New Fic!
Title: Je t'aime (De moi à toi) II I love you (From Me to You)
Fandom: X-Men First Class
Pairing/Characters: Charles Xavier & Raven Darkholme, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, a very brief mention of others.
Rating: R
Content: Slight AU, angst and fluff is there, as well.
Warnings: Recollection of parental abuse.
Summary: Charles never avoids contact that comes from her. Raven never avoids any contact that comes from him, in return. And truth be told, it confuses and leaves Erik perplexed. He is well-aware of sibling affection and how brothers and sisters interact, but their communication, their bond just throws him off-balance.
He preferred to avoid contact. It’s not a revelation, to anyone around him or himself. Maybe it’s not deliberate, not on his own accord, so to say, but it’s the truth. It’s not that he’s repulsed by human contact, he just- cannot find it in himself to want anyone else’s touch.
Except for the fact that his hands ached to reach out and touch that man, with his astonishingly curious hair, waves of dark chocolate going in every direction, both possible and impossible, blue eyes that are, as much as he hates to admit it, stunning beyond any belief and freckles of caramel and gold -he feels hungry just looking at them, it’s ridiculous. To top it all off, he’s intelligent and brilliant and knows how to stand up for himself if needed. How do such people even exist?
And he knows, knows so well, that there would be no objection. He would not be rejected because he had seen and felt his lingering gaze - similar to his own- during the trainings, dinner or simple pass-bys in the corridor, and when their eyes meet, Charles never looks away, his fervent gaze searching for something, waiting, and it is Erik who has to look away.
…
Charles never avoids contact that comes from her. Raven never avoids any contact that comes from him, in return. And truth be told, it confuses and leaves Erik perplexed. He is well-aware of sibling affection and how brothers and sisters interact, but their communication, their bond just throws him off-balance. He’s not even sure that he can possibly, ever, comprehend this. It is something surreal, and odd to the extent of being ridiculously compelling and down right wrong and wonderful. He wonders how the combination of these words is capable of existing together, not to mention describing someone’s relationship, who happens to be not ‘real’ brother and sister.
They are verging on the line of being completely and utterly misunderstood by people around them, but neither of them seems to actually care.
Mmmm, you smell nice, she says, leaning close to wrap her arms around his neck.
Charles remains preoccupied and not even fazed by sudden embrace, wine-red lips curling into a smile that beamed of contentment, his blue eyes not leaving the opened book he held in his hands. It’s just new cologne, Raven. Nothing fancy, he says, and his smile widens as she playfully sniffs somewhere behind his left ear, her hair most likely tickling his face. He flips to the next page.
It suits you, you know that? She closes her eyes for a moment, Is that cinnamon?
He laughs, a perfect, light sound that echoed throughout the study, That is my tea. Something meddling with your olfactics, dear? He placed the book on the desk in front of him, See? He brought the cup close enough to both of their faces, so that she could smell in the aroma and make sure for herself.
Oh, haha.
It was yet another round won by Charles, and with a relatively smug look, he places the cup down and gets back to his reading.
She rubs her nose against the back of his ear, Smart-ass, she says, not even meaning to offend in any way, just leaving a fluttering butterfly kiss on his neck.
And Erik stills and fails to do anything but stare from across the table.
…
I can’t believe this, he says, voice nasal and eyes puffy, and one coughing fit follows another, shattering the delicate silence of the living room. Stupid flu.
He is huddled under a blanket that looked very warm and fluffy, almost absurdly so. He coughs again. Have you seen Raven?
The question asked, but answered with a delay, Erik was not even sure why he is here in the first place. It is a living room and usually ill children stay in bed in their bedrooms, not on couches in the living room. Odd that he thought of Charles as a child, just now. Maybe it’s because he enjoys the idea of getting Charles to bed. Or getting into Charles’ bed would be more like it.
And before he could even open his mouth to say, ‘I have no idea, shouldn’t you just go rest upstairs?’ Raven was back, with some bagels and an enormous looking cup on the tray, the smell of rich, perfectly brewed tea filling the room.
She gives Erik a warm look, one he is not even sure how to interpret. His mind settles on ‘Thank you for staying with him, while I was out’ version. Little did she know, that he would gladly stay by Charles’ side forever.
The plate with bagels, after a close inspection, had an unbelievable amount of powdered sugar on top of the crisp crust. The man is going to get diabetes, is Erik’s vanishing thought, as Raven snags the plate away from his judgmental eye and places it on the coffee table near her brother. Charles smiles in return.
Raven, he calls out to her from the covers, it was a notion to come closer. And she obliged, happily so. She comes close and sits at the foot of the couch and looks straight into his eyes, different shades of blue meeting, melting together into ocean of affection, as he shifts and pulls the fluffy blanket over her back, somewhat covering her frame- their foreheads touching and eyes now closed.
And Erik could not help but feel that it was a sacred moment, and he’s intruding.
…
It is late evening, Raven combing her curls of gold and looking not like Raven at all, Erik does not fail to notice. She is getting ready for a night out with Angel and others, and there is something new about her, something that made her look like a very different person, but he just couldn’t put his finger on what it is exactly.
She cast him a quick glance, their eyes meeting in the mirror for a second, before her attention shifted to the approaching footsteps, ones Erik would recognize anytime, any place and anywhere, it is Charles.
Erik, how nice of you to see her off, my friend, he says and smiles, looking straight into Erik’s eyes; Charles never avoided contact, after all.
Erik says nothing.
You look stunning, He comes closer to his sister, standing right next to her, both of them looking at their mirror images now. That shade of lipstick is perfect, too. Fraise écrasée? Miraculeux.
Merci, she sounds a bit sarcastic -from what Erik had known, Raven never did like French, for whatever reason that may be- wrapped an arm around his waist, and his arm looped around hers, as well. After a short moment of them looking at each other’s reflection and Erik looking at them both, she grabs her purse and heads for the door; the others are waiting for her outside.
