour look. This is Charles' ice cream now. She can find her own.
Charles is, of course, missing, along with the grocery cart. The benefits of dating a telepath, however, mean that...
Charles?
Cereal aisle.
...he isn't that difficult to find.
He's leaning against the cart, when Erik gets to the cereal aisle, and bending over. Erik takes a moment to admire the view until he realizes the reason Charles is leaning over is because there's a munchkin trying to climb his leg.
Erik struggles to put a name with the face. Blonde with plasma energy. Likes to set fire to the little blue furry one's creations. Alex Summers. Right. He'd singed the whole sleeve of Erik's favorite black turtleneck the last time Erik had been at the daycare. He probably wouldn't have worn it if he knew supervising daycare was like going to war, and he'd already made a mental note to wear something he liked less next time, maybe that odd purple turtleneck instead.
"Alex! I told you not to run off!" A gentleman pushing a cart quickly appears at the other end of the aisle. There's a car seat hooked to the top of the cart and it's filled with diapers and baby food and juice boxes.
"Mr. Charles!" Alex says in reply, his arms around Charles' neck.
"I'm very happy to see you, Alex," Charles says, "but you shouldn't run away from your father. Next time ask nicely to come over and I'm sure he'll take you."
"I'm sorry," Alex's father says, running a hand through his hair. "We're all exhausted because of the baby. I'm afraid my reaction time is slipping." Charles chuckles and hoists Alex farther up on his hip.
"It's no problem," he says. "Alex is a pleasure, as always."
Erik clears his throat quietly to make his presence known.
"I found your ice cream," he says, presenting it to Charles somewhat awkwardly before dumping it in their cart. Charles grins at him with an easy, warm delight.
"Thank you, darling," he says, and leans up on his toes to kiss Erik's cheek. Stepping back, he glances down at Alex, who is regarding Erik with a pout. "Alex, you remember Mr. Lehnsherr, don't you?"
Alex frowns, concentrating, and then slowly nods.
"Good to see you again, Alex," Erik says.
"New baby," Alex says. He points at the cart his father is pushing. There is, indeed, a sleeping newborn in the carseat hooked on top.
"Erik, this is Christopher Summers, Alex's father," Charles says. "Mr. Summers, this is Erik Lehnsherr."
"Nice to meet you," Mr. Summers says, shaking Erik's hand. "Do you work at the daycare too?"
"No, no, no," Erik says quickly. "No. No. ....no."
"Erik filled in for Moira when her aunt died suddenly," Charles says. He's smirking. "He was much better at it than he's letting on."
He soothes the sharp edge of his smirk by running his fingers gently up and down Erik's spine.
"It's not as easy as one would think," Erik says diplomatically.
"Don't I know it," Summers says. "It's hard enough with two. Once this one starts walking, it's only going to get worse. I can't imagine chasing a classroom full all day every day."
"Charles is a saint," Erik says, mostly because it's true. Erik has no idea how he does it.
"Alex certainly seems to like him," Summers agrees, and Charles is blushing and projecting just a bit of gentle pleasure at the compliment.
"How's Katherine?" Charles asks, quick to turn the attention away from himself.
"Exhausted," Summers says. "Scott's at a playdate, so I thought it would be nice to give her a few hours to herself. Gabe's been good, at least, even if Alex thinks he's at the playground." He reaches over and ruffles his son's hair and Alex giggles and then attempts to leap out of Charles' arms and over towards his father. Charles scrambles to hold on, but Erik easily catches hold of the zippers in the boy's pants and jacket and eases his way across the divide.
"Be careful, Alex!" Summers scolds. "You could have hurt yourself!" Alex tries and fails to look suitably chastised and Summers just sighs. "Three boys. The next eighteen years are going to be fun."
Charles smiles wryly and gestures towards the cart. Erik can tells he's been very politely holding back since the moment Summers rolled up to them.
"May I?" he asks, and Summers shrugs.
"Of course. You'll be seeing enough of him in a a few months, I reckon."
Charles seizes Erik's hand and pulls him over to the cart, leaning over and cooing.
He actually coos. Under normal circumstances, Erik would reevaluate his decision to have sex with this man on a regular basis, except it's just so damn cute that Erik can't help but smile.
"Hello, Gabriel," Charles says softly. "Welcome to the world." Erik hovers over Charles' shoulder as he very gently brushes the baby's dark hair off his forehead. He turns to Erik, smiling brilliantly, and Erik, damn him, has to smile back. "Oh, he's beautiful."
