[fic] xm: fc - to bring the light into your room - pg - charles/erik (daycare verse)

[pocky_slash]

Title: to bring the light into your room
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Characters: Charles/Erik (daycare verse), Moira, Katherine, Scott, Jean
Rating: PG
Length: ~4000
Summary: In which Erik trusts Charles, Charles loves Erik, and Erik meets Jean.

Notes: Happy my birthday to you, friends! Here is a totally self-indulgent, completely fluffy, entirely pointless story about hugs and cuddling and small children. If you enjoy those things, I think you will enjoy this! Thank you to pearl_o for looking it over for me, because she is pretty great! Title from "Not a Lullaby" by the Weepies.

It's been an excruciatingly long, eternally frustrating day. Charles can feel it in the way that every inch of his body hurts, in the way that he's so tired that he skips dinner in favor of eating rice cakes in his pajamas in bed at nine pm.

It rained non-stop, ruining the surprisingly warm mid-October day and encouraging the children's cabin fever. It was impossible to stay on top of them, Charles and Moira both running ceaselessly after one child or another. Charles came very close to shouting more than once, and he was so relieved to see the back of the last of his charges that he felt guilty the whole way to the hospital, where he'd talked to a young mutant girl at the request of a social worker friend, gently shaking out the story of her abuse.

He's home now, tired to his bones and curled under his blankets in bed. His windows are propped open, the cool breeze and the symphony of the streets curling into the bedroom as he cradles his phone to his ear.

"I don't think someone would bother climbing to the third floor to kill me in my sleep," Charles says, laughing quietly.

"They could get right up your fire escape," Erik says. "Or fly up. Some angry mutant parent."

"Annoyed that I wouldn't teach their child?" Charles asks.

"Maybe," Erik says. "I'm just saying. You never know. Best to lock up before bed."

"I like the breeze," Charles says, rolling onto his side and looking at the empty side of the bed, the side that he already considers Erik's side. "I like the air flow. It's going to be cold soon enough. Best to appreciate it while I can."

"I'll be very upset when you're murdered," Erik says.

"I'm sure you will," Charles says. "You'll avenge me though, yes?"

"I'm sure I'll get around to it," Erik says. Charles laughs, but it turns into a yawn halfway through. "You sound exhausted," Erik says. "I guess phone sex is out of the question?"

"Mm, sorry," Charles says. He genuinely is sorry. They've not had phone sex yet, and he thinks Erik will be pleasantly surprised by the added dimension telepathy brings. "I'm exhausted. A phone cuddle would be nice."

"I don't think that's actually possible," Erik says.

"I don't know," Charles says. "I think it's rather what we're doing right now, isn't it?" Curled up in bed, buried under the blankets, and talking quietly to each other--having Erik here in his arms is really the only thing missing.

"I suppose," Erik says. He's quiet, save for a soft sound that might be a sigh. "Not quite as good though, huh?"

"No," Charles admits. He's exhausted. He can't even imagine getting up and getting dressed and driving all the way over to Erik's but...well. He'd quite like to be with Erik tonight, even if it's only Tuesday and they've both got work to consider.

Erik is still silent and without doing more than skimming the surface of his thoughts, Charles can tell he's struggling to articulate his feelings. Erik's always struggling to articulate his feelings--hell, Erik's frequently struggling to define his feelings.

"It's late," Erik finally says. "But I wish--um. I wish it wasn't so late and I wish I wasn't so tired. I'd come over. I--um."

"Me too," Charles says, taking pity on him. If he closes his eyes, he can almost pretend that Erik is here, that Erik--

The thought assaults him out of nowhere. He freezes, eyes snapping open wide. He couldn't--no. He couldn't. It would be giving too much away. He promised himself a long time ago that he wouldn't let anyone take advantage of his telepathy and the first rule for that was to not let anyone realize that every piece of official documentation of his powers is a lie.

But this is Erik, his brain says traitorously. He can't hide how he feels about Erik, not from himself. If anyone deserves to know--if anyone is going to know about exactly what it is he can do, it's going to be Erik and he might as well start the ball rolling, as it were.

"Erik," he says, "do you--how much do you--" He swallows. "Can I show you something?"

"Yeah," Erik says. "I mean--oh. Oh, you mean--" Telepathically?

