FIC: Utopia 13/?
Title: Utopia
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Pairings: Charles/Erik
Genre: drama, angst, au, dystopia, future!fic
Rating: R
Word Count: 5000/?
Warnings: dubcon, emotional manipulation
Summary: Based on this 1stclass_kink prompt (and originally posted there).
"Erik has succeeded in taking over the world, but mutant utopia has yet to materialize. Charles is his reluctant companion."
Beta'd by idioticonion, destroyer of worlds.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23
lxxv.
The day was not yet over, as much as Charles would have liked it to be; the past twenty-four hours had been stressful to say the least and it would have been a relief to see them gone. Erik’s lecture; his subsequent appearance in Charles’ fantasy; the clumsy, stigmatized crutches; and, especially, the potentially fatal blow to his plan with Beast-all of those things had only just happened and now there was another Brotherhood meeting besides.
Charles avoided looking at Erik-had avoided even greeting him in anything more than a perfunctory way when the Brotherhood leader had arrived to escort the geneticist away-and the man seemed to expect no less. Charles found that his anger was still there, simmering away, but worse than that-there was no part of Erik that didn’t remind Charles of his activities the night before.
The dream had been one thing; that had been a matter of his subconscious torturing him, tormenting him with reality-because why else would he imagine himself as Erik and then choose to molest his own dream representation? And the body did strange things at night, everyone knew that-even a perfectly innocent nightmare could turn that direction if the body demanded it; here again, perhaps, emotions followed the sensations of the flesh.
What Charles had done last night, however, had been entirely intentional, no matter now much he would have liked to blame his five years of enforced abstinence-his imagination was vivid enough that he could have pictured anyone he liked, had he wanted. It would certain be convenient if he could hold Erik responsible for the way the light played over the shifting tendons of his hands, or how the line of his hip dipped down from his belt loop and curved in a lean sheath of muscle over the greater trochanter of his femur, but… Well, it would be just as convenient to blame Erik for his ability to manipulate metal.
Would it be different if he were ugly? Charles asked himself, bitterly; but he didn’t know, so he turned his thoughts away from Erik and stared instead down the table, taking stock of those who were present. As always, there was some variation in which Brotherhood members had come, although the geneticist wasn’t sure if that had more to do with which of them happened to be in the area or whether they were specifically invited. Emma Frost was absent again, he saw, but to his surprise Zeus had not been deterred from attending.
Charles met the man’s eyes briefly-he caught a flash of scorn, a mental sneer, and then a blur of electricity as Zeus’ mutation drowned out the crackling of his neurons. The telepath carefully kept his surprise hidden; was that new? Surely he would have noticed if Zeus had done that before. He could have pushed past it, of course, but it was… Disquieting.
Still, it was hardly Charles’ concern if one of Erik’s-Magneto’s-lackeys had learned to shield his mind. Although… The plot to depose Erik seemed ill-fated. Perhaps… Perhaps he should take more of a role in the meetings, in trying to act as the Brotherhood’s conscience; after all, what had he intended to do after usurping Erik-overthrow the entire Brotherhood with Beast? Do battle against their militia with some nebulous anti-extinctionist force suddenly under his command? Restructure an entire world, just as full of destruction and dissent as it had been under Magneto’s rule?
And who would lead that empire-Charles? With all of his experience and knowledge in genetic mutation, surely there could be no one else more qualified. And so presidential, too! Even Franklin D. Roosevelt at least had the bearing of a president, even if he had hid his inability to walk-and who in their right mind would follow a man who had not only surrendered, but whose surrendering had allowed the entire predicament in the first place? Perhaps resisting Erik’s ultimatum four years ago might have gotten all of them killed, Brotherhood and Charles’ students alike, but the rest of the world would likely be unsympathetic.
Charles’ attention drifted over until it alighted on Azazel, present for the first time in at least a month-as far as the telepath knew, of course. The man was casually smoking a cigarette, shocking white against his red fingers and doing nothing to relieve his demonic appearance; with every exhalation of breath the mutant seemed to smolder with what might conceivably have been brimstone, had the cigarette not been so obvious.
Quietly, Charles reached out to touch his mind-and stopped guiltily as Azazel’s pale blue eyes flicked over to meet his, feeling a little like a kid caught reaching into a candy jar. Of course Azazel would be able to recognize the feeling of a telepath in his head; he’d traveled with Emma Frost for so long, after all, and she didn’t exactly seem like the discreet type. He didn’t seem upset, however; instead the other mutant appeared… Curious?
