Intellectual Property 2/?
Title: Intellectual Property
Rating: Teen
Pairings: Erik/Charles, others undecided
Warnings: Too many words
Disclaimer: really?
Summary: Under no circumstances is Charles allowed to paint Mr. Lehnsherr. None. Emma doesn't care how darkly seductive the man is, or how he's the first thing Charles has wanted to paint in months. This is too dangerous to allow.
After a late lunch with her agent Emma dropped by to check on Charles, and found him at his easel with Adele blaring and half an empty bottle of scotch.
This was not a good sign.
Emma immediately removed the bottle to the liquor cabinet and demanded, "Have you eaten?" When Charles didn't even bother trying to protest the abduction of his bottle and just kept painting, Emma paused. The only time Charles was this quiet was when he was actually creating. Emma drifted back to see what Charles was painting on that easel, and she stopped breathing.
The painting was a small draft, focused in on the spiraling galaxy of of someone's eye. An observer who didn't know Charles well would've just see a swirl of greens and white, but Emma caught the horizontal curves of brown on the edges, framing in the iris, and the sharp edge of a nose. Only then did Emma notice the other painting drafts that Charles had already finished and laid out on the table to dry. More eyes, pulled back to show the tension lines around them and the shape of a cheekbone, several of a lean form in a determined yet sensuous movement, and one in particular that Emma had the sinking suspicion was a mouth. They were all done in thick lines and sharp color with no real details, like Charles didn't quite know what he should be thinking when he saw them, but he was sure in what he felt.
"Charles," Emma interrupted, "who is he?"
Charles gave one final flick of his brush, a last fleck of light that softened the eye from hard to merely fierce. "My keeper."
Emma stared at him, her mind slowly clicking to catch up to the impossibility of his infatuation and Charles gave her a pained grin. "Now you understand why I need the scotch."
Emma immediately gathered up every last draft that featured the lawyer and stormed out the door and into the apartment across the hall. Armando was in the kitchen trying to find something to eat before he caved and ordered takeout anyway while Alex and Sean dueled one another on their game system. They all stopped moving at the bang of the door against the wall and Alex scrambled over the back of the couch, panicked that something was wrong with Charles. "Emma? What's up?"
Emma handed over the stack of drafts and declared, "Hide these. No one is allowed to see them," and Alex scrambled to comply. She pulled a card out of her purse and held it out, "Sean, to the store. Food, snacks, drinks, absolutely no liquor." Sean bounded out the door with Alex on his heels, both of them recognizing Emma's emergency tone and not wasting time on questions. Armando waited until they were out of range before he quirked an eyebrow at Emma to ask what was wrong. "His inspiration is unacceptable," was all the answer Emma gave him before turning back to Charles' apartment.
Emma waived Armando over to the couch where Charles was sprawled and proceeded to call/text/e-mail everyone who could make Charles smile and told them to come to his apartment bearing inspiration. Armando crouched down next to the couch and asked, "Why is Emma freaking out?"
Charles huffed out a tired sigh, "I'm fascinated by my lawyer."
Armando rocked back, "Aren't you banned from talking to suits after that whole Lillian debacle?"
"Let me tell you how happy I am that you all refer to my almost marriage as a debacle."
"Well, you told us we couldn't call it a shit show, and that's the only accurate term, so we had to pick something else."
Charles actually smiled at that one, willing to admit that his life decisions as far as Lillian was concerned weren't the best. "She was lovely though."
Armando snorted, "Since Alex isn't here, I feel it's my duty to remind you that unless 'lovely' is your code for 'manipulative bitch', you're remembering wrong."
"It wasn't all bad."
"No, I'm sure the sex was great, but since she wanted you to give up your art and be a trophy husband, I don't think it was a worthy exchange." Charles didn't really have a defense for the whirlwind courtship and almost marriage to Lillian, so he let the argument go with, "What on earth is Emma doing?"
"I think she's calling everyone you like and she doesn't want dead and inviting them over."
Charles sat us, "What? No! I have to paint!"
Emma snapped her phone shut, cutting off whoever was on the other end of the line and interrupted, "We know. but we refuse to let you be wrapped up in your lawyer. Everyone you adore is getting invited over and we'll be the ones to inspire you."
"Honestly Emma, everyone I adore? You intend to invite Raven? And Logan? And Hank?"
Emma plucked Charles' phone off the counter and scrolled through his contacts. Charles lunged off the couch to take it back, but Armando snatched him out of the air mid-lunge and carried him protesting over to the stool. Emma quickly sent out a message and dropped the outdated phone back to the table. "There. Everyone who isn't your mother is invited."