Yes, Charles thinks clearly. They haven't done very much of this. Erik is still naturally cautious of telepathy, though he's trying to be more open-minded, and Charles hasn't wanted to push him.

"It's weird," Erik says. "When you talk like that, it's like you're right there, not across town."

"If it's too weird," Charles starts to say, but Erik thinks, No, it's not bad. Just weird. You sound the same way you do when we're together.

I know, Charles thinks. He closes his eyes and he can pretend they really are together, that Erik is right on the other side of the bed. I'm going to--I'm going to do something. Not something bad, just--

He can sense Erik's hesitance, objections that he's not voicing because he doesn't want to hurt Charles' feelings, because he does trust Charles, even if he's not entirely comfortable with what Charles can do.

You know how to put up a shield, right? he asks. Shields mean nothing to someone as powerful as Charles, but he can certainly recognize when one is put up and he's good at pretending. He has to be.

Yes, Erik replies.

If you start to get uncomfortable--if you want me out, just put up a shield. I'll leave.

I trust you, Erik thinks. Go on. Do whatever.

And Erik does trust him. Charles can feel it. Charles can feel everything because he's sliding into Erik's mind, past the surface thoughts and into the depths that make up Erik. It's like stepping into a hot bath after a hard day, emotions and feelings and thoughts and images lapping up against him like warm waves. He must make a noise because he can hear Erik laughing over the phone and feel his mirth.

I thought you said this wasn't phone sex, Erik thinks.

It's not, Charles responds. It's just...I haven't done this in a long time. It's like stretching a muscle I haven't used properly in years.

It's been years. Years and years, because the last person he'd done this with was Emma, whom he hasn't spoken to since college.

God, it feels good. It feels all the better for it being Erik's mind he's inside. Erik's mind is beautiful--sharp and stark and bright. It's like no other mind that he's ever touched, as uniquely multi-faceted as Erik is himself.

It's as gorgeous as Erik, too. Christ, it's gorgeous.

This is...strange, Erik thinks. He's awed and cautious, but intrigued by Charles' presence in his head. But not bad, he adds quickly. He's probably unaware that Charles can feel his intent this way, that Charles knows exactly what he means, maybe for the first time in their relationship. Erik's thoughts are all cautious and fully formed, complete sentences with each word clearly defined. He's a novice at telepathic speech, but he's taking to it quickly and he earnestly wants to do well. Against all the instincts and defenses he's built up over the lonely years since leaving Germany, he's trying to open his mind up to Charles as best he can. That alone means more than Charles can articulate. It's--I like it. I think.

I'm glad, Charles thinks. I'm going to do something else. Don't--freak out. I mean, if you want me to stop, I'll stop, but I swear it's--

No, Erik responds. No, go ahead. Do it.

It's easy to find the sensory perception in Erik's mind, easy to pull and press where he needs to and--

"Fuck!" Erik says. "Fuck, is that--"

"It's me," Charles murmurs. "I mean, it's not, I'm here obviously, but it's me making you--I'm making you feel it." He adjusts the illusion, tapping into Erik's memory to mimic the exact feeling of his skin under Erik's fingers. He doesn't bother to add the visual--Erik's eyes are closed. He focuses on the physical illusion, the feeling that Charles is lying next to him in bed, the impression that they're embracing. Is that okay?

"It's fine," Erik says. "It's..."

Charles feels Erik give in and relax into the illusion that Charles is in bed with him, arms tucked firmly around him.

Charles, this is amazing. You--fuck, you've gotta be, what, at least a seven on the Bernard-Amdahl scale?

Yes, Charles lies. I'm an eight point one. Charles isn't on the Bernard-Amdahl Telepathy Scale. If the scale extended past the initial ten rankings in a manner relative to the existing scale, he'd be around a twelve point five. The highest ranked telepath on file is a nine point two and the man who holds that rank was given it in 1990 after he was released from a government funded lab where he'd been held against his will for fifteen years.

Charles swallows that all down, banishes it from his mind, and focuses on Erik, on how Erik feels, on how delighted Erik is, on the gentle tremors of Erik's mind as his thoughts and feelings and memories and reactions shoot back and forth. Erik is happy and Charles latches onto that happiness.