She stops though. Taking a couple of steps back, and she’s in front of Charles again. Looking at him and staying silent. The motion- pitch black nails lost in the ocean and more of dark hair; brushing them back, in a gentle, almost tender manner. She leans in; his arm resting on her back, in a remarkably protective way; her heels too high and he is one who looks up to meet her eyes, her face.
Erik freezes. Red on red.
After a short moment they part, and this time she leaves, mouthing a silent, Je t’aime, before closing the door.
Love you, too, he says, words meant for her, but somewhere deep down Erik hopes he would hear them again, sometime and some place where there is only him and Charles, alone. Charles retreats to his room upstairs, failing to notice that some of her lipstick still remains on his lips; that shade almost identical to his own lips of strawberry red.
…
Raven! Erik flinches, that’s Charles. He’s rushing up the stairs, before he even knows what happened.
The door to Charles’ room is flung open and Raven gracefully flutters into the hallway, practically dancing on her way out, in a moment she turns on her heel to meet the not so happy man standing behind her.
Erik remains few feet away, on the stairs, waiting.
My tie, he said, clad in a snow white shirt that’s unbuttoned, revealing too much and not enough skin, all at once. Raven, stop this and give me back my tie.
Raven, stop this and give me back my tie, she mimicked him teasingly, all the while keeping that precious piece of cloth away from Charles’ hands.
Raven-
I’m not Raven, she says, eyes gleaming, as her skin shifted- waves of old becoming new- gold locks now shorter and dark, the oceans’ blue eyes that were his, are now hers as well- Charles is facing Charles.
And one of them blinks and then frowns, lips in a thin line, shoulders tense I told you never to do that.
To do what?
To turn. Turn into me.
She laughs, sounding like Charles, but not quite the same, But isn’t this, the doppelganger comes closer, more fun this way?
Fun? he asks, astonished, How is that in any way f- what- what are you doing? And he’s smiling again, and laughing, not too loud, but enough for Erik to hear; his whole body trembling with waves of amusement, as false Charles tries to pull him close in what seems to be, a romantic hug.
Oh c’mon, beautiful, she says in his voice, her eyebrows dancing up and down, why so uptight? And this time she manages; two perfect men -mirror images- are standing there together, only inches apart, The least you could do is hold me, too. I’m not going to bite.
And Charles did, looping his arms around himself, and the next moment his reflection makes a move, hands lowering all the way down to get a firm hold on his hipbones.
Groovy, she says, digging her fingers a bit deeper, pulling him closer. And Erik’s breathing stops for several seconds at that sight.
Oh no, I do not sound like that at all, he rolls his eyes and drags those identical to his hands up to his waist. C’mon Raven, that’s a bit too kinky, even for you.
For me? Or do you mean for you? She takes a moment to do that ridiculous move as in shampoo commercials, all the dark curls now a mess; a complete opposite of true Charles’ neatly combed ones. Aren’t you the kinkiest of them all, darling?
You know too much. He sighs and tries to look upset, but fails. Way too much about me, I’m afraid.
…
Later that evening, when everything around them stills and has fallen to the charm of slumber, Erik has a cacophony of thoughts raving in his head.
Charles lifts his gaze from the chess board and looks at him; their eyes do not meet.
That is rather loud, don’t you think? he asks, Erik’s sharp as daggers eyes pin him immediately- intrusion made, but not on purpose, Apologies, my friend, I did not mean to eavesdrop.
A moment of tense silence follows, before Erik speaks. And what did you hear, exactly?
Not much. The white bishop stops its movement for a moment, Charles does not want to lose yet another game, and he needs to think this through, before making the right choice. Something about Raven and me and our inappropriate interactions. Inappropriate is intentionally stressed and after of yet another silent moment, their eyes finally meet.
I’m not going to make any excuses, he said, quickly looking over the chess board after Charles had made his move.
I’m not asking you to, Charles shifted his position a bit, legs crossed now, I never expected you to understand, either way.
Erik eyes him at that comment. What are you implying?
I am not implying anything, he takes a sip from his glass, whiskey pleasantly burning down his throat, I’m just saying that you, of all people, would never understand our relationship. With your-
With my what?
Charles is treading on thin ice; that he surely understood. With your, how do I put it…? Aversion to connect with people on emotional and physical level.
Excuse me?
A step too far. The ice is crackling and crumbling beneath his feet, might as well embrace the inventible drowning in freezing waters. I am not going to make any excuses either.
By the way Erik shifts in his seat, jaw a rigid line -barely visible flexing, trying to reel in whatever he is feeling right now- his face all sharp edges, eyes cold and beautiful- Charles smacks himself inwardly for his mere inability to distract himself from that face in favor of far more vital things, he could tell that that is a wrong move to make, indeed.
You seem to be an expert in digging under people’s skin, something else you would like to add?
Before you tear me to pieces?
We have an entirely different understanding of what that means, Charles.
Oh I beg to differ, Erik.
Silence. Devouring silence and it takes all his self-restraint for Charles not to pry into Erik’s head, he’s no longer loud, his thoughts a quiet tune and he cannot pick anything up without intruding. He has learned this lesson more than once- intrusions are never welcome. It’s by far the most important lesson he had ever learned, the roots of that going all the way back to his childhood. Right now was not the most fitting time to reminisce about his childhood, either way. Besides, there is nothing to reminisce about, to begin with, not unless you happen to be a masochistic being with a bouquet of severe mental disorders. Sad, but true.
After a god knows how long staring contest, not a single word’s said. Charles drops his gaze to a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand -or is it half-full?- doesn’t matter, he was in no condition or mood for philosophical deliberation, he sighs and rises to his feet; sternly making himself believe that alcohol has nothing to do with his swaying. Nothing at all.