Charles groaned, "I'm going to paint something terrible about you."
Emma sauntered over and dropped one perfect red kiss to Charles' forehead. "So long as its not about your lawyer."
#######
Charles' new drafts were a wash of bright red-orange, warm mud brown, and a honey gold. The figures were indistinct with the occasional jaw line or curve of a back, just enough to tell there were men dancing in the color. Charles pulled back from his paper, stretching out and turned to see his apartment was filled with loud people, a counter full of food, and Sean controlling the music.
Alex popped up out of nowhere and grinned, "You're awake!"
Charles laughed, "I was painting Alex, not sleeping."
"You get all trance-like when you're really concentrating. It's like we're not even here."
"And yet Emma felt the need to throw me a party."
Alex clapped him on the shoulder, "Hey, you're painting something that doesn't make us all nervous. That means it wasn't a bad plan."
Charles had to laugh, warmed by the obvious concern over him. The earliest of Charles' years had been spent nurtured by his father, who, if he was disappointed by his son's decision to focus on the aesthetic beauty of things rather than the beauty of their genetic structure, never let it show. When Brian died, Cain gave Charles tutors to instruct him in the 'proper way of things' and Sharon withered away from the lively woman she had been and became a husk of former beauty. Charles could only imagine what sort of jaded creature he might have become, cut off from the world and from his art if Logan hadn't stepped in. Charles went to school, free to do what made him happy and free from Cain's influence, right up until Cain realized he could capitalize on Charles' excellent reputation.
Cain had been the one to introduce Lillian to Charles at a family party, and that should've been Charles' first warning sign right there. Lillian had been a bright spot in an otherwise horrible summer, all honest and daring when Charles was surrounded by people who were anxiously waiting for him to come of age and gain access to his trust fund. But Lillian was unique, or appeared to be, and they were engaged within a month of their first meeting. Then slowly, ever so slowly, Charles started attending benefits, and parties, spending his time with people more worth his attention rather than with his sketchbook. Charles didn't know up from down by the time the wedding had come around, too swept up in a girl who said all the right things and the sudden rush of affection from his step-father.
Logan, however, had no such problem.
Charles had never wanted to know exactly what Logan did for a living, but apparently his skill set involved snatching Charles from his room in the middle of the night without waking either Charles or anyone else in the house. Logan wasn't one to mince his words, and he left Charles alone with a pot of tea and a stack of paperwork, all e-mails and transcriptions of conversations where Lillian showed her true colors. There had been drinking, and yelling, and some violent painting, but Charles ended the day free of his fiancé and in a new creative revolution.
Emma took care to tell the story of Charles and Lillian to everyone he trusted, re-issuing warnings about the former fiancé every six months when Charles was forced to see her again. (Raven had remained 'friends' with Lillian, and Charles was too good to tell either woman no.) Emma had instilled emergency protocols should Charles ever get caught paying another suit too much attention, though a party to distract him and remind him of what he should be inspired by was new to the list.
Alex tossed an arm around Charles' shoulder, interrupting his reverie and dragged Charles over to the snack table. "Come on, Kitty brought cake!"
#######
Hank was staring at his phone like he didn't quite know what was going on. Considering that Hank was accustomed to fielding angry messages that came for Erik in a strange blend of text and foreign languages, Hank looking confused was something to be noted. "You're furrowed, McCoy. Why are you furrowed?"
"Umm…" Hank stared at his phone, grasping for words, then just handed it over. The message read, "Charles has been mind-frelled by his lawyer. Come to his flat bearing something inspirational to get the damn suit out of his head. -- Emma."
"I don'y think she realized I work for you." Hank muttered, but Erik wasn't paying attention. Erik's smile was absolutely feral, and Hank recognized it the sort of smile Erik pulled when a case suddenly came together. "So, we're going to the party?" Hank asked.
"No, you're going."
"And you're dropping by?"
"No." Erik forwarded the message on from the phone to the firm's private investigator, Azazel. Within two minutes the lanky Russian stepped into Erik's office and asked, "How much do you intend to spend?"
Erik snorted, "Don't insult me."
Hank leaned harder against the wall, fighting the urge to sneak out of the room. Azazel made him nervous; the man could find anything, and he and Erik always seemed to be having conversations on four different levels. (Which was probably the reason Azazel would always take Erik's call before any other lawyer in the firm.) Azazel grinned, "One of Charles' favorite artists has an exhibition going on. If you buy Charles' favorite it will impress his sister with its price, and his friends with your taste."