"Isn't he?" Summers says proudly.
"Indeed," Erik says. It sounds like the sort of thing you're supposed to say in this situation. Erik's life experience with babies begins and ends with helping at daycare, and none of them were this small.
"What about the two of you?" Summers asks. "Any babies in your future?"
Erik cycles through a series of emotions so quickly he can't even identify most of them. His back straightens. He coughs, and then chokes on his own saliva, wheezing and leaning against their cart, which he pulls abruptly towards them when he forgets how to stand.
Charles, that bastard, just smiles serenely.
"I already have an entire classroom full of children," he says. "I'm content for the moment. We'll see what the future brings."
Summers laughs. "True enough," he says. "I should get some dinner and get these guys home before it gets too late. Take care, Charles. It looks like you might need to resuscitate your boyfriend."
Erik wheezes in reply.
"Lovely to see you," Charles says. "Have a good weekend, Alex, and I'll see you on Monday!" He waves as Summers rolls his cart back down the aisle, and then turns back to Erik, still smiling. Erik hates it when Charles gets this smug, mostly because someone shouldn't be able to look that sexy while essentially mocking him.
"We should go," Charles says. "The ice cream will melt."
"I hate you, a little," Erik manages to say.
"I know," Charles says. "But you also love me enough to look through the freezer for my favorite ice cream, and we should really get home before it's all for naught."
Erik grumbles, but it's a fair point, so he lets Charles lead the way towards the check out, pulling the cart behind them with a twitch of his finger.
***
In contrast to Charles, Erik doesn't like people. At all. Erik can, in fact, count the number of people he's willing to voluntarily spend time with on one hand. He doesn't even need all the fingers.
He's always been a loner--he hasn't had the easiest life and he learned long ago that the best way to get by is to keep to yourself and mind your own business. If you don't bother other people, they'll probably still bother you, but you can always claim in court that they started it and have evidence to back it up. Erik doesn't even really do relationships--a few in his youth, briefly, but in recent years it's been one-off dalliances or vague arrangements devoid of affection.
Erik just... doesn't like people.
Charles isn't just people, though. Charles is....
Erik had thought he was in love before, once. Was sure of it at the time. Was sure of it right up until he had been dating Charles for a month and a half and looked at him over the scratched up table in a Starbucks and nearly fell off his chair with the enormity of emotion he suddenly felt. Being in love with Charles is like nothing he's ever experienced and it makes him doubt everything he thought he knew about love. It encompasses all of his being, but in boring, mundane ways, that almost mean nothing on their own except for how they mean everything, except for how, when you put them together, they add up to every facet of Erik's life.
He should be scared. He is, a little, sometimes, but then he looks across the messy apartment and sees Charles asleep on the couch in one of his frumpy cardigans or singing the theme song to the Wonder Pets as he cleans or reading Toot and Puddle while standing over the coffee table because he can't not read it whenever it's in his hands, and he remembers that Charles is utterly ridiculous and being scared of him feels almost silly.
It doesn't change how he feels about people, though. It just proves that Charles is that much better than people.
***
Any energy sparked in Charles by Alex and his father's sudden appearance in the supermarket is long gone by the time Erik is lugging their environmentally friendly reusable shopping bags into the apartment. Charles is sluggish and plastered against Erik's back, fingers curled in Erik's belt loops.
"What are you making me for dinner?" he asks hopefully, the words muffled where his face is pressed between Erik's shoulders.
"A phone call for pizza," Erik says. He's still a little too off balance to cook, and something they don't have to clean up is always best on a lazy Friday night. "The usual?"
"Mmm," Charles hums, still clinging like a limpet. Erik summons the phone with one hand and wiggles around so Charles is leaning against his chest instead of his back.
"Go lie down or it will take me an hour to put these away," he says. What he means is Go lie down before you fall down because you're exhausted and I want you to rest. Charles is a telepath. Erik knows he sees the hidden meaning.
"Okay," Charles says, but he leans on his toes for a kiss and Erik is happy to oblige, even as one kiss turns into another and another and Charles starts to sleepily nuzzle his jaw. Erik would be more than happy to take it that far, to take it further, to take Charles up against the chipped granite countertop while the ice cream melts on the floor, but he knows better than to think so loftily when they're both this tired.
"It's a nice thought, though," Charles says, pulling away, eyes slightly glazed. "Maybe when I've not been literally putting out fires all day."
"Exactly," Erik says. "Go inside or we'll never get pizza."