Where are you going? He hears Erik speak, the same cold voice, as he has heard so many times before in his head -in Erik’s head- in his memories and thoughts. He’s not the sympathetic type, or at least, he pretends not to be. Solely his choice, of course, Charles is never the one to judge. But something in the way he said it, something’s not quite the same. Is it bitterness? Sadness? Or, most likely, it’s Charles imagination playing some sort of drunken trick on him. He believes that. He chooses to believe that.
Where are you going? he says it again, strange- Erik never repeats himself. What a mysterious -even odd to a certain extent- evening they are having, Charles thought, his lips curling into a smile.
And what’s so funny? Softer, much more softer than before. Charles is not accustom to the soft edges of Erik’s voice, let alone his thoughts, and he might just as much fall in love with that voice right here and there. Oh, he wants to laugh at that thought, sometimes he muses at how his brain has no correlation with his heart at some moments -his heart decided to love Erik a long time ago. Stupid heart.
This time Erik did not repeat himself. In fact, he says nothing at all as he stands, placing the whiskey glass on the table, and comes closer. Close enough for Charles, whose head is bowed, to see Erik’s neatly clean -practically shining- shoes.
Groovy shoes you have, my friend.
Erik blinks, Shoes? And smiles, just a little kind of smile, ghosting over his features and Charles cannot stop starring. Is that your way of changing the subject?
Charles could not help it, but to smile right back. Does it work? That earns him another smile, a true one at that and a tiny gesture, Erik showing how much it worked and that gap between the big and the index fingers is rather small. But it’s a start, at least. Well, they are still groovy, regardless.
And you are still avoiding the subject.
Charles furrows his eyebrows at that, And you are still not distracted. Why aren’t you distracted by my humorous remark?
Frankly, I am distracted, but it has nothing to do with that remark.
Charles blinks, his mouth opening for a second and then closing. He blinks again -what does one ask in this kind of situation? An “Am I distracting you?” with a smug smile would be a nice one, but-
I heard that, Erik says, and yes, you’re the distraction.
Charles is not sure how to react, whether to beam from happiness or to be wary- people who are any distraction to Erik never live long enough. While his brain and heart are calculating the possibilities, he opts to say nothing and just smile and look at everywhere, but at Erik.
There, you’re doing it again. Stop it.
Wh-what did I do now? It’s not like Charles was on the defensive, but when someone says things like that while gesturing around and somewhat pointing at your face and blaming you for doing something, he can’t help but to be.
Again! Are you doing that on purpose? Because if you are-
Doing what? He looks straight at Erik now, What is it that I do, that makes you feel so uncomfortable?
Erik wants to tell him. For the first time in god knows how long, he wants to say what’s bothering him. Maybe that’s because he’s with Charles. Maybe that’s because Charles would not judge, he would always listen. Maybe Charles would feel the same, he doesn’t have to, of course, but Erik can’t stop his heart thumping in his chest whenever he thinks of Charles smiling and saying ‘yes’. Since when have all of his thoughts become centered around Charles?
Erik, are you still here? He’s closer now, one hand resting on Erik’s shoulder, retreating immediately when Erik came to. But not fast enough -long fingers entwining around the wrist, all of the caramel-sweet freckles of exposed skin dancing beneath. He squeezes, not hard enough to cause pain, but hard enough to make a point, a point of ‘Charles please be quiet’.
I want, Charles did not breathe for the time when Erik spoke, you-
Me? Charles chokes out. That came out too fast and probably too desperately happy and now it’s Erik’s turn to remain breathless and wide-eyed.
No- it’s not- It’s unnatural for Erik to stutter, but when he did, something in Charles’ heart shatters -‘No, it’s not that.’ Charles smile falters, a barely visible change; he smiles again in a moment, putting up that fake social smile his mother had taught him. A truly valuable lesson, indeed.
So what is it then? he asks, bluntly and Erik is actually taken aback. What is it then? A great question. ‘How about you answer it then-‘ Erik wants to growl that one out, but reels himself in.
He wants to say a lot of things, he had thought them over and over again in his head for the past few weeks, but he chases them away, away into the deepest, darkest corner - they belong there. So he decides to touch the very same topic that led to all this You and Raven-
Oh here we go again. Erik, I am not going to make any excuses; I do not feel sorry for who we are-
Could you just stop interrupting me- His hand releasing the hold on Charles’ wrist and migrating to his shoulder, fingers digging deep; to make a point yet again, -and listen for a second?
Charles says nothing; Erik took that as a cue to continue It’s not like that. I try, I do. But I can’t do it myself. I need your- he contemplates the outcome if he continues, but resumes regardless, -your guidance in this.
Charles follows his advice and remains silent, looking straight at Erik, searching, trying to read the lines of his face, since his mind is off-limits.
You and Raven- would you? I want to understand it- the bond. I want you to make me realize that it’s-
Charles interrupts him, sharp exhale escaping his lips, as if he hadn’t breathed at all My friend, a pause, a bit too long for Erik’s taste, I cannot. Even if I want and most certainly would, I can’t-
Why not? ‘He doesn’t trust you, you fool,’ his inner voice says, spitting poison into his heart.
Erik, would you believe me if I say that, he looks at the soft carpet beneath their feet, eyes wondering from one point to another, that I would gladly, gladly help you understand, but I just can’t. He looks up, Words, Erik. Words are not enough.
Then show me. A second hand reaches up and finds its place on Charles’ left shoulder, as if it belongs there. Erik isn’t sure what his face looks like now -determined or close to pleading- but Charles nods, silently, and smiles before everything had gone dark.
=====================================================================
Erik opens his eyes again to find himself on the floor, sitting up was rather difficult, for whatever reason it may be, but he did manage it. The next thing he sees is the shape of something, something small, roaming around the room, looking for something. And later on he figures out that it is Raven, peeking into the fridge in what seems to be the Xavier Estate kitchen. He tries to talk to her, but words do not leave. It occurs to him that he’s just a spectator in this, he’s here to observe.