Azazel formed a cautious ? in his mind and Charles pushed it away gently. Once caught, he didn’t want to admit to snooping.
“Five of the nine contracted mutant work teams have refused to proceed with quarrying ore for the new city until we can issue an official statement assuring them of our pro-mutant intentions,” Skink reported, pushing his spectacles up over the scales of his nose with his human hand. “The human work teams responsible for recycling building material from the coastal urban areas, on the other hand, are demanding proof that we aren’t stealing their villages out from under them.”
“They are both valid concerns,” Erik pronounced carefully, “but not strictly contradictory. It is to our kind’s benefit if we allow and encourage the remnants of humanity to join us. Remember that they still outnumber us by at least four to one in most regions, but we don’t need laws in order to be superior. All we need are our genes, and those are hereditary.”
There was an overly loud whisper from further down the table: “Do we really need their cooperation for that?”
Erik remained very quiet for a moment and the mutant who had said it withered under his cold stare. “Does that sound like the kind of world you would like to live in?”
The whisperer bowed his head and mumbled something indistinct.
Glancing around at the rest of his assembled subordinates, Erik continued, “We didn’t strike first because we wanted…” he curled his lip and spat the word, “Women. Our goal isn’t to grind humanity out; it’s to make sure that we’ll be around to take our rightful place in the future. Since what that future entails is up to us… We should be sure not to make it something we’re ashamed of.”
Several of the Brotherhood members nodded cautiously. Nearer, Infrared muttered, “Bit late for that.”
Erik narrowed his eyes at her. “Would you like to make that an official statement?”
“No, sir; just sayin’, sir,” the woman replied, quickly, straightening in her seat.
“Everything discussed in this room is of utmost importance,” Erik told her. “If you do not wish for your off-hand remarks to be taken seriously, don’t make them.”
They went on for a while longer, discussing how best to deal with the possibility of resumed human-mutant conflict and how to mollify both sides’ concerns over each other’s sincerity, and after a while Charles tuned them out. He moved his gaze from face to face to maintain the illusion of listening, and maybe he should have been in truth-this issue was practically Charles’ responsibility, if Erik was to be believed, but…
He could not trust Erik. The man had possessed no reason to believe that Charles would be able to contribute anything useful to the political discussion, but the geneticist had tried and Erik had taken his word as gold and now where were they? The anti-extinctionists and mutant supremacists were at each other’s throats again over what was supposed to be a peace initiative and Charles was half-tempted to tell Erik to discontinue the whole thing and maybe they could investigate space travel and just leave the Earth entirely.
They’re not fighting yet, Charles reminded himself, inhaling slowly through his nose. Hostilities hadn’t resumed yet, and so long as that remained true then he had to believe peace was still possible. Because… Because if he couldn’t remove Erik’s regime, and if he couldn’t help it either, then… What was left?
Keeping Erik’s bed warm, probably, he mused. Perhaps getting out to work on something scientific every now and then; maybe on biological weapons. It was not, to put it lightly, a prospect Charles relished.
Eventually, the meeting ended with no clear resolution and most of the arrayed mutants stood, lingering to speak to each other about the things that were too personal or too tangential to bring up during the actual conference. Charles began, without looking around, to head toward the door, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him and he looked up to see-
Erik. Charles’ mind juttered to a stop; the man’s eyes met his and for a confused moment Charles wondered dazedly whether perhaps there was another mutant just out of sight about to blow them all up or electrocute them or something equally ghastly because it really did seem like something tangible had taken up residence in the space between them; something so real and strong that it had to have an outside source.
Then Erik squeezed his fingers just a little tighter over Charles’ shoulder and he realized that no, this was just how things were now. One glance from Erik and all neural activity stopped, apparently. The spell had been broken, however, so Charles felt free to let his resentment build anew amidst their silence and in the buzzing not-quite-connection where the electrons in Erik’s glove repelled the electrons in Charles’ suit jacket.
“Wait here for a few minutes,” Erik told him, his voice a low rumble. His eyelids creased with warmth and-concern? Yes, the Brotherhood leader knew well enough that there was something wrong. He couldn’t address it in public, though, so Erik simply offered him a tight, awkward smile, and went away to speak privately with Skink.