"This is incredible," Erik says out loud, his body defaulting to its usual methods of communication in the midst of the distraction of something new. "If I'd known you could do this, I might have requested it from the start."

There's a bolt of panic at that, a wave of Erik's fear that he's given away too much, a rush of feelings blurring together, anxiety, nerves, godhecan'tknowthatcan'tsharethatuntilIfigureoutwhatitmeans

Charles pretends he hasn't seen it at all.

I'd be happy to give it, Charles thinks.

And here you were saying we couldn't cuddle over the phone, Erik responds.

Well, not properly, Charles says. I can't trick myself into feeling it. The downside of telepathy--my powers don't work on me.

Oh. I'm sorry. I didn't--

It's fine. Charles suffuses it with as much indifference as he can manage. I'm glad I can do something for you. It's pleasant just being in your head.

It's not the same, though, Erik thinks. Not the same as--it would be better if we were together.

Charles can't argue with that.

They stay that way until Charles starts to feel himself nodding off, sinking into the comforting embrace of Erik's mind. It would do them no good to fall asleep this way, not when they're so far away from each other, not when this kind of contact is still new. He gently starts to extricate himself, feeling cold as he pulls back to his own head.

"I'll come by tomorrow after work," Erik says, voice sleepy and distant over the phone. "You deserve to be held too, you know."

"Go to sleep, darling," Charles says.

"Good night," Erik murmurs.

"Good night."

Charles turns off the phone and puts it on the bedside table, then turns off the lamp.

His bedroom is incredibly lonely now that Erik's gone, already almost asleep on the other side of town, his thoughts loose and drifting, but no longer surrounding Charles on all sides.

He sighs and squeezes his eyes shut. It's ridiculous being lonely when he just got off the phone with his boyfriend, and yet.

He tries to take his own advice and go to sleep, but it's not as restful as he'd like, and when he wakes up, he's still alone.

***

"You're a bit off today," Moira murmurs to Charles at lunch time as he kneels next to Bobby to help him spear the straw into his juice box.

"Tired," Charles lies. "I didn't sleep well." Moira gives him a look over the top of Jean's pigtails, but Charles shakes his head. "I was alone," he says.

He wants to take comfort in the children and he does, a bit. He smiles as he lets them climb all over him and hug him and hold his hand, but he's still missing a different kind of affection. He feels ashamed, almost. He should appreciate that there are six little people who adore him, that he's got Moira to rub his shoulder and send him sympathetic, concerned looks, but none of it is what he really wants right now. It's been a long week and it's only Wednesday. He wants a hug, but even that's not the truth, because the hug he wants is from someone very specific.

The day passes. Charles gets through it with his usual smile and patience. It helps that the sun is out, though the temperature's dropped a bit, and they can let the children outside to burn off their energy. He greets the parents with weary smiles when it's time to clean up and then feels even worse as Moira takes the last of them out to the yard and leaves him alone to finish resetting the room.

Everyone has down days. He knows that. He still feels a bit silly and a lot lonely, though.

He focuses on clean-up, on putting chairs on tables, on putting toys away. He wonders if Erik remembers his promise to visit--they texted back and forth a handful of times throughout the day, but Erik hadn't mentioned it and Charles hadn't wanted to bring it up. They were nearly asleep last night when Erik said he'd come by, and it's likely that Erik completely forgot by morning.

He's pleasantly surprised and more than a little relieved to be proven wrong.

Charles feels Erik before he hears or sees him, his low-level awareness of Erik's mind noting the deviation in Erik's usual routine. He doesn't think much of the fact that Erik's left work early until he realizes Erik's getting progressively closer. He tries not to hope, right up until the moment he hears the jingle bells on the front door.

"Charles?" Erik calls into the daycare, and the smile on Charles' face is automatic, reflexive, unstoppable.

"I'm in here," he says, and Erik glances around the empty playroom before walking over to him. "Moira's out back with Jean and Scott," Charles says. "Katherine called and said she'd be a few minutes late."

"Okay," Erik says. He looks at Charles consideringly for a moment, and before Charles can ask him what's wrong, Erik's hugging him.