A moment shifts, as if Charles fast-forwards it- a little boy in his pajamas, standing in front of the woman, who pretends to be his mother, but the disguise falls and now the boy is facing a frightened blue girl. And they shake hands and both smile and Erik feels the warm feeling in his heart, the feeling of the beginning of something new and wonderful.
And then everything dims, colors slowly fading; the children in front of him still in their movement and the memory shape-shifts, turning into something completely different.
It’s Charles. Older now, a young boy of age fourteen. But something isn’t right, Erik feels it, can sense it under his skin. The vision of this particular memory is vague, blurry from- tears? He can’t ask Charles why he is crying, no matter how much he wants to and then the vision expands, details revealing themselves- blood. There is blood on his young face, blood obscuring the gentle freckles, a hideous looking bruise right below his right eye and the bone-deep pain -Erik can feel it. And sees it now, as the cane of solid wood makes contact with the boy’s ribs, Erik refuses to believe that he had heard the frightening crack of bones. The man wielding the cane looked like a monster, this is the vision through Charles’ eyes and Erik understood why. It pains him, hurts him on more levels than one, to see this and not be able to help, to snatch that cane away from the horrid being and just beat the hell out of him, to make him taste his own medicine, so to say.
And then there’s a cry, heartbreaking and loud- Raven. The motion, the tears, the crying and all Erik could see from this blur was Raven rushing to Charles side, covering Charles and pleading him to wake up and -one, two, three- hits of the cruel cane come crushing down on her back. The man yells something indecipherable, but she does not budge. The pain is devastating, but she does not move. The hits are coming, each worse than the other, and the pain is overwhelming -her white summer dress now drenched in blood -she does not move. Erik could see Charles pleading, begging her to go, to leave him be, or this man will kill her too, but she looks straight into his eyes and says, I would rather die than leave you.
Erik’s heart sinks, stops beating and then shatters.
A new image- a bright, white one. It’s cold, close to freezing actually; he can barely feel his fingertips. There are men and women in pitch black clothes. Not a lot of them, but quite a few. Some of them are crying, some do their best to restrain themselves from doing so. A funeral, Erik deduces once the crosses come into view. Raven and Charles are there. Even older now, both staying completely quiet.
The day shifts to night almost in a moment, there’s a figure standing by the grave now. She’s furious, shouting and cursing, later it occurs to Erik that it’s Raven and underneath the snow and soil, in the wooden coffins her parents lay. Then sound of snow crunching under someone’s feet is barely the only sound, besides the angry words. Charles comes up to her, placing a hand over her shoulder, and listens. To her shouting, muttering, cursing, asking him things he’s not able to answer. Although, they were a poor excuse for parents, she still mourns them and they had no right to leave me alone falls from her lips. Charles looks at her at that, deep and thoughtful, looks at her like she is the most precious person in the whole white world, and with such love that she could practically feel it; the waves of that feeling vibrating through Charles’ entire being, trying to reach her. You have me, he says, you’ll always have me.
And in the dead of the night she breaks down and cries.
=====================================================================
Erik comes back with a jolt that runs through his spine straight to his toes, clutching Charles’ shoulders to keep himself upright. He doesn’t open his eyes, not right away; he’s fighting back the tears that are threatening to escape. He needs a moment; he really isn’t ready for this. Isn’t ready for the pain and hurt and love and affection and devotion in the swirl of memories and emotions. He knows now why Charles says that no words are enough to describe the feelings he and Raven share.
Erik needs time to take a deep breath and it does not concern him as much when he rests his forehead against Charles’, the realization of that kicks in rather late, and only when he could smell the cinnamon so close that he could probably taste it. And it’s not a good thing, by far.
Charles is the one to make a move this time, catching Erik completely off-guard. He presses a firm kiss against Erik’s lips, his own soft and delicious from all that cinnamon he consumes, with a note of whiskey lingering there. But before Erik has a chance to savor the flavor, Charles pulls away.
Erik had no option but to open up his eyes and come back to reality. He has a firm hold of Charles still, and Charles does not seem to mind, he’s preoccupied with looking somewhere around Erik’s collarbone, an indescribable emotion written all over his face. Only when Erik makes a slight movement, does Charles look up.
I’m so sorry, he begins, shaking his head weakly, I shouldn’t have done this- I- It has nothing to do with what you have asked for.
Can you do that again?
Sorry? At that he truly looks perplexed, I’m not sure if I-
Should I plead for another kiss then? Erik never does plead anyone for anything, ever. But at this point he’s willing to, as long as there is a chance to taste Charles again. He does not even wait for an answer; he isn’t a very patient type when it comes down to matters about Charles, in the first place.
This time it’s different- stronger, demanding and something completely new. There is the sense of urgency in the way Erik kisses Charles, his hands abandoning their position, now holding on to Charles’ waist, pulling him closer, as much as it is possible. It’s at that particular moment that Erik decides to share, to open up -fully. All of his thoughts that are locked away- his jealousy, his misunderstanding, his need and want and love. Love is such an unfamiliar feeling, he has long forgotten it, but it comes back now, a devastating tide of everything that is Erik’s being flooding Charles’ consciousness. Charles gasps, stopping the kiss for a brief moment, longer than necessary, for Erik misses his lips already.
Erik… he begins, breathless and overwhelmed -now fully aware, now knowing that part of Erik Lehnsherr that’s strictly off-limits, Why didn’t you tell me?
Tell you what? That I was a fool? he says, looking directly at Charles now, That I was jealous of the love you have for Raven?
Charles eyes flutter closed, for a few moments that seem endless. None of them utters a word. When he looks back at him, there are tears in the corners of those stunning beyond any belief eyes. If only you knew, he says, just above a whisper, his words ghosting over Erik’s lips, If only you knew how much I love you.
Erik refuses to cry, and forcing his heart to stay where it belongs, he says, Then show me.
Charles laughs the kind of laugh that is very close to a sob, and kisses Erik again.