Charles, for a moment, watched him loom over the patchily scaled mutant, standing close and with his helmeted head tilted elegantly down and to the side to get closer. With a morbid fascination, the telepath allowed his gaze to flow along the fall of Erik’s cape, down to his ankles, the long arch of his boots-
He blinked and looked away, toward nothing in particular, and he made his mind go blank because he didn’t want to think about Erik’s boots, of all things. So instead, Charles let himself lean back, soak into the perceptions of those around him-the little flashes of anger and pride and even, occasionally, camaraderie-and waited.
“I see they are letting you use your powers again,” someone observed, speaking nearby and with a strong Russian accent. Charles was not sure that the speaker was addressing him until he glanced around and saw that Azazel was in the process of slipping into conversation-distance.
“Ah-yes,” Charles replied, somewhat belatedly. He had not thought it was polite to comment on such things; he still wasn’t sure whether it was. “I really only had my telepathy blocked for the one meeting.”
“Of course; I have not been here, since. But I am told you have not abused Magneto’s trust.” Azazel paused, and then added, with a crooked smirk, “As far as we know.”
“No,” the telepath agreed, cautiously. “There are other ways to bring about change without controlling people’s minds.”
“Yes, the city; your… ‘Legacy.’” The teleporter showed a hint of teeth. “I think you are a fool. But… An honest one, perhaps.”
Charles shifted in his chair, frowning. “Is that a compliment?”
“It may be,” Azazel admitted. “And maybe it is good, just to have a new perspective in the Brotherhood, who is not only looking out for himself.”
Quirking his lip, Charles remarked, “I don’t think I’d go so far as to say that I’m in the Brotherhood. After all, I hardly agree with any of your central beliefs.”
Behind him, Azazel’s tail flicked dismissively. “You are here, and you are listened to, and that is enough. And since it does not look like you will be leaving-perhaps we should get to know each other more. Do you have the time for a drink?”
Charles’ mouth went sharply dry with longing. Hard liquor-any liquor-he hadn’t had any since he’d been back in British Columbia, sitting in front of the fire with a stack of scholarly papers laid over his unfeeling legs, and if he truly wasn’t going to be leaving, a stiff drink or three would certainly help. But… “The time isn’t a problem,” he said, and then cleared his throat delicately because he felt suddenly, again, like a child, having to ask permission for the things an adult took for granted.
“I don’t know whether I’m allowed visitors,” Charles confessed.
Azazel arched one of his frayed eyebrows. “That is unfortunate. Perhaps you could find out.” Then he smiled, a little ironically, bowed his head to the geneticist, and-since the walls of the mansion blocked his powers just as surely as they did Charles’-walked away, his tail swaying undeterred by the declined invitation.
lxxvi.
Erik leaned down to kiss Charles’ forehead and paused with the geneticist’s fingertips dimpling the skin of his throat; he pushed against them and they dug in further so he stopped and angled his eyebrows together quizzically, making a grunted noise of inquiry.
“None of that, for now,” Charles said flippantly. “After all, I don’t want to seem like a whore.”
Erik pulled away and straightened, becoming shadowed as he left the narrow range of the single lamp he had flipped on with his powers when they’d entered Charles’ rooms. He appeared chagrined. “I’d wondered whether that would come up.”
Charles raised his eyebrows incredulously. “You’d wondered-? You didn’t think that I’d be bothered by the fact that you’ve been casually indulging in my body and then felt secure enough in your ability to come back for more that you insulted my grudging tolerance for this deal?”
The other man watched him, motionlessly, until he bared his teeth in a wry, silent chuckle and glanced down at Charles’ feet. “I assume an apology would not be appreciated at this point?” Erik asked.
“Are you going to tell me that you won’t apologize because you always mean every word you say?” Charles guessed, tightening his fingers over the hand rests of his chair.
Erik glanced up at him, sidelong. “I admit my mistakes when I make them,” he insisted, frowning when Charles scoffed. “I do. But I… Don’t think you would believe me.”
The telepath considered, briefly. “No, I’m not sure that I would-but you could at least go through the effort of trying.”
Erik’s lips curled into a thin smile; then he clasped his hands together in the small of his back and paced over to the lamp. It lit his skin up gold as he looked down into it and brought a hand forward again to trace along the top of the shade; the accordion fabric made a soft fluttering noise as his gloved finger pulled over the pleats.
He looked over to Charles; his expression was almost welcomingly calm except for the tension beneath his eyes. “You don’t have to be a telepath to know someone, Charles. I might not have shared your dreams-” Charles, recalling what those dreams were, shifted uncomfortably- “or relived your childhood, but I know what drives you. I know the kind of person you want to be, and that makes it easy to hurt you.”