Charles presses one more kiss to the corner of Erik's mouth and then retreats, slumping into the couch and not even bothering to turn on the teevee, just groping blindly for whatever reading material he can reach. Erik watches him, phone pressed to his ear as he puts away the groceries on auto-pilot. Charles is paging through How I Became a Pirate and Erik is overcome, once again, by that feeling in his chest that should leave him scared and shaking. It distracts him from the phone, and it takes him a moment to realize the bored girl on the other end wants his order.
"I'm sorry," he says. "One large pizza, half sausage, half mushroom." He gives the girl their address, and by the time he's done with the groceries and hung up the phone, Charles has put the book down and the moment of overwhelming feeling has passed.
Erik joins Charles in the living room with two bottles of beer, shifting around on the couch until Charles is reclining against his chest. Charles is obviously too tired for chess, so mindless entertainment will have to do. The remote is missing, but Erik waves his hand around a bit, feeling for the particular mechanics of it, and it shoots out from under the couch and lands neatly in his open palm.
"Mm, put on something good," Charles says.
"There's never anything good on television," Erik says, but he flicks to HGTV because Charles is addicted. Charles' main decorating theme seems to be preschool chic, but he focuses raptly on Design on a Dime while Erik strokes his hair.
"Long day?" Erik asks, and Charles makes a quiet, affirmative noise.
"Jean had a nightmare during naptime," he says. "Poor love projected it hard enough to give me a headache. The other children were a mess, of course, and it took us forever to try and calm them down, but the rest of the day was a total loss."
"Terrors, all of them," Erik says, but even he can't deny the slight fondness in his tone. As much as he hates to admit it, especially with what they routinely put Charles through, there is something endearing about the gaggle of baby mutants in Charles' care.
"They're still learning," Charles says. "They don't mean it."
Erik hums noncommittally in response and Charles returns his attention to the television, where they're trying to convert a truly ugly basement into a moderately less ugly and supposedly eco-friendly playroom. The pizza arrives before the episode ends, energizing Charles enough to gesture vaguely at the television with a slice and make lofty plans for renovating his school. Erik listens indulgently and pretends he doesn't notice when Charles reaches over to pick pieces of sausage off of Erik's pizza. He doesn't miss, however, that all of Charles' ideas begin with "We could...." He doesn't think Charles is talking about Moira.
"Is this your plan, then?" Erik asks, because they don't really talk about these things, the future. "Build a better facility? Move the daycare there? Your goals for the future?"
"Well," Charles says, "my professional goals, at least." He's sitting cross-legged at one end of the couch, his empty paper plate on his lap. "I mean, I imagine, aside from work, we'll eventually want to move on from this place. It's a nice flat, but a bit crowded, don't you think? Not immediately, mind, but... one day."
"One day," Erik agrees. We, he thinks.
Of course 'we,' Charles thinks right back at him. I mean, unless--
Erik doesn't have words for how much there's really no "unless" to worry about, but the jumble of emotions that he doesn't like to examine too closely is easy enough to lob at Charles, who smiles and relaxes almost imperceptibly. The whole thing lines up rather neatly with the thoughts that have been drifting in and out of Erik's head since the grocery store, and he wonders, absently, if Charles has been rooting around in his mind and if this was his way of leading up to it.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Charles says, and Erik gives him a pointed look.
Thank you for proving my point, he thinks.
"You were projecting," Charles insists. "Don't blame me. And I wasn't rooting around in your mind, I assure you."
"Yeah, right," Erik says, but there's no bite to it.
"But," Charles continues, "now that you've mentioned there's something on your mind, it would be terrible of you to keep me in suspense."
"I didn't mention it," Erik reminds him. "You snatched it from my brain without permission."
Charles waves a hand in a manner that clearly signifies Details, details.
"It's not important," Erik says. "Just... idle thoughts."
"Idle thoughts about the future of the daycare?" Charles asks. Erik doesn't say anything. "Then, idle thought about the future of..." Charles gestures between them and Erik knows that Charles didn't just pluck the thought from his mind. This is good, old fashioned deduction because Charles knows Erik better than Erik knows himself. He's not entirely comfortable with that, but he knows better than to fight it.
"Really," Erik insists. "It's nothing to dwell on."
"I'm not the one dwelling on it," Charles points out. He tosses his plate onto the coffee table and shifts closer, elbow resting on the back of the couch, chin resting on his fist as he stares at Erik curiously and patiently. He won't read Erik's mind, now. That would spoil the game, the game of staring at Erik with those ridiculous eyes until Erik caves.
