day ampersand - getting married
This is another cheat for a couple reasons. One, this was mostly already written in emails to pearl_o, I just cleaned it up a bit. Two, it's not actually a wedding, it's a proposal, which is SORT of like getting married. It's part of the cop AU I will probably never finish, where Erik is a cop and Moira is his partner and they're head of the Mutant Crimes division and Charles is a professor and one of the leading experts on the x-gene and also Erik's boyfriend.
Also, in general, I feel like there need to be more stories where Charles does the proposing. JUST PUTTING THAT OUT THERE, INTERNET. IF YOU WANT TO WRITE ME A MILLION STORIES WHERE CHARLES PROPOSES, THAT'S YOUR PREROGATIVE.
***
getting married (~1400)
***
When Erik steps out of the taxi, he knows. It's not that the restaurant has any special meaning for them--he and Charles have had most of their important conversations in hospital rooms and the attic office of the Xavier house. It's a nicer place than they usually bother with, though, and something about the mental tendril that Charles sends out in greeting has just a touch of nervousness.
He bites his lip. He's not sure if it's to keep from smiling or frowning.
Erik gives the maitre'd Charles' name and follows him to a cozy table in the back of the restaurant. Charles is already there and already one drink into the evening. He's tapping his fingers restlessly on the table top, but he smiles when he sees Erik, only a little wild around the edges.
"Hello," he says, almost shy in his delight.
"Hi," Erik says. If he was unsure of Charles' intentions when he arrived, there's no mistaking them now. There's a ring in Charles' pants pocket.
Erik kisses Charles in greeting, strokes his hair back behind his ear, and tries to calm himself enough to sit through dinner without worrying about what Charles may or may not be asking him at the end of it.
Erik's spent a lot of time thinking about marriage. He never used to, but Charles changed many things. He never thought he could love someone enough to stand the thought of spending forever with them--and it would be "forever." Erik doesn't make vows lightly. If he were to get married, it wouldn't be on a whim. It would be serious.
He's serious about Charles.
In the aftermath of the accident, it was Raven who first suggested that Erik move in with Charles. Erik thought the idea was ludicrous. They'd been on one date. Yes, he felt something for Charles, he suspected he was rapidly falling in love with Charles, even, but the idea of moving in with someone so quickly was absurd. In reality, they barely knew each other, even if it felt like they'd been lifelong friends already. But, as she pointed out, he was already coming by every night to make dinner and to check in. He was spending the night more often than not, even if he was just crashing on the couch and not actually in bed with Charles, who was running hot and cold in the face of his paralysis.
He kept his apartment for two months, even as a layer of dust began to gather on his furniture and books. He kept his apartment even as Charles came to accept his presence, to ask every evening, with a kind of hidden, desperate hope, if Erik was planning on staying the night. He gave up the ghost after two months, however--there was no need to keep paying rent on a place he only visited to pick up clean clothes.
He couldn't imagine living without Charles. He can't imagine living without Charles. He's become used to the good morning kiss, to coming downstairs to find his lunch already packed and coffee already brewing. He can't fathom coming home to anyone else--or worse--coming home to an empty house, quiet and cold and silent. He likes having Charles in his personal space and in his mental space. He likes that Charles puts his nose in all of Erik's business unashamedly, not bothering to apologize for skimming his mind to glean the salient details. He doesn't just like those things--he loves them. They annoy the shit out of him and drive him insane, but without them his life would be dull and hollow. He'd miss the way his chest aches at the sight of Charles, who's beautiful and absurd and too smart to be real.
He's spent a lot of time thinking about marriage, since meeting Charles. He's nervous and afraid, but that doesn't mean he's not anxiously awaiting the question.
Dinner is lovely, though more for the conversation and companionship than the food, which Erik barely tastes thanks to a combination of his nerves and the way Charles is beaming at him. They steal bits of each other's dinner and their fingers tangle easily over the tabletop. Everything is easy, really--Erik's smile, his affection, the conversation. He won't go so far as to say that everything in his life with Charles is easy--Charles is stubborn and rich and smart and pompous and has all of the flaws that come along with those things. But Erik is somehow easier. Being himself is easier. Existing is easier.