Erik stalked toward the telepath, his hand raised before him; his features were obscured by darkness, the line of his mouth grim and brooding; Charles dropped his palms down to the rims of his wheels only to find them locked.
Charles squeezed his eyes closed as Erik’s glove brushed his cheek, cool against his skin as Erik cradled his face. “I told you the things that I know you’re trying to convince yourself aren’t true. I gave your fears legitimacy by voicing them out loud,” Erik said, and the lull of his words sounded less like an explanation than a recitation. Then, softly, he added, “You should know better than to doubt yourself.”
Opening his eyes again, Charles stared up at him in helpless confusion, eyebrows knitted. “Why?” he asked.
Erik smiled sadly, leaning down as he stroked his thumb over the geneticist’s cheekbone. “Because you’re no less than the ideal you aspire to be.”
Something sharp and jagged caught in Charles’ throat, and he swallowed it with difficulty, dislodging Erik’s hand from his face with a quick shake of his head. As the other man’s fingertips trailed down his neck, Charles clarified, “No, why? Why try to-to hurt me at all? Why try to manipulate me when you probably could have-you might have just asked?”
Erik hooked his fingers around the gold chain and tugged Charles forward until there were mere centimeters between them. “Because it’s too late for asking,” he murmured, studying Charles with dark eyes.
Erik pulled on the chain until his lips brushed Charles’ as he continued, “It was too late after I kissed you the first time.” He huffed a laugh and it puffed over Charles’ skin. “Or maybe not after the first time-but definite, certainly-” he swayed still closer, speaking against Charles now- “after the second.”
He pressed into Charles, open-mouthed, and in that narrow space between them the telepath forgot-cold shoulder, damn it-and he almost thoughtlessly began to respond, parting his lips and tilting his face up except-except that Erik’s knuckles on his throat prevented him from getting any closer and for a moment he hung frozen against Erik’s mouth, breathing together through the places where they didn’t quite touch.
Then Erik inhaled, slowly, and although there was no real pull on Charles he still felt as if something was being drawn out of him, kicking and scratching up from his lungs to be trapped between Erik’s teeth as the other man moved away.
Erik stood, and Charles felt cold.
“It’s not too late,” Charles stated, and it sounded hollow to his ears.
There was a spasm of a smile; it just barely touched the corners of Erik’s eyes. “I told you,” he said, “I don’t have your aspirations of greatness. I’m a monster, I know that, and most of the world would agree with me-we needed a monster, before, to accomplish what had to be done. The future I’m trying to build isn’t meant for my kind, however; it’s meant for people like you.”
“Erik, if you’re a monster, then it’s only because you’re acting like one,” Charles commented.
Erik had been about to turn away, but now he snarled and plunged forward, pinning Charles back into the chair with a hand on the geneticist’s chest; the shock of it drove the air from his lungs and he began to gasp and then-stopped. Erik had pushed his face near again but now his teeth were bared and the skin around his eyes and nose furrowed with anger. “I don’t need your armchair psychology, Charles,” he hissed.
Then he flung himself away and prowled over to the wall, staring at the painting of the mountain lake with his back to Charles. His hands were wound tightly together behind him, and the telepath watched as Erik’s fingers clenched themselves bloodless-but he didn’t know what to say to halt those digits’ strangulation. Oh, my old friend, what an endless mystery you are.
Even as Charles thought it, however, Erik’s shoulders lowered just the littlest bit and, slowly, the flesh of his hands returned to pink, if somewhat more flushed than usual. He turned, slightly, at the waist; looking at Charles from just beyond the edge of his helmet. “You can’t make everything better, Charles. Now. What do you want so that you’ll be happy again?”
A time machine, maybe, the telepath mused. Instead, he reached down to his wheels-found them unlocked once more-and angled himself to face Erik. He raised his chin. “Azazel invited me for a drink. I’d like to take him up on it.”
“Azazel-?” Erik stepped, turning a little more, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward, briefly, before falling. “And what are you going to offer me in return?”
Charles swept his tongue along his bottom lip, then declared, “Nothing.” Erik’s eyes crinkled with amusement and he seemed ready to make a taunting remark, so Charles hurried quickly on, “Nothing except that, if you refuse, you never get to touch me again.”
A predatory smile unfurled across Erik’s face as he stalked forward. Charles held rigid as Erik circled around behind him; didn’t flinch as the man’s hands came down on his shoulders, the edges of his fingers framing Charles’ neck. “That could set a dangerous precedent,” he rumbled into the telepath’s ear.