Erik sighs. It's almost best to give in now. He knows he can never win this.
"I've just... you're very good with children," Erik says.
"I know," Charles says. "I run a daycare."
Erik rolls his eyes.
"I mean... it seems a shame that--I wouldn't want you to--"
Charles takes pity on him. "Do I want kids of my own?" he asks.
Erik opens his mouth to respond and then pauses and nods when no words come.
"Do you?" Charles asks. Any hint of teasing is gone. Charles' tone is serious and his eyes are solemn. Erik's not sure how to respond.
"I... I don't know," he admits. "I'm... not very good with people. People don't... like me."
"You're crazy," Charles says. "Everyone likes you."
"You like me," Erik corrects. "Just because you like me doesn't mean the rest of the world shares your opinion. And I have to admit that it's mostly by design. But it does leave me with the fear that--well, not everyone is as forgiving of my nature as you are. And I would hate to--"
"You're afraid--Erik, that's silly." Erik's not sure if he's projecting again or if Charles just gave up and started sifting through his insecurities. "Any child of yours or of mine, any child we adopt, any child we raise could never hate you. And you would love it, sure as you love the children at the daycare--and don't try and lie to me and tell me you don't--and sure as you love... well. Me." He smiles, then, and the hand that's not supporting his cheek migrates to Erik's knee, which he squeezes reassuringly while Erik tears himself away from Charles' gaze to pull himself together. Because that's it, of course. Charles has it exactly. Of course Charles wants children one day. It's probably all he's ever dreamed about. And everyone loves Charles, strangers love Charles, rabid animals love Charles, of course a baby would love Charles with all its tiny baby heart. But Erik's not as competent at inspiring affection in others. People don't just like Erik and Erik's not a good person and Erik hasn't had the greatest life experiences to fall back on for this.
"It's not that easy," Erik says.
"It's exactly that easy, my friend," Charles says, and he moves his hand from Erik's knee to his cheek, turning his face back gently. "You'd be a wonderful father, Erik. I know it. And you don't argue with a telepath about knowing things."
Erik snorts, but allows Charles to lean forward and kiss him.
"We've plenty of time to talk this through, you know," Charles says when he pulls back, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks and fuck, it's entirely unfair how pretty Charles is and how distracting it can be. "I mean, as I told Christopher Summers, for the time being, I have a school full of children. But when the time comes... if you don't want children, Erik, I respect that. But if you don't want children because you think a child could never want you, I have a classroom of baby mutants who would happily prove otherwise."
"Fuck, but you're annoying when you're right," Erik says, curling his fingers into Charles' hair and pulling him close for another kiss.
"Mm, I know," Charles says, and Erik kisses that smug smile again and again until it fades into something softer and they migrate from the sofa to the bedroom.
And it's still a long way in the future and it's still not resolved and he doesn't believe Charles, not entirely, because Charles, for all his wisdom, can be frighteningly naive. But a part of him wonders, if he hasn't yet ruined the world's most trusting optimist, maybe there's more good in him than he realizes. And maybe that's all it takes.
And then I was like, "Um, I have this idea for Daycare 'verse."
And Margaret was like, "OMG WRITE IT IMMEDIATELY."
And then, for three nights in a row, at three o'clock in the morning when I couldn't sleep, I did just that.
Title: Melted Ice Cream and Macaroni Art
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters: Charles/Erik, bb!Alex, Alex's dad
Rating: PG
Length: ~3600
Summary: Everybody likes Charles. Nobody likes Erik. And that's really the source of Erik's doubts. Also, there's ice cream and a baby.
Notes: Total unrepentant fluff. I know, you're shocked. Me? Kidfic? You'd never have guessed, right? But, seriously, this has no artistic merit. Also, they talk about ~*feelings*~. Um, unbetaed, all the hearts and flowers to brilligspoons for letting me play in this verse. This story makes a lot more sense if you read My Heart Goes Sha-la-la-la-la first.
The thing about Charles is that... well, it's almost embarrassing how easily he gets under your skin. Erik thought it was just him, at first--he doesn't make a habit of asking out guys who break his nose, even if they have incredibly blue eyes and adorable floppy hair--but everyone loves Charles. Moira, of course, who jokes that Charles is the brother she never wanted and always needed, and the children at the daycare, but also people on the street. The girl who checks out their groceries at the supermarket. The entire staff of the children's department at the bookstore where they first met. Even the homeless man on the corner always has a smile for Charles. Everyone's drawn to him. He knows it's not just a telepath thing--Erik used to work with a woman called Emma Frost, a world-renown heiress and telepath whom Erik hated on sight and would be happy to never see again. It's just a... Charles thing. It's like he leaves a trail of rainbows and goodwill in his wake.