But "hug" seems like too simple a word to describe the action, really. He has his arms wrapped around Charles so tightly that Charles wants to crawl inside of him. He's literally lifting Charles off of the ground, and Charles has never noticed how tall Erik is before, not really. Not like he does now, with Erik holding him like he never wants to let go, Charles' toes dangling above the carpet.

Charles hugs him back, of course. He has to, to a lesser extent to keep from falling, but mostly because the affection pouring off of Erik is nearly overwhelming and Charles has been so very starved for this kind of affection today. He holds onto Erik, his own arms desperately tight, his face buried in the crook of Erik's neck. He wraps his legs around Erik's hips to keep them from dangling uselessly and to crawl even closer, as close as he can.

He's never been hugged like this before. He never wants to be hugged any other way.

"Hey," Erik says. "Hi."

"Hi," Charles says. Erik's nose presses against his cheek.

"I just thought--that was nice, last night. But it's not fair to you. It's not fair that you don't get to feel it. You should. I wish you could. I wish it went both ways." He starts and stops as he speaks, not quite comfortable expressing himself, not quite sure what to say. It resonates deep in Charles' chest, every word, every stutter.

He swallows hard against the sudden urge to tell Erik he loves him. He does. He knows he shouldn't, knows it's only been a few weeks, knows he should be more cautious with his heart, but he can't help how he feels. He's been inside Erik's mind and he knows the admission wouldn't be unwelcome, knows that Erik is slowly unraveling the same feelings, pulling them apart and examining them and deciphering what they mean. But he also knows that it's been a long time since Erik has loved anyone else and he absolutely cannot scare Erik away. He can't even risk it, because he doesn't think he could stand it if Erik left.

He swallows the words and he says, "Thank you," instead. "I needed this today. No one's ever--well, of course no one's ever said that before, I've never quite done that to anyone else before."

"Good," Erik says. That means it's ours, he thinks, but it's an absent thought to himself, not something he meant to share, and Charles holds himself back from saying, Yes, yes, ours, it's ours and it will only ever be ours.

He's only been seeing Erik a month. He's just shy of twenty-four. It would be foolish to make such far-reaching declarations now. I never want to be with anyone else will come back to haunt him if Erik ever decides that Charles isn't enough after all.

"Um," Erik says after another moment, "it's not that you're heavy, exactly, but--"

Charles laughs against the side of Erik's throat and takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of Erik's sweat and soap and skin. He unwraps himself from Erik slowly until his feet are back on the ground. Erik steps away just enough to lean over and kiss Charles, the movement casual and familiar and a little bit thrilling because of it. He likes "familiar." It's been a long time since someone was that familiar to Charles.

"I thought I'd come home with you," Erik says. "I thought--I mean, unless you had plans. I know it's Wednesday, but I said it last night and I don't know if you were asleep...." Erik trails off and shrugs and when Charles steps back into his space, his arms come up around him easily.

"Please do," Charles says. "I don't have plans. It would be nice if you were there."

They stay that way until Charles hears the door to the yard swing open, and even then, it's only very reluctantly that he lets go of Erik and straightens up. Moira leads Katherine Summers, Scott, and Jean inside. Her smile is smug.

"I thought that was you," Moira says. "I saw you skulking down the street."

Erik scowls at her. "I don't skulk," he says.

"We've been over this, Moira," Charles says. "He's not a serial killer."

"That you know of," Moira says.

Charles doesn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he turns his attention to Katherine and touches Erik's arm lightly.

"Katherine, this is my boyfriend, Erik," he says. "Erik, this Katherine Summers. She's Scott's mum." Katherine grins wryly and offers Erik her hand. Erik shakes it with a minimum amount of awkward shuffling, and Charles counts that as a win. He kneels down, then, and says, "Scott, Jean, this is my friend Erik." He looks up and adds, "Erik, I'd like you to meet Scott Summers and Jean Grey."

"Hello," Erik says. He hesitates and then holds his hand out to Scott.

Scott, bless him, shakes his hand immediately and says, "Hello, Mr. Erik." Erik is a bit startled by the title, but gives Scott a nervous smile anyway.

You don't spend much time around children, do you? Charles asks him.

What was your first clue? Erik replies, and Charles squeezes his ankle in rebuke.

"Jean?" Charles asks. "Are you going to say hi to Mr. Erik?"