Erik leaned closer, until his mouth pressed into the hinge of Charles’ jaw and his lips brushed the short hair there. “And anyway, I don’t think you could stop me from breaking that bargain, if I wanted.”
Charles’ head wanted to turn but he stifled the impulse; he had to be still. For this to work, he couldn’t show any fear-he shouldn’t have any fear, because… “You and I both know you wouldn’t,” Charles stated. “You might call yourself a monster, but there are still things you wouldn’t do.”
“Mm?” Erik mused; then one of the hands on Charles’ shoulders moved to his hair and-shortened though it was-tangled into the strands and yanked. The telepath gasped, despite himself-it didn’t hurt much but everything had moved-and the gold chain slipped into his mouth, clinking against his teeth and slithering over his tongue and Charles’ eyes watered as he tried not to struggle, as cold metal caressed his tonsils and he thought, wildly, not down the throat, please, not down the throat, I will vomit all over the place if you do that to me, see if I don’t-
Just as he was thinking of how it would be equally unpleasant to have his sinuses flossed, however, Erik released his hair and stepped back. Charles snapped forward and reached for his mouth but the chain was-was no longer a chain, it was fused somehow, link to link in the grooves of his teeth, and he couldn’t close his jaw-
The telepath glared at Erik, cheeks burning, probing at the rigid gold with his tongue and finger as the other man looked on with a nearly scientific indifference. Finally Charles, rather than face further embarrassment, covered his mouth with his hand and waited for Erik to grow bored with his manipulations.
Instead, Erik stepped over Charles’ legs, crouched above him, and pried at the telepath’s wrist until his hand fell away. Charles twisted his head down to his shoulder and Erik pinned him there with one hand; the other hovered just beyond Charles’ mouth, and the geneticist wrinkled his nose and pulled back his lips to show his displeasure.
Erik ignored his defiance and traced his index finger over the bottom row of Charles’ teeth, starting with the incisors and ending with a molar. Then he twisted his hand around and stroked the pad of his thumb along the slick interior of the geneticist’s cheek, the callus rough against the delicate skin. “You couldn’t stop me,” he whispered, simply.
Charles couldn’t speak, but he shook his head, as much as he was able, and made a sound deep his throat; Erik didn’t let him up but the metal in his mouth shifted, became fluid again, and flowed like a living things as Charles said, thickly, “I wouldn’t have to. You’ve changed, yes, but-ack-” He tipped his face down and tried to push the necklace out; for a brief moment it seemed like it was about to coil around his tongue, until Erik held up his hand and called it to him. It coiled bright and innocent in his glove and he wrapped his fist around it with finality.
The telepath tried to forget that it was there and continued, after licking his lips, “You’ve changed, but you wouldn’t hurt me.” He flashed his teeth in a nearly feral grin. “You’ve threatened me and shoved me around and tried to humiliate me, but you haven’t yet forced me to do anything I didn’t agree to.”
Erik stared down at him, still holding him pinned; expression inscrutable. Charles met his gaze and tried not to blink, because for all that he’d said-it was true, yes, every bit of that was true, but it could change at any second and he’d rather his first foray into sex with men didn’t begin in… Quite that way.
Then Erik shifted and looked almost-confused?-for a moment before his face hardened into something like a proud smile and-thank goodness-he pushed himself off of Charles. Wordlessly, he went to the couch and sank down into it; crossed one long leg over the other, booted foot dangling. He deposited the chain on the endtable.
“So,” Erik began, a black humor suffusing the word. “I believe you wanted to go drinking with Azazel? Before I agree to anything, may I ask why?”
Charles, waiting for his pulse to slow, took in the other man’s relaxed posture, the carefully balanced mixture of both stillness and the potential for motion, and had to admire Erik’s control; the way in which he could so effortlessly move from his explosive rage to this watchful, elegant creature who studied him with glinting eyes. The telepath wondered whether that was something he’d taught Erik.
He cleared his throat. “Well, it’s been a while since I’ve had anything to drink, hasn’t it?”
Erik’s eyebrows twitched upward, then fell, slowly. “I could easily acquire a bottle of scotch for you.”
Charles frowned at him. “That’s not the point. Besides, you wanted me to work with you and your-organization-so if one of your senior officers extends his hospitality, shouldn’t I oblige?”
The other man’s smile was nearly a baring of teeth. “You do know that Azazel is Russian? He invites nearly everyone to drink.”