It would be annoying, if it wasn't so fucking endearing.
***
They're at the grocery store. Erik's not a particularly good boyfriend, usually, though Charles seems happy to put up with him, but he's trying to pull together everything he knows about making Charles happy. The cart is filled with Charles' very particular idea of comfort food and some appalling overpriced tea. A month ago, if Charles came home exhausted and covered in paste and too tired to even mentally fill Erik in on the day, he would have made fun of him. After helping Charles at the daycare, however, Erik is quick to offer what little comforts he can. He had tried, even, to get Charles to stay home, but after a quick nap, Charles insisted he'd better come along, lest Erik forget something important.
(He said "forget" in a tone of voice that made it clear how much forgetfulness Charles thought was involved in Erik conveniently leaving the store with two canisters of coffee and no tea the last time he went shopping on his own.)
So they're at the grocery store and Charles has wandered off as Erik surveys the ice cream, searching for the elusive chocolate peanut butter that Charles loves so much, but never seems to be in stock. It takes more hunting in the freezer than is probably socially acceptable, but Erik finds the last two pints and triumphantly cradles them to his chest as he steps back, glaring at the middle-aged woman giving him a dour look. This is Charles' ice cream now. She can find her own.
Charles is, of course, missing, along with the grocery cart. The benefits of dating a telepath, however, mean that...
Charles?
Cereal aisle.
...he isn't that difficult to find.
He's leaning against the cart, when Erik gets to the cereal aisle, and bending over. Erik takes a moment to admire the view until he realizes the reason Charles is leaning over is because there's a munchkin trying to climb his leg.
Erik struggles to put a name with the face. Blonde with plasma energy. Likes to set fire to the little blue furry one's creations. Alex Summers. Right. He'd singed the whole sleeve of Erik's favorite black turtleneck the last time Erik had been at the daycare. He probably wouldn't have worn it if he knew supervising daycare was like going to war, and he'd already made a mental note to wear something he liked less next time, maybe that odd purple turtleneck instead.
"Alex! I told you not to run off!" A gentleman pushing a cart quickly appears at the other end of the aisle. There's a car seat hooked to the top of the cart and it's filled with diapers and baby food and juice boxes.
"Mr. Charles!" Alex says in reply, his arms around Charles' neck.
"I'm very happy to see you, Alex," Charles says, "but you shouldn't run away from your father. Next time ask nicely to come over and I'm sure he'll take you."
"I'm sorry," Alex's father says, running a hand through his hair. "We're all exhausted because of the baby. I'm afraid my reaction time is slipping." Charles chuckles and hoists Alex farther up on his hip.
"It's no problem," he says. "Alex is a pleasure, as always."
Erik clears his throat quietly to make his presence known.
"I found your ice cream," he says, presenting it to Charles somewhat awkwardly before dumping it in their cart. Charles grins at him with an easy, warm delight.
"Thank you, darling," he says, and leans up on his toes to kiss Erik's cheek. Stepping back, he glances down at Alex, who is regarding Erik with a pout. "Alex, you remember Mr. Lehnsherr, don't you?"
Alex frowns, concentrating, and then slowly nods.
"Good to see you again, Alex," Erik says.
"New baby," Alex says. He points at the cart his father is pushing. There is, indeed, a sleeping newborn in the carseat hooked on top.
"Erik, this is Christopher Summers, Alex's father," Charles says. "Mr. Summers, this is Erik Lehnsherr."
"Nice to meet you," Mr. Summers says, shaking Erik's hand. "Do you work at the daycare too?"
"No, no, no," Erik says quickly. "No. No. ....no."
"Erik filled in for Moira when her aunt died suddenly," Charles says. He's smirking. "He was much better at it than he's letting on."
He soothes the sharp edge of his smirk by running his fingers gently up and down Erik's spine.
"It's not as easy as one would think," Erik says diplomatically.
"Don't I know it," Summers says. "It's hard enough with two. Once this one starts walking, it's only going to get worse. I can't imagine chasing a classroom full all day every day."
"Charles is a saint," Erik says, mostly because it's true. Erik has no idea how he does it.
"Alex certainly seems to like him," Summers agrees, and Charles is blushing and projecting just a bit of gentle pleasure at the compliment.