Erik slouched back in his chair, taking a moment to balance pros and cons before he asked, "And what simple thing would Charles like, with no consideration for how it would look to everyone else?"
Azazel grinned like Erik had passed some test, and Hank realized that Azazel was friends with Charles' previous lawyer, and knowing Charles, Azazel had probably been befriended. "There's a lovely set of horsehair brushes at his favorite shop, but Charles refuses to buy them because the brushes he has work just fine."
Erik gave a sharp nod and sent Hank out with a credit card and orders to buy the brushes, and anything else the owner suggested that Charles had been denying himself. Hank nodded frantically, thrilled to be out of that conversation and actually excited to be attending the party. Azazel ignored Hank and kept staring at Erik while the other man rifled through papers on his desk and got back to work. Erik looked up just long enough to declare, "You can go," to Azazel, but the man kept watching. Erik let him stare for longer than he would let most people get away with before he finally snapped, "What?"
Never one to be rushed, Azazel let the question hang for a moment before he grinned, "You like him."
"Of course I like him. I don't pursue people I hate." That, of course, didn't mean Erik didn't sleep with them.
"No, you like him in the way you like Howlett, or Shore. You find his presence enjoyable rather than annoying."
"So?" Erik snapped.
"You've known him a whole five minutes. Howlett had to punch him before you stopped hating him."
"Charles can't punch me, he'd break his hand." Azazel just grinned, the smile turning lecherous, but before he could comment Erik held up a hand and intervened, "I find him interesting. That is all."
Azazel just smiled and made a mental note to monitor this more closely than Erik's usual trysts. He nodded and promised, "I'll keep tabs on Hank and report Charles' response to your gift."
Erik grunted his thanks and asked, "What are you taking?"
"I am taking a bottle of vodka, and Janos is taking the last review of you that someone put in the bar journal." Erik quirked an eyebrow in surprise, and Azazel smirked, "He thought it might comfort Charles to know that although you're a bastard, you're terribly good at your job."
"Somehow, I imagine that will make things worse."
#######
Charles was in the middle of a draft of his neighbor Marie, all delicious curves done in shades of green and gold, when Raven walked in. Charles failed to quite stifle his sigh. Marie had pulled up a stool next to Charles, quietly eating while Charles painted her, each of them using the other as a shield against dealing with everyone else. (Marie preferred to spend her time alone where she was spared the problems of people, and Charles, as much as he loved them, wasn't quite in the mood for the others.) Marie caught his sigh and looked up to see Raven float in, blonde hair done up in artful curls and her latest beau on her arm looking around the room like he was watching the animals at a zoo.
"I'm surprised she didn't drop by tomorrow to take in the aftermath and scold you for partying when you should be working." Charles snorted, because honestly, it was what he'd expected as well.
"Heaven forbid Raven should ever do what we expect of her."
Marie snorted, "Never what we expect of her, of course. But always what Cain expects."
Charles slouched to the side and dropped his head to Marie's shoulder, watching as Emma all but slithered over to face Raven at the doorway. "It may be what Cain wants, but never imagine that Raven's ever done a thing against her will."
Marie pressed closer to Charles, "I can't imagine how long that's taken you to be able to admit."
"One wretchedly long conversation with Logan, actually."
"Long?"
"Logan is surprisingly amenable to sitting quietly while I yell at him."
Marie laughed quietly while Charles shifted to his feet and wrapped Raven up in a warm hug. "Hello darling, are you well?"
Raven smiled, open and warm and always so taken aback by Charles' gentle affection for her that she couldn't stop herself from being honest for a moment. But by the time Charles released her she had her game face back on. "You saw me just last week, Charles."
"Brother's preogative to fret about you any time you're not in my sight." Charles smiled and stretched out his hand to the man beside his sister and politely introduced himself despite the man's obvious distaste. "Hello, I'm Charles Xavier."
"Yes, I know."
Marie fought the urge to roll her eyes and instead stepped between the man and Charles, saying, "Come with me sugar, and we'll leave the siblings to chat." He tried to object, but under Marie's southern charm was a core of steel, and before he could properly formulate an objection the man was halfway across the room.
Raven smirked, "Never let it be said your friends are subtle."
"Life is too short for subtlety my dear."
Raven was far too refined to snort, but Charles knew she wanted to. "Is that why they're all so frantic to make you create something? An unsubtle gesture to Logan that a keeper is unnecessary?"
"Heaven forbid that Logan accept that I'm a grown man."
"Charles," Raven scolded, "Logan won't believe that until you start behaving like one."