"I love you," Erik tells him after the waiter places their coffee in front of them. "I worry, sometimes, that I don't tell you that often enough."
"The words don't matter," Charles says, then adds, "I mean, they do, of course. And I appreciate what it takes for you to say them. But I can feel it in your head all the time. I know it's there."
Charles turns his hand where Erik is holding it, stroking the back of it with his thumb. He curls their fingers together and looks at Erik as serious as he ever has, as nervous as he ever has. Erik swallows the lump in his throat. This is it.
"Erik," Charles says, "I know we're joked and we've talked around it and I know we should have an actual conversation--and we will, I swear--but long conversation is not really conducive to a surprise and I want you to have that." He bites his lip and squeezes Erik's hand. "I want you to have everything that makes you happy. I want you to be happy. I want to make you happy, more than I've ever wanted anything." He fumbles in his pocket with his free hand. It's shaking. Both his hands are shaking, and Erik squeezes as tightly as he can manage, his gaze unwavering, as Charles places a small black box on the table. Erik can feel the ring inside of it and he knows he should wait, he knows that Charles hasn't actually asked him anything yet, that he should have more patience, have better control of his nerves, but he spends all day with nerves of steel and the point of being with Charles is that he doesn't have to be that way.
"Yes," he says. "Yes. Charles--of course I'll marry you."
Charles looks dumbfounded and then so delighted that Erik thinks the smile might actually split his face in two.
"Really?" Charles asks.
"Of course, you idiot," Erik says. "Of course I will."
For a moment, Charles doesn't seem to know what to do with himself. Erik makes a note to think back on this moment and enjoy it in the future. For the time being, he's too shocked himself. Charles pulls himself together and reaches across the table, taking Erik's face in between his hands and tipping him forward, pressing their lips together.
Erik tries to remember that they're in public, that they're in public in a city in which Erik is a figure of minor authority. It's hard, though, with Charles' thoughts wrapping so tightly around him, Charles' mouth beneath his own, and all this joy. Erik's life had been far from joyful before he met Charles; now he feels it almost every day. Tenfold in this moment, maybe even more.
"We should go home," Charles says, panting, when they pull apart. He's grinning. His eyes are beautiful. "We should celebrate this properly."
"I agree," Erik murmurs. "Although, I think you're forgetting something." He holds up his left hand and wiggles his fingers. It takes Charles a moment to catch on, and once he does, he fumbles to open the box and remove the ring. Erik could do it with a wave of his hand, but he's a traditionalist at heart and if Charles is going to ask, Charles can damn well put the thing on himself.
"It's not--I spent a lot of time agonizing if you must know," Charles says. "I can't tell you how hard it is to pick out an engagement band for someone with such a control over metal. If you don't like it or you want to alter it or change it or--"
"It's from you," Erik assures him as Charles slides the plain band into place. "It's perfect."
Erik looks at the ring, at the shape of it on his hand, and then feels it out. It's pure--it sings to him high and clear it takes but a moment for him to memorize every inch of it. He reaches out to run his knuckles over the edge of Charles' jaw, both skin on skin and skin on Erik's ring. It's a moment he'd like to remember--this snapshot right now, the look on Charles' face, and this feeling blazing through him that this is right, this is the right decision, there's nowhere else he'd rather be for today and tomorrow and all of the days and weeks and months and years to come.