"How's Katherine?" Charles asks, quick to turn the attention away from himself.
"Exhausted," Summers says. "Scott's at a playdate, so I thought it would be nice to give her a few hours to herself. Gabe's been good, at least, even if Alex thinks he's at the playground." He reaches over and ruffles his son's hair and Alex giggles and then attempts to leap out of Charles' arms and over towards his father. Charles scrambles to hold on, but Erik easily catches hold of the zippers in the boy's pants and jacket and eases his way across the divide.
"Be careful, Alex!" Summers scolds. "You could have hurt yourself!" Alex tries and fails to look suitably chastised and Summers just sighs. "Three boys. The next eighteen years are going to be fun."
Charles smiles wryly and gestures towards the cart. Erik can tells he's been very politely holding back since the moment Summers rolled up to them.
"May I?" he asks, and Summers shrugs.
"Of course. You'll be seeing enough of him in a a few months, I reckon."
Charles seizes Erik's hand and pulls him over to the cart, leaning over and cooing.
He actually coos. Under normal circumstances, Erik would reevaluate his decision to have sex with this man on a regular basis, except it's just so damn cute that Erik can't help but smile.
"Hello, Gabriel," Charles says softly. "Welcome to the world." Erik hovers over Charles' shoulder as he very gently brushes the baby's dark hair off his forehead. He turns to Erik, smiling brilliantly, and Erik, damn him, has to smile back. "Oh, he's beautiful."
"Isn't he?" Summers says proudly.
"Indeed," Erik says. It sounds like the sort of thing you're supposed to say in this situation. Erik's life experience with babies begins and ends with helping at daycare, and none of them were this small.
"What about the two of you?" Summers asks. "Any babies in your future?"
Erik cycles through a series of emotions so quickly he can't even identify most of them. His back straightens. He coughs, and then chokes on his own saliva, wheezing and leaning against their cart, which he pulls abruptly towards them when he forgets how to stand.
Charles, that bastard, just smiles serenely.
"I already have an entire classroom full of children," he says. "I'm content for the moment. We'll see what the future brings."
Summers laughs. "True enough," he says. "I should get some dinner and get these guys home before it gets too late. Take care, Charles. It looks like you might need to resuscitate your boyfriend."
Erik wheezes in reply.
"Lovely to see you," Charles says. "Have a good weekend, Alex, and I'll see you on Monday!" He waves as Summers rolls his cart back down the aisle, and then turns back to Erik, still smiling. Erik hates it when Charles gets this smug, mostly because someone shouldn't be able to look that sexy while essentially mocking him.
"We should go," Charles says. "The ice cream will melt."
"I hate you, a little," Erik manages to say.
"I know," Charles says. "But you also love me enough to look through the freezer for my favorite ice cream, and we should really get home before it's all for naught."
Erik grumbles, but it's a fair point, so he lets Charles lead the way towards the check out, pulling the cart behind them with a twitch of his finger.
***
In contrast to Charles, Erik doesn't like people. At all. Erik can, in fact, count the number of people he's willing to voluntarily spend time with on one hand. He doesn't even need all the fingers.
He's always been a loner--he hasn't had the easiest life and he learned long ago that the best way to get by is to keep to yourself and mind your own business. If you don't bother other people, they'll probably still bother you, but you can always claim in court that they started it and have evidence to back it up. Erik doesn't even really do relationships--a few in his youth, briefly, but in recent years it's been one-off dalliances or vague arrangements devoid of affection.
Erik just... doesn't like people.
Charles isn't just people, though. Charles is....
Erik had thought he was in love before, once. Was sure of it at the time. Was sure of it right up until he had been dating Charles for a month and a half and looked at him over the scratched up table in a Starbucks and nearly fell off his chair with the enormity of emotion he suddenly felt. Being in love with Charles is like nothing he's ever experienced and it makes him doubt everything he thought he knew about love. It encompasses all of his being, but in boring, mundane ways, that almost mean nothing on their own except for how they mean everything, except for how, when you put them together, they add up to every facet of Erik's life.
He should be scared. He is, a little, sometimes, but then he looks across the messy apartment and sees Charles asleep on the couch in one of his frumpy cardigans or singing the theme song to the Wonder Pets as he cleans or reading Toot and Puddle while standing over the coffee table because he can't not read it whenever it's in his hands, and he remembers that Charles is utterly ridiculous and being scared of him feels almost silly.
It doesn't change how he feels about people, though. It just proves that Charles is that much better than people.