"Raven-" Charles tried to stop her, but she continued, "No Charles, you don't. You act as though money doesn't matter, as though your world is always going to be this little commune, insulated from the concerns of real life."
There were several spiteful things Charles wanted to say to that, but for the sake of peace he kept his mouth shut. "And I suppose you have a plan to involve me in real life?"
Raven knew him well enough to know that Charles had bit his tongue and kept quiet about something, which only harshened her reply, "I think increasing your output is an excellent start."
"Which is, of course, why you're here."
"Precisely." Something flinched inside Charles and he knew there was detail she wasn't telling him, which was the precisely the moment a loud voice declared, "Cher!" from the doorway.
"What is Remy doing here?" Charles hissed at her.
Raven gave him the same look she'd always given him when he was saying something she found ridiculous, "He's here because when Remy is your model you always produce something."
"You mean I always create something after I sleep with him!"
"And what's wrong with that?"
"It's Remy!"
"You're repeating yourself." Raven tossed up a hand, "Remy! Over here!"
Charles hissed something unforgivably crass under his breath, but the damage was already done and Remy was plastered far too close to his side. "Hello, cher."
Charles tried to step back out of Remy's grip, but he just tightened his hold on Charles' waist. "Remy, now is not the time."
Remy nuzzled closer, hot breath caressing Charles' ear while he whispered, "It's always the time, cher. And don't you want to see how Raven's lump of a boyfriend is going to react?"
"You mean the lump of a boyfriend who's chatting up Marie?"
Remy released Charles instantly, twisting around trying to spot Marie. "I'll end him."
"You know, I don't think you can be upset with her when not five seconds ago you were trying to get into my pants."
"Ah cher, don't be hurt. I don't think there's a one of us who wouldn't take you to bed if you offered, me and Marie included." Charles waived the man away, wishing him luck in his endless pursuit of Marie. (He'd apologize to Marie later for foisting Remy off on her.) Charles dropped back to his stool and was torn between being grateful that Emma seemed to have consumed all of Raven's attention, or nervous about the inevitable fight between them to come. To the soundtrack of their snide comments Charles focused on his paper and painted two winged valkyries squaring off, lost in an exploding sea of red against white.
Charles went on like that, quietly painting while his sisters (both literal and metaphorical) squared off against one another until a breathy, "Wow," interrupted him.
Charles looked up, ignoring the shouting match going on on the other side of the room, "Hank! I wasn't expecting you to come."
The young man blushed charmingly and Charles filed away that mental image for later painting. "I got a text from a woman named Emma, and I don't think she intended to invite me, but…"
"Nonsense! It's wonderful!" Charles put a hand to Hank's back to guide him, "Come, let me introduce you to some people."
Hank grinned, "That would be w-wonderful." Hank's gaze caught on one of the other guests, Charles didn't catch who, and he stuttered to a stop. "But I should give you the presents first."
"Honestly, you didn't need to bring me anything." Charles demurred.
"No, the message clearly said that we were supposed to bring you something to inspire you." Charles grinned at Hank's determined tone and replied, "If you'd like."
Hank had a sketchbook and a parcel in his hand, but he froze, unsure about precisely how to proceed. Charles just smiled at him, and Hank stiffened his shoulders and handed over the sketchbook first. "The shopkeeper said it was your favorite kind of book. Oh! And he told me to tell you that he'll be by later, but he's stuck at work for now."
"It's wonderful, Hank. Especially since I'm rapidly running out of paper. But, how did you know which shop I go to?"
Hank blushed and with shaking hands handed over the parcel wrapped in brown paper. "Mr. Lehnsherr is very good at his job."
Charles paused just before touching the package, then very gently took it in his hands and stepped over to a side table clean of the detritus of the party and set it down. Charles stared at the package for a long moment before he ever so gently undid the twine and slid his fingers under the tape. Hank could feel the shift in the room when a quirk of Azazel's grin told all those in the know who Hank was there representing and who the package was from. He vaguely heard Emma hiss something under her breath and Raven retort with something in defense of suits, but Hank was too busy watching Charles stroke the wood of the unwrapped box.
"Azazel, did you…" Charles asked without looking up from the box.
"I told him the shop. He made the choice himself. I told him to buy you a paining."
Charles spared a moment to grin, Azazel had probably told Lehnsherr to buy him a whole gallery. Charles cracked the top of the box and stifled the urge to gasp. It was a perfect collection of brushes, all beautifully made, and the thought of painting with them made Charles' breath catch in his chest.
They were perfect.
Across the room Emma watched Charles' reaction, then leaned against Armando and murmured, "This might be harder to stop than we thought."