Fandom: X-Men First Class
Pairing/Characters: Charles Xavier & Raven Darkholme, Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, a very brief mention of others.
Rating: R
Content: Slight AU, angst and fluff is there, as well.
Warnings: Recollection of parental abuse.
Summary: Charles never avoids contact that comes from her. Raven never avoids any contact that comes from him, in return. And truth be told, it confuses and leaves Erik perplexed. He is well-aware of sibling affection and how brothers and sisters interact, but their communication, their bond just throws him off-balance.
He preferred to avoid contact. It’s not a revelation, to anyone around him or himself. Maybe it’s not deliberate, not on his own accord, so to say, but it’s the truth. It’s not that he’s repulsed by human contact, he just- cannot find it in himself to want anyone else’s touch.
Except for the fact that his hands ached to reach out and touch that man, with his astonishingly curious hair, waves of dark chocolate going in every direction, both possible and impossible, blue eyes that are, as much as he hates to admit it, stunning beyond any belief and freckles of caramel and gold -he feels hungry just looking at them, it’s ridiculous. To top it all off, he’s intelligent and brilliant and knows how to stand up for himself if needed. How do such people even exist?
And he knows, knows so well, that there would be no objection. He would not be rejected because he had seen and felt his lingering gaze - similar to his own- during the trainings, dinner or simple pass-bys in the corridor, and when their eyes meet, Charles never looks away, his fervent gaze searching for something, waiting, and it is Erik who has to look away.
…
Charles never avoids contact that comes from her. Raven never avoids any contact that comes from him, in return. And truth be told, it confuses and leaves Erik perplexed. He is well-aware of sibling affection and how brothers and sisters interact, but their communication, their bond just throws him off-balance. He’s not even sure that he can possibly, ever, comprehend this. It is something surreal, and odd to the extent of being ridiculously compelling and down right wrong and wonderful. He wonders how the combination of these words is capable of existing together, not to mention describing someone’s relationship, who happens to be not ‘real’ brother and sister.
They are verging on the line of being completely and utterly misunderstood by people around them, but neither of them seems to actually care.
Mmmm, you smell nice, she says, leaning close to wrap her arms around his neck.
Charles remains preoccupied and not even fazed by sudden embrace, wine-red lips curling into a smile that beamed of contentment, his blue eyes not leaving the opened book he held in his hands. It’s just new cologne, Raven. Nothing fancy, he says, and his smile widens as she playfully sniffs somewhere behind his left ear, her hair most likely tickling his face. He flips to the next page.
It suits you, you know that? She closes her eyes for a moment, Is that cinnamon?
He laughs, a perfect, light sound that echoed throughout the study, That is my tea. Something meddling with your olfactics, dear? He placed the book on the desk in front of him, See? He brought the cup close enough to both of their faces, so that she could smell in the aroma and make sure for herself.
Oh, haha.
It was yet another round won by Charles, and with a relatively smug look, he places the cup down and gets back to his reading.
She rubs her nose against the back of his ear, Smart-ass, she says, not even meaning to offend in any way, just leaving a fluttering butterfly kiss on his neck.
And Erik stills and fails to do anything but stare from across the table.
…
I can’t believe this, he says, voice nasal and eyes puffy, and one coughing fit follows another, shattering the delicate silence of the living room. Stupid flu.
He is huddled under a blanket that looked very warm and fluffy, almost absurdly so. He coughs again. Have you seen Raven?
The question asked, but answered with a delay, Erik was not even sure why he is here in the first place. It is a living room and usually ill children stay in bed in their bedrooms, not on couches in the living room. Odd that he thought of Charles as a child, just now. Maybe it’s because he enjoys the idea of getting Charles to bed. Or getting into Charles’ bed would be more like it.
And before he could even open his mouth to say, ‘I have no idea, shouldn’t you just go rest upstairs?’ Raven was back, with some bagels and an enormous looking cup on the tray, the smell of rich, perfectly brewed tea filling the room.
She gives Erik a warm look, one he is not even sure how to interpret. His mind settles on ‘Thank you for staying with him, while I was out’ version. Little did she know, that he would gladly stay by Charles’ side forever.
The plate with bagels, after a close inspection, had an unbelievable amount of powdered sugar on top of the crisp crust. The man is going to get diabetes, is Erik’s vanishing thought, as Raven snags the plate away from his judgmental eye and places it on the coffee table near her brother. Charles smiles in return.
Raven, he calls out to her from the covers, it was a notion to come closer. And she obliged, happily so. She comes close and sits at the foot of the couch and looks straight into his eyes, different shades of blue meeting, melting together into ocean of affection, as he shifts and pulls the fluffy blanket over her back, somewhat covering her frame- their foreheads touching and eyes now closed.
And Erik could not help but feel that it was a sacred moment, and he’s intruding.
…
It is late evening, Raven combing her curls of gold and looking not like Raven at all, Erik does not fail to notice. She is getting ready for a night out with Angel and others, and there is something new about her, something that made her look like a very different person, but he just couldn’t put his finger on what it is exactly.
She cast him a quick glance, their eyes meeting in the mirror for a second, before her attention shifted to the approaching footsteps, ones Erik would recognize anytime, any place and anywhere, it is Charles.
Erik, how nice of you to see her off, my friend, he says and smiles, looking straight into Erik’s eyes; Charles never avoided contact, after all.
Erik says nothing.
You look stunning, He comes closer to his sister, standing right next to her, both of them looking at their mirror images now. That shade of lipstick is perfect, too. Fraise écrasée? Miraculeux.
Merci, she sounds a bit sarcastic -from what Erik had known, Raven never did like French, for whatever reason that may be- wrapped an arm around his waist, and his arm looped around hers, as well. After a short moment of them looking at each other’s reflection and Erik looking at them both, she grabs her purse and heads for the door; the others are waiting for her outside.