***
Any energy sparked in Charles by Alex and his father's sudden appearance in the supermarket is long gone by the time Erik is lugging their environmentally friendly reusable shopping bags into the apartment. Charles is sluggish and plastered against Erik's back, fingers curled in Erik's belt loops.
"What are you making me for dinner?" he asks hopefully, the words muffled where his face is pressed between Erik's shoulders.
"A phone call for pizza," Erik says. He's still a little too off balance to cook, and something they don't have to clean up is always best on a lazy Friday night. "The usual?"
"Mmm," Charles hums, still clinging like a limpet. Erik summons the phone with one hand and wiggles around so Charles is leaning against his chest instead of his back.
"Go lie down or it will take me an hour to put these away," he says. What he means is Go lie down before you fall down because you're exhausted and I want you to rest. Charles is a telepath. Erik knows he sees the hidden meaning.
"Okay," Charles says, but he leans on his toes for a kiss and Erik is happy to oblige, even as one kiss turns into another and another and Charles starts to sleepily nuzzle his jaw. Erik would be more than happy to take it that far, to take it further, to take Charles up against the chipped granite countertop while the ice cream melts on the floor, but he knows better than to think so loftily when they're both this tired.
"It's a nice thought, though," Charles says, pulling away, eyes slightly glazed. "Maybe when I've not been literally putting out fires all day."
"Exactly," Erik says. "Go inside or we'll never get pizza."
Charles presses one more kiss to the corner of Erik's mouth and then retreats, slumping into the couch and not even bothering to turn on the teevee, just groping blindly for whatever reading material he can reach. Erik watches him, phone pressed to his ear as he puts away the groceries on auto-pilot. Charles is paging through How I Became a Pirate and Erik is overcome, once again, by that feeling in his chest that should leave him scared and shaking. It distracts him from the phone, and it takes him a moment to realize the bored girl on the other end wants his order.
"I'm sorry," he says. "One large pizza, half sausage, half mushroom." He gives the girl their address, and by the time he's done with the groceries and hung up the phone, Charles has put the book down and the moment of overwhelming feeling has passed.
Erik joins Charles in the living room with two bottles of beer, shifting around on the couch until Charles is reclining against his chest. Charles is obviously too tired for chess, so mindless entertainment will have to do. The remote is missing, but Erik waves his hand around a bit, feeling for the particular mechanics of it, and it shoots out from under the couch and lands neatly in his open palm.
"Mm, put on something good," Charles says.
"There's never anything good on television," Erik says, but he flicks to HGTV because Charles is addicted. Charles' main decorating theme seems to be preschool chic, but he focuses raptly on Design on a Dime while Erik strokes his hair.
"Long day?" Erik asks, and Charles makes a quiet, affirmative noise.
"Jean had a nightmare during naptime," he says. "Poor love projected it hard enough to give me a headache. The other children were a mess, of course, and it took us forever to try and calm them down, but the rest of the day was a total loss."
"Terrors, all of them," Erik says, but even he can't deny the slight fondness in his tone. As much as he hates to admit it, especially with what they routinely put Charles through, there is something endearing about the gaggle of baby mutants in Charles' care.
"They're still learning," Charles says. "They don't mean it."
Erik hums noncommittally in response and Charles returns his attention to the television, where they're trying to convert a truly ugly basement into a moderately less ugly and supposedly eco-friendly playroom. The pizza arrives before the episode ends, energizing Charles enough to gesture vaguely at the television with a slice and make lofty plans for renovating his school. Erik listens indulgently and pretends he doesn't notice when Charles reaches over to pick pieces of sausage off of Erik's pizza. He doesn't miss, however, that all of Charles' ideas begin with "We could...." He doesn't think Charles is talking about Moira.
"Is this your plan, then?" Erik asks, because they don't really talk about these things, the future. "Build a better facility? Move the daycare there? Your goals for the future?"
"Well," Charles says, "my professional goals, at least." He's sitting cross-legged at one end of the couch, his empty paper plate on his lap. "I mean, I imagine, aside from work, we'll eventually want to move on from this place. It's a nice flat, but a bit crowded, don't you think? Not immediately, mind, but... one day."
"One day," Erik agrees. We, he thinks.
Of course 'we,' Charles thinks right back at him. I mean, unless--
Erik doesn't have words for how much there's really no "unless" to worry about, but the jumble of emotions that he doesn't like to examine too closely is easy enough to lob at Charles, who smiles and relaxes almost imperceptibly. The whole thing lines up rather neatly with the thoughts that have been drifting in and out of Erik's head since the grocery store, and he wonders, absently, if Charles has been rooting around in his mind and if this was his way of leading up to it.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Charles says, and Erik gives him a pointed look.