*
the rest of the days:
1. Holding hands
2. Cuddling somewhere
3. Gaming/watching a movie
4. On a date
5. Kissing
6. Wearing each others’ clothes
7. Shopping
8. Hanging out with friends
9. Making out
10. Eating icecream
11. In a different clothing style
12. During their morning ritual(s)
13. Spooning
14. Doing something together
15. In formal wear
16. Dancing
17. Cooking/baking
18. In battle, side-by-side
19. Arguing
20. Making up afterwards
21. Getting married
22. On one of their birthdays
23. Doing something ridiculous
24. Doing something sweet
25. Doing something hot
Also, in general, I feel like there need to be more stories where Charles does the proposing. JUST PUTTING THAT OUT THERE, INTERNET. IF YOU WANT TO WRITE ME A MILLION STORIES WHERE CHARLES PROPOSES, THAT'S YOUR PREROGATIVE.
***
getting married (~1400)
***
When Erik steps out of the taxi, he knows. It's not that the restaurant has any special meaning for them--he and Charles have had most of their important conversations in hospital rooms and the attic office of the Xavier house. It's a nicer place than they usually bother with, though, and something about the mental tendril that Charles sends out in greeting has just a touch of nervousness.
He bites his lip. He's not sure if it's to keep from smiling or frowning.
Erik gives the maitre'd Charles' name and follows him to a cozy table in the back of the restaurant. Charles is already there and already one drink into the evening. He's tapping his fingers restlessly on the table top, but he smiles when he sees Erik, only a little wild around the edges.
"Hello," he says, almost shy in his delight.
"Hi," Erik says. If he was unsure of Charles' intentions when he arrived, there's no mistaking them now. There's a ring in Charles' pants pocket.
Erik kisses Charles in greeting, strokes his hair back behind his ear, and tries to calm himself enough to sit through dinner without worrying about what Charles may or may not be asking him at the end of it.
Erik's spent a lot of time thinking about marriage. He never used to, but Charles changed many things. He never thought he could love someone enough to stand the thought of spending forever with them--and it would be "forever." Erik doesn't make vows lightly. If he were to get married, it wouldn't be on a whim. It would be serious.
He's serious about Charles.
In the aftermath of the accident, it was Raven who first suggested that Erik move in with Charles. Erik thought the idea was ludicrous. They'd been on one date. Yes, he felt something for Charles, he suspected he was rapidly falling in love with Charles, even, but the idea of moving in with someone so quickly was absurd. In reality, they barely knew each other, even if it felt like they'd been lifelong friends already. But, as she pointed out, he was already coming by every night to make dinner and to check in. He was spending the night more often than not, even if he was just crashing on the couch and not actually in bed with Charles, who was running hot and cold in the face of his paralysis.
He kept his apartment for two months, even as a layer of dust began to gather on his furniture and books. He kept his apartment even as Charles came to accept his presence, to ask every evening, with a kind of hidden, desperate hope, if Erik was planning on staying the night. He gave up the ghost after two months, however--there was no need to keep paying rent on a place he only visited to pick up clean clothes.
He couldn't imagine living without Charles. He can't imagine living without Charles. He's become used to the good morning kiss, to coming downstairs to find his lunch already packed and coffee already brewing. He can't fathom coming home to anyone else--or worse--coming home to an empty house, quiet and cold and silent. He likes having Charles in his personal space and in his mental space. He likes that Charles puts his nose in all of Erik's business unashamedly, not bothering to apologize for skimming his mind to glean the salient details. He doesn't just like those things--he loves them. They annoy the shit out of him and drive him insane, but without them his life would be dull and hollow. He'd miss the way his chest aches at the sight of Charles, who's beautiful and absurd and too smart to be real.
He's spent a lot of time thinking about marriage, since meeting Charles. He's nervous and afraid, but that doesn't mean he's not anxiously awaiting the question.
Dinner is lovely, though more for the conversation and companionship than the food, which Erik barely tastes thanks to a combination of his nerves and the way Charles is beaming at him. They steal bits of each other's dinner and their fingers tangle easily over the tabletop. Everything is easy, really--Erik's smile, his affection, the conversation. He won't go so far as to say that everything in his life with Charles is easy--Charles is stubborn and rich and smart and pompous and has all of the flaws that come along with those things. But Erik is somehow easier. Being himself is easier. Existing is easier.