She stops though. Taking a couple of steps back, and she’s in front of Charles again. Looking at him and staying silent. The motion- pitch black nails lost in the ocean and more of dark hair; brushing them back, in a gentle, almost tender manner. She leans in; his arm resting on her back, in a remarkably protective way; her heels too high and he is one who looks up to meet her eyes, her face.
Erik freezes. Red on red.
After a short moment they part, and this time she leaves, mouthing a silent, Je t’aime, before closing the door.
Love you, too, he says, words meant for her, but somewhere deep down Erik hopes he would hear them again, sometime and some place where there is only him and Charles, alone. Charles retreats to his room upstairs, failing to notice that some of her lipstick still remains on his lips; that shade almost identical to his own lips of strawberry red.
…
Raven! Erik flinches, that’s Charles. He’s rushing up the stairs, before he even knows what happened.
The door to Charles’ room is flung open and Raven gracefully flutters into the hallway, practically dancing on her way out, in a moment she turns on her heel to meet the not so happy man standing behind her.
Erik remains few feet away, on the stairs, waiting.
My tie, he said, clad in a snow white shirt that’s unbuttoned, revealing too much and not enough skin, all at once. Raven, stop this and give me back my tie.
Raven, stop this and give me back my tie, she mimicked him teasingly, all the while keeping that precious piece of cloth away from Charles’ hands.
Raven-
I’m not Raven, she says, eyes gleaming, as her skin shifted- waves of old becoming new- gold locks now shorter and dark, the oceans’ blue eyes that were his, are now hers as well- Charles is facing Charles.
And one of them blinks and then frowns, lips in a thin line, shoulders tense I told you never to do that.
To do what?
To turn. Turn into me.
She laughs, sounding like Charles, but not quite the same, But isn’t this, the doppelganger comes closer, more fun this way?
Fun? he asks, astonished, How is that in any way f- what- what are you doing? And he’s smiling again, and laughing, not too loud, but enough for Erik to hear; his whole body trembling with waves of amusement, as false Charles tries to pull him close in what seems to be, a romantic hug.
Oh c’mon, beautiful, she says in his voice, her eyebrows dancing up and down, why so uptight? And this time she manages; two perfect men -mirror images- are standing there together, only inches apart, The least you could do is hold me, too. I’m not going to bite.
And Charles did, looping his arms around himself, and the next moment his reflection makes a move, hands lowering all the way down to get a firm hold on his hipbones.
Groovy, she says, digging her fingers a bit deeper, pulling him closer. And Erik’s breathing stops for several seconds at that sight.
Oh no, I do not sound like that at all, he rolls his eyes and drags those identical to his hands up to his waist. C’mon Raven, that’s a bit too kinky, even for you.
For me? Or do you mean for you? She takes a moment to do that ridiculous move as in shampoo commercials, all the dark curls now a mess; a complete opposite of true Charles’ neatly combed ones. Aren’t you the kinkiest of them all, darling?
You know too much. He sighs and tries to look upset, but fails. Way too much about me, I’m afraid.
…
Later that evening, when everything around them stills and has fallen to the charm of slumber, Erik has a cacophony of thoughts raving in his head.
Charles lifts his gaze from the chess board and looks at him; their eyes do not meet.
That is rather loud, don’t you think? he asks, Erik’s sharp as daggers eyes pin him immediately- intrusion made, but not on purpose, Apologies, my friend, I did not mean to eavesdrop.
A moment of tense silence follows, before Erik speaks. And what did you hear, exactly?
Not much. The white bishop stops its movement for a moment, Charles does not want to lose yet another game, and he needs to think this through, before making the right choice. Something about Raven and me and our inappropriate interactions. Inappropriate is intentionally stressed and after of yet another silent moment, their eyes finally meet.
I’m not going to make any excuses, he said, quickly looking over the chess board after Charles had made his move.
I’m not asking you to, Charles shifted his position a bit, legs crossed now, I never expected you to understand, either way.
Erik eyes him at that comment. What are you implying?
I am not implying anything, he takes a sip from his glass, whiskey pleasantly burning down his throat, I’m just saying that you, of all people, would never understand our relationship. With your-
With my what?
Charles is treading on thin ice; that he surely understood. With your, how do I put it…? Aversion to connect with people on emotional and physical level.
Excuse me?
A step too far. The ice is crackling and crumbling beneath his feet, might as well embrace the inventible drowning in freezing waters. I am not going to make any excuses either.
By the way Erik shifts in his seat, jaw a rigid line -barely visible flexing, trying to reel in whatever he is feeling right now- his face all sharp edges, eyes cold and beautiful- Charles smacks himself inwardly for his mere inability to distract himself from that face in favor of far more vital things, he could tell that that is a wrong move to make, indeed.
You seem to be an expert in digging under people’s skin, something else you would like to add?
Before you tear me to pieces?
We have an entirely different understanding of what that means, Charles.
Oh I beg to differ, Erik.
Silence. Devouring silence and it takes all his self-restraint for Charles not to pry into Erik’s head, he’s no longer loud, his thoughts a quiet tune and he cannot pick anything up without intruding. He has learned this lesson more than once- intrusions are never welcome. It’s by far the most important lesson he had ever learned, the roots of that going all the way back to his childhood. Right now was not the most fitting time to reminisce about his childhood, either way. Besides, there is nothing to reminisce about, to begin with, not unless you happen to be a masochistic being with a bouquet of severe mental disorders. Sad, but true.
After a god knows how long staring contest, not a single word’s said. Charles drops his gaze to a half-empty glass of whiskey in his hand -or is it half-full?- doesn’t matter, he was in no condition or mood for philosophical deliberation, he sighs and rises to his feet; sternly making himself believe that alcohol has nothing to do with his swaying. Nothing at all.