Thank you for proving my point, he thinks.
"You were projecting," Charles insists. "Don't blame me. And I wasn't rooting around in your mind, I assure you."
"Yeah, right," Erik says, but there's no bite to it.
"But," Charles continues, "now that you've mentioned there's something on your mind, it would be terrible of you to keep me in suspense."
"I didn't mention it," Erik reminds him. "You snatched it from my brain without permission."
Charles waves a hand in a manner that clearly signifies Details, details.
"It's not important," Erik says. "Just... idle thoughts."
"Idle thoughts about the future of the daycare?" Charles asks. Erik doesn't say anything. "Then, idle thought about the future of..." Charles gestures between them and Erik knows that Charles didn't just pluck the thought from his mind. This is good, old fashioned deduction because Charles knows Erik better than Erik knows himself. He's not entirely comfortable with that, but he knows better than to fight it.
"Really," Erik insists. "It's nothing to dwell on."
"I'm not the one dwelling on it," Charles points out. He tosses his plate onto the coffee table and shifts closer, elbow resting on the back of the couch, chin resting on his fist as he stares at Erik curiously and patiently. He won't read Erik's mind, now. That would spoil the game, the game of staring at Erik with those ridiculous eyes until Erik caves.
Erik sighs. It's almost best to give in now. He knows he can never win this.
"I've just... you're very good with children," Erik says.
"I know," Charles says. "I run a daycare."
Erik rolls his eyes.
"I mean... it seems a shame that--I wouldn't want you to--"
Charles takes pity on him. "Do I want kids of my own?" he asks.
Erik opens his mouth to respond and then pauses and nods when no words come.
"Do you?" Charles asks. Any hint of teasing is gone. Charles' tone is serious and his eyes are solemn. Erik's not sure how to respond.
"I... I don't know," he admits. "I'm... not very good with people. People don't... like me."
"You're crazy," Charles says. "Everyone likes you."
"You like me," Erik corrects. "Just because you like me doesn't mean the rest of the world shares your opinion. And I have to admit that it's mostly by design. But it does leave me with the fear that--well, not everyone is as forgiving of my nature as you are. And I would hate to--"
"You're afraid--Erik, that's silly." Erik's not sure if he's projecting again or if Charles just gave up and started sifting through his insecurities. "Any child of yours or of mine, any child we adopt, any child we raise could never hate you. And you would love it, sure as you love the children at the daycare--and don't try and lie to me and tell me you don't--and sure as you love... well. Me." He smiles, then, and the hand that's not supporting his cheek migrates to Erik's knee, which he squeezes reassuringly while Erik tears himself away from Charles' gaze to pull himself together. Because that's it, of course. Charles has it exactly. Of course Charles wants children one day. It's probably all he's ever dreamed about. And everyone loves Charles, strangers love Charles, rabid animals love Charles, of course a baby would love Charles with all its tiny baby heart. But Erik's not as competent at inspiring affection in others. People don't just like Erik and Erik's not a good person and Erik hasn't had the greatest life experiences to fall back on for this.
"It's not that easy," Erik says.
"It's exactly that easy, my friend," Charles says, and he moves his hand from Erik's knee to his cheek, turning his face back gently. "You'd be a wonderful father, Erik. I know it. And you don't argue with a telepath about knowing things."
Erik snorts, but allows Charles to lean forward and kiss him.
"We've plenty of time to talk this through, you know," Charles says when he pulls back, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks and fuck, it's entirely unfair how pretty Charles is and how distracting it can be. "I mean, as I told Christopher Summers, for the time being, I have a school full of children. But when the time comes... if you don't want children, Erik, I respect that. But if you don't want children because you think a child could never want you, I have a classroom of baby mutants who would happily prove otherwise."
"Fuck, but you're annoying when you're right," Erik says, curling his fingers into Charles' hair and pulling him close for another kiss.
"Mm, I know," Charles says, and Erik kisses that smug smile again and again until it fades into something softer and they migrate from the sofa to the bedroom.
And it's still a long way in the future and it's still not resolved and he doesn't believe Charles, not entirely, because Charles, for all his wisdom, can be frighteningly naive. But a part of him wonders, if he hasn't yet ruined the world's most trusting optimist, maybe there's more good in him than he realizes. And maybe that's all it takes.