Jean stares up at Erik, her green eyes huge and a cursory sweep of her mind revealing an uncharacteristic shyness. Erik smiles again, but Erik's smiles border on creepy at the best of times and Jean squeaks and huddles behind Katherine's legs.

Erik looks flummoxed.

"It's okay, darling," Charles says, rubbing Jean's back. "There's no need to be shy."

Did I do something? Erik asks. He actually sounds hurt, which Charles absolutely doesn't find endearing. Absolutely. Not at all.

You're a bit scary when you smile with all your teeth, Charles replies. He glances back up at Erik, who wrinkles his nose.

I am not, Erik says. Am I? Huh. That's good to know, actually.

Do not use that on your underlings, Charles says. I won't be responsible.

"Are you two having a conversation we're not privy to?" Moira asks suspiciously, but Erik ignores her and kneels next to Charles. He takes a handful of coins out of his pocket.

"Watch this," he says to Jean, and frowns in concentration as the coins rise and start to melt and twist in mid-air. The molten metal comes back together and forms, slowly, a small metal flower with copper colored petals that are very nearly the same shade as Jean's hair. It hovers for a moment, and then Erik reaches out and plucks it from the air. He holds it out to Jean, whose eyes have gone impossibly wider. "Go ahead," he says. "You can have it."

Jean steps out from behind Katherine and closer to Erik, very carefully taking the flower from Erik and staring at it critically. She looks up from the flower and smiles at Erik, projecting gratitude and a shy joy.

"Use your words, Jean," Charles reminds her.

"Thank you," Jean says, and then wraps her arms around Erik. Erik, startled, hugs her back reflexively. Jean pulls away, grinning madly, and holds the flower up to Katherine and Moira. "Look! Look! Look what Mr. Erik made!"

"That's beautiful, Jean," Katherine says, smiling fondly.

"You're a lucky girl," Moira says, and when Jean turns to show Scott, Moira mouths, 'Serial killer'' at Charles again. Charles rolls his eyes and gets back to his feet, offering a hand to pull Erik up. Erik accepts and doesn't let go once he's standing again.

"Well, I think we're off, if that's okay, Moira," Charles says. He may be looking at her a little pleadingly, based on the way she rolls her eyes, but she waves him towards the door.

"Go on," Moira says. "Have dinner. Be disgustingly obsessed with each other. I'll finish closing up."

"We should get going too," Katherine says. "We've got to get Jean home to her parents and Chris is probably at about wits' end with the baby and the dog. It was nice to meet you, Erik."

"Same here," Erik says, holding up his free hand in a half-wave.

"What do we say to Mr. Erik?" Katherine asks the children.

"Nice to meet you," Scott says. Jean darts forward again, the metal flower still in her hand, and hugs Erik's legs.

"Thank you, Mr. Erik!" she says and kisses his knee before running back to Katherine and taking her hand.

Erik looks slightly dumbstruck as they leave.

"It looks like you've made a friend," Charles says. He squeezes Erik's hand and leans against him, grinning at Erik's confusion.

"Are they all like that?" Erik asks.

"Two year olds? Yes, dear, many of them are," he says, and tugs on Erik's hand. "I have the makings of a stir-fry at home, along with a few of your shirts." He means the implication to be an invitation for Erik to stay the night, but Erik's gaze and mind both go a little fuzzy.

"Are you offering to wear one while you make stir-fry?" Erik asks, twisting just enough that his free hand is resting on Charles' waist. It wasn't his intention, but Charles can work with this.

"I suppose I'd have to get rid of the clothes I'm wearing now," he says, and looks up at Erik from under his lashes. Erik's smile smolders.

"Oh my god, please, go get a room," Moira begs from somewhere behind them.

"Brilliant suggestion," Erik says.

"I'll just go get my bags," Charles says, but he can't quite pull his gaze away from Erik. With Erik's hand in his, he feels better than he's felt all day. Something of it must show on his face, because Erik's eyes go soft and he pulls Charles forward into another hug that's less about a desire to get into the bedroom and more about the affection that's constantly humming in the back of Erik's mind, a quiet counterpoint to Charles' own.

"Go get your stuff," Erik says.

Charles reluctantly breaks away to oblige, but when he returns, Erik holds his hand all the way home.