Where are you going? He hears Erik speak, the same cold voice, as he has heard so many times before in his head -in Erik’s head- in his memories and thoughts. He’s not the sympathetic type, or at least, he pretends not to be. Solely his choice, of course, Charles is never the one to judge. But something in the way he said it, something’s not quite the same. Is it bitterness? Sadness? Or, most likely, it’s Charles imagination playing some sort of drunken trick on him. He believes that. He chooses to believe that.
Where are you going? he says it again, strange- Erik never repeats himself. What a mysterious -even odd to a certain extent- evening they are having, Charles thought, his lips curling into a smile.
And what’s so funny? Softer, much more softer than before. Charles is not accustom to the soft edges of Erik’s voice, let alone his thoughts, and he might just as much fall in love with that voice right here and there. Oh, he wants to laugh at that thought, sometimes he muses at how his brain has no correlation with his heart at some moments -his heart decided to love Erik a long time ago. Stupid heart.
This time Erik did not repeat himself. In fact, he says nothing at all as he stands, placing the whiskey glass on the table, and comes closer. Close enough for Charles, whose head is bowed, to see Erik’s neatly clean -practically shining- shoes.
Groovy shoes you have, my friend.
Erik blinks, Shoes? And smiles, just a little kind of smile, ghosting over his features and Charles cannot stop starring. Is that your way of changing the subject?
Charles could not help it, but to smile right back. Does it work? That earns him another smile, a true one at that and a tiny gesture, Erik showing how much it worked and that gap between the big and the index fingers is rather small. But it’s a start, at least. Well, they are still groovy, regardless.
And you are still avoiding the subject.
Charles furrows his eyebrows at that, And you are still not distracted. Why aren’t you distracted by my humorous remark?
Frankly, I am distracted, but it has nothing to do with that remark.
Charles blinks, his mouth opening for a second and then closing. He blinks again -what does one ask in this kind of situation? An “Am I distracting you?” with a smug smile would be a nice one, but-
I heard that, Erik says, and yes, you’re the distraction.
Charles is not sure how to react, whether to beam from happiness or to be wary- people who are any distraction to Erik never live long enough. While his brain and heart are calculating the possibilities, he opts to say nothing and just smile and look at everywhere, but at Erik.
There, you’re doing it again. Stop it.
Wh-what did I do now? It’s not like Charles was on the defensive, but when someone says things like that while gesturing around and somewhat pointing at your face and blaming you for doing something, he can’t help but to be.
Again! Are you doing that on purpose? Because if you are-
Doing what? He looks straight at Erik now, What is it that I do, that makes you feel so uncomfortable?
Erik wants to tell him. For the first time in god knows how long, he wants to say what’s bothering him. Maybe that’s because he’s with Charles. Maybe that’s because Charles would not judge, he would always listen. Maybe Charles would feel the same, he doesn’t have to, of course, but Erik can’t stop his heart thumping in his chest whenever he thinks of Charles smiling and saying ‘yes’. Since when have all of his thoughts become centered around Charles?
Erik, are you still here? He’s closer now, one hand resting on Erik’s shoulder, retreating immediately when Erik came to. But not fast enough -long fingers entwining around the wrist, all of the caramel-sweet freckles of exposed skin dancing beneath. He squeezes, not hard enough to cause pain, but hard enough to make a point, a point of ‘Charles please be quiet’.
I want, Charles did not breathe for the time when Erik spoke, you-
Me? Charles chokes out. That came out too fast and probably too desperately happy and now it’s Erik’s turn to remain breathless and wide-eyed.
No- it’s not- It’s unnatural for Erik to stutter, but when he did, something in Charles’ heart shatters -‘No, it’s not that.’ Charles smile falters, a barely visible change; he smiles again in a moment, putting up that fake social smile his mother had taught him. A truly valuable lesson, indeed.
So what is it then? he asks, bluntly and Erik is actually taken aback. What is it then? A great question. ‘How about you answer it then-‘ Erik wants to growl that one out, but reels himself in.
He wants to say a lot of things, he had thought them over and over again in his head for the past few weeks, but he chases them away, away into the deepest, darkest corner - they belong there. So he decides to touch the very same topic that led to all this You and Raven-
Oh here we go again. Erik, I am not going to make any excuses; I do not feel sorry for who we are-
Could you just stop interrupting me- His hand releasing the hold on Charles’ wrist and migrating to his shoulder, fingers digging deep; to make a point yet again, -and listen for a second?
Charles says nothing; Erik took that as a cue to continue It’s not like that. I try, I do. But I can’t do it myself. I need your- he contemplates the outcome if he continues, but resumes regardless, -your guidance in this.
Charles follows his advice and remains silent, looking straight at Erik, searching, trying to read the lines of his face, since his mind is off-limits.
You and Raven- would you? I want to understand it- the bond. I want you to make me realize that it’s-
Charles interrupts him, sharp exhale escaping his lips, as if he hadn’t breathed at all My friend, a pause, a bit too long for Erik’s taste, I cannot. Even if I want and most certainly would, I can’t-
Why not? ‘He doesn’t trust you, you fool,’ his inner voice says, spitting poison into his heart.
Erik, would you believe me if I say that, he looks at the soft carpet beneath their feet, eyes wondering from one point to another, that I would gladly, gladly help you understand, but I just can’t. He looks up, Words, Erik. Words are not enough.
Then show me. A second hand reaches up and finds its place on Charles’ left shoulder, as if it belongs there. Erik isn’t sure what his face looks like now -determined or close to pleading- but Charles nods, silently, and smiles before everything had gone dark.
=====================================================================
Erik opens his eyes again to find himself on the floor, sitting up was rather difficult, for whatever reason it may be, but he did manage it. The next thing he sees is the shape of something, something small, roaming around the room, looking for something. And later on he figures out that it is Raven, peeking into the fridge in what seems to be the Xavier Estate kitchen. He tries to talk to her, but words do not leave. It occurs to him that he’s just a spectator in this, he’s here to observe.