"I love you," Erik tells him after the waiter places their coffee in front of them. "I worry, sometimes, that I don't tell you that often enough."
"The words don't matter," Charles says, then adds, "I mean, they do, of course. And I appreciate what it takes for you to say them. But I can feel it in your head all the time. I know it's there."
Charles turns his hand where Erik is holding it, stroking the back of it with his thumb. He curls their fingers together and looks at Erik as serious as he ever has, as nervous as he ever has. Erik swallows the lump in his throat. This is it.
"Erik," Charles says, "I know we're joked and we've talked around it and I know we should have an actual conversation--and we will, I swear--but long conversation is not really conducive to a surprise and I want you to have that." He bites his lip and squeezes Erik's hand. "I want you to have everything that makes you happy. I want you to be happy. I want to make you happy, more than I've ever wanted anything." He fumbles in his pocket with his free hand. It's shaking. Both his hands are shaking, and Erik squeezes as tightly as he can manage, his gaze unwavering, as Charles places a small black box on the table. Erik can feel the ring inside of it and he knows he should wait, he knows that Charles hasn't actually asked him anything yet, that he should have more patience, have better control of his nerves, but he spends all day with nerves of steel and the point of being with Charles is that he doesn't have to be that way.
"Yes," he says. "Yes. Charles--of course I'll marry you."
Charles looks dumbfounded and then so delighted that Erik thinks the smile might actually split his face in two.
"Really?" Charles asks.
"Of course, you idiot," Erik says. "Of course I will."
For a moment, Charles doesn't seem to know what to do with himself. Erik makes a note to think back on this moment and enjoy it in the future. For the time being, he's too shocked himself. Charles pulls himself together and reaches across the table, taking Erik's face in between his hands and tipping him forward, pressing their lips together.
Erik tries to remember that they're in public, that they're in public in a city in which Erik is a figure of minor authority. It's hard, though, with Charles' thoughts wrapping so tightly around him, Charles' mouth beneath his own, and all this joy. Erik's life had been far from joyful before he met Charles; now he feels it almost every day. Tenfold in this moment, maybe even more.
"We should go home," Charles says, panting, when they pull apart. He's grinning. His eyes are beautiful. "We should celebrate this properly."
"I agree," Erik murmurs. "Although, I think you're forgetting something." He holds up his left hand and wiggles his fingers. It takes Charles a moment to catch on, and once he does, he fumbles to open the box and remove the ring. Erik could do it with a wave of his hand, but he's a traditionalist at heart and if Charles is going to ask, Charles can damn well put the thing on himself.
"It's not--I spent a lot of time agonizing if you must know," Charles says. "I can't tell you how hard it is to pick out an engagement band for someone with such a control over metal. If you don't like it or you want to alter it or change it or--"
"It's from you," Erik assures him as Charles slides the plain band into place. "It's perfect."
Erik looks at the ring, at the shape of it on his hand, and then feels it out. It's pure--it sings to him high and clear it takes but a moment for him to memorize every inch of it. He reaches out to run his knuckles over the edge of Charles' jaw, both skin on skin and skin on Erik's ring. It's a moment he'd like to remember--this snapshot right now, the look on Charles' face, and this feeling blazing through him that this is right, this is the right decision, there's nowhere else he'd rather be for today and tomorrow and all of the days and weeks and months and years to come.
*
the rest of the days:
1. Holding hands
2. Cuddling somewhere
3. Gaming/watching a movie
4. On a date
5. Kissing
6. Wearing each others’ clothes
7. Shopping
8. Hanging out with friends
9. Making out
10. Eating icecream
11. In a different clothing style
12. During their morning ritual(s)
13. Spooning
14. Doing something together
15. In formal wear
16. Dancing
17. Cooking/baking
18. In battle, side-by-side
19. Arguing
20. Making up afterwards
21. Getting married
22. On one of their birthdays
23. Doing something ridiculous
24. Doing something sweet
25. Doing something hot