A moment shifts, as if Charles fast-forwards it- a little boy in his pajamas, standing in front of the woman, who pretends to be his mother, but the disguise falls and now the boy is facing a frightened blue girl. And they shake hands and both smile and Erik feels the warm feeling in his heart, the feeling of the beginning of something new and wonderful.
And then everything dims, colors slowly fading; the children in front of him still in their movement and the memory shape-shifts, turning into something completely different.
It’s Charles. Older now, a young boy of age fourteen. But something isn’t right, Erik feels it, can sense it under his skin. The vision of this particular memory is vague, blurry from- tears? He can’t ask Charles why he is crying, no matter how much he wants to and then the vision expands, details revealing themselves- blood. There is blood on his young face, blood obscuring the gentle freckles, a hideous looking bruise right below his right eye and the bone-deep pain -Erik can feel it. And sees it now, as the cane of solid wood makes contact with the boy’s ribs, Erik refuses to believe that he had heard the frightening crack of bones. The man wielding the cane looked like a monster, this is the vision through Charles’ eyes and Erik understood why. It pains him, hurts him on more levels than one, to see this and not be able to help, to snatch that cane away from the horrid being and just beat the hell out of him, to make him taste his own medicine, so to say.
And then there’s a cry, heartbreaking and loud- Raven. The motion, the tears, the crying and all Erik could see from this blur was Raven rushing to Charles side, covering Charles and pleading him to wake up and -one, two, three- hits of the cruel cane come crushing down on her back. The man yells something indecipherable, but she does not budge. The pain is devastating, but she does not move. The hits are coming, each worse than the other, and the pain is overwhelming -her white summer dress now drenched in blood -she does not move. Erik could see Charles pleading, begging her to go, to leave him be, or this man will kill her too, but she looks straight into his eyes and says, I would rather die than leave you.
Erik’s heart sinks, stops beating and then shatters.
A new image- a bright, white one. It’s cold, close to freezing actually; he can barely feel his fingertips. There are men and women in pitch black clothes. Not a lot of them, but quite a few. Some of them are crying, some do their best to restrain themselves from doing so. A funeral, Erik deduces once the crosses come into view. Raven and Charles are there. Even older now, both staying completely quiet.
The day shifts to night almost in a moment, there’s a figure standing by the grave now. She’s furious, shouting and cursing, later it occurs to Erik that it’s Raven and underneath the snow and soil, in the wooden coffins her parents lay. Then sound of snow crunching under someone’s feet is barely the only sound, besides the angry words. Charles comes up to her, placing a hand over her shoulder, and listens. To her shouting, muttering, cursing, asking him things he’s not able to answer. Although, they were a poor excuse for parents, she still mourns them and they had no right to leave me alone falls from her lips. Charles looks at her at that, deep and thoughtful, looks at her like she is the most precious person in the whole white world, and with such love that she could practically feel it; the waves of that feeling vibrating through Charles’ entire being, trying to reach her. You have me, he says, you’ll always have me.
And in the dead of the night she breaks down and cries.
=====================================================================
Erik comes back with a jolt that runs through his spine straight to his toes, clutching Charles’ shoulders to keep himself upright. He doesn’t open his eyes, not right away; he’s fighting back the tears that are threatening to escape. He needs a moment; he really isn’t ready for this. Isn’t ready for the pain and hurt and love and affection and devotion in the swirl of memories and emotions. He knows now why Charles says that no words are enough to describe the feelings he and Raven share.
Erik needs time to take a deep breath and it does not concern him as much when he rests his forehead against Charles’, the realization of that kicks in rather late, and only when he could smell the cinnamon so close that he could probably taste it. And it’s not a good thing, by far.
Charles is the one to make a move this time, catching Erik completely off-guard. He presses a firm kiss against Erik’s lips, his own soft and delicious from all that cinnamon he consumes, with a note of whiskey lingering there. But before Erik has a chance to savor the flavor, Charles pulls away.
Erik had no option but to open up his eyes and come back to reality. He has a firm hold of Charles still, and Charles does not seem to mind, he’s preoccupied with looking somewhere around Erik’s collarbone, an indescribable emotion written all over his face. Only when Erik makes a slight movement, does Charles look up.
I’m so sorry, he begins, shaking his head weakly, I shouldn’t have done this- I- It has nothing to do with what you have asked for.
Can you do that again?
Sorry? At that he truly looks perplexed, I’m not sure if I-
Should I plead for another kiss then? Erik never does plead anyone for anything, ever. But at this point he’s willing to, as long as there is a chance to taste Charles again. He does not even wait for an answer; he isn’t a very patient type when it comes down to matters about Charles, in the first place.
This time it’s different- stronger, demanding and something completely new. There is the sense of urgency in the way Erik kisses Charles, his hands abandoning their position, now holding on to Charles’ waist, pulling him closer, as much as it is possible. It’s at that particular moment that Erik decides to share, to open up -fully. All of his thoughts that are locked away- his jealousy, his misunderstanding, his need and want and love. Love is such an unfamiliar feeling, he has long forgotten it, but it comes back now, a devastating tide of everything that is Erik’s being flooding Charles’ consciousness. Charles gasps, stopping the kiss for a brief moment, longer than necessary, for Erik misses his lips already.
Erik… he begins, breathless and overwhelmed -now fully aware, now knowing that part of Erik Lehnsherr that’s strictly off-limits, Why didn’t you tell me?
Tell you what? That I was a fool? he says, looking directly at Charles now, That I was jealous of the love you have for Raven?
Charles eyes flutter closed, for a few moments that seem endless. None of them utters a word. When he looks back at him, there are tears in the corners of those stunning beyond any belief eyes. If only you knew, he says, just above a whisper, his words ghosting over Erik’s lips, If only you knew how much I love you.
Erik refuses to cry, and forcing his heart to stay where it belongs, he says, Then show me.
Charles laughs the kind of laugh that is very close to a sob, and kisses Erik again.