“That’s a generalization,” Charles protested, with a sniff, “and anyway, maybe the Russians have the right of it. If you find you don’t like the person you meet with, at least you can enjoy your liquor.”
“It’s not as simple as that,” Erik explained, then uncrossed his legs and stood all in one smooth movement. He paused, poised, and continued, “Azazel is one of my officers for a reason; not just because he’s been with me since the start. He could kill you easily.”
“It must be nice, to have so much confidence in your underlings,” the telepath remarked dryly. “Still, you know I’m not without my defenses.”
Erik’s eyes wrinkled with fondness. “Of course.” Then he was moving; pacing again. The image of a cat sprang once more to Charles’ mind, but this cat was caged: a fearsome, majestic beast circling the borders of its narrow concrete world for lack of anything better to do.
“I would rather not take the chance,” Erik determined, at length. “Still, your challenge is… Formidable. I suppose that, to have any chance at all, I will at least have to consider the matter. You can’t be alone with any of my officers.”
“You can’t be there looking over my shoulder, either,” Charles objected.
“Was that part of the agreement?” Erik asked.
“New clause,” the geneticist admitted.
“Very well, then. I’ll arrange some social event so that you can drink with all the evil, human-hating mutants you want,” Erik agreed, with a jauntily ironic tilt to his brow.
“You’re going to throw a party?” Charles inquired, dubiously.
“Not a party. A… Soirée, perhaps,” the other man corrected, stepping closer again. “Will that suit whatever your ulterior motive is?”
“Who said I wasn’t just lonely and thirsty?” the telepath challenged, sweeping back his hair with his fingers. “To that end, however… Yes, I think so.”
Erik’s mouth curled into a smile, and he held out his hand. His voice, when he spoke, had dropped in pitch. “Will I get to touch you again?”
A line of searing ice shot down from the hollow of Charles’ throat through to his navel; split at his groin and tickled the arches of his feet. He held himself still in the wake of it and instead extended his own hand. Erik caught his wrist gently between his fingers and lifted it up while he bent down, angled his head, and settled his lips against the veins beneath Charles’ wrist. The edges of the helmet brushed over his skin and he could feel his heartbeat trapped between them.
Erik’s fingers went loose around his arm and Charles began to lower it-stopped, and, tentatively, touched the pads of his fingers to Erik’s mouth. The man’s eyelids fluttered closed, the lashes long and dark against his pale skin, and Erik made no move to keep him there, only leaned into the contact a little, the stubble of his chin rough on Charles’ hand.
Then Erik opened his eyes and Charles let his arm drop back to the chair. The air felt very close. “After,” he asserted. He sounded hoarse to his own ears. “You can after.”
Erik straightened. “I look forward to it,” he promised, and Charles shivered again. The man looked toward the couch, considering. “I had thought we might play chess tonight. However-” he smirked crookedly- “it seems we already have.”
He leaned down close to Charles’ temple, stopped just short of touching him, and murmured, “Good night, Charles.”
The geneticist watched him leave with a sinking feeling. On top of everything else, Erik was making chess jokes. How was he going to survive?
Chapter 14
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Pairings: Charles/Erik
Genre: drama, angst, au, dystopia, future!fic
Rating: R
Word Count: 5000/?
Warnings: dubcon, emotional manipulation
Summary: Based on this 1stclass_kink prompt (and originally posted there).
"Erik has succeeded in taking over the world, but mutant utopia has yet to materialize. Charles is his reluctant companion."
Beta'd by idioticonion, destroyer of worlds.
Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16 | Chapter 17 | Chapter 18 | Chapter 19 | Chapter 20 | Chapter 21 | Chapter 22 | Chapter 23
lxxv.
The day was not yet over, as much as Charles would have liked it to be; the past twenty-four hours had been stressful to say the least and it would have been a relief to see them gone. Erik’s lecture; his subsequent appearance in Charles’ fantasy; the clumsy, stigmatized crutches; and, especially, the potentially fatal blow to his plan with Beast-all of those things had only just happened and now there was another Brotherhood meeting besides.
Charles avoided looking at Erik-had avoided even greeting him in anything more than a perfunctory way when the Brotherhood leader had arrived to escort the geneticist away-and the man seemed to expect no less. Charles found that his anger was still there, simmering away, but worse than that-there was no part of Erik that didn’t remind Charles of his activities the night before.
The dream had been one thing; that had been a matter of his subconscious torturing him, tormenting him with reality-because why else would he imagine himself as Erik and then choose to molest his own dream representation? And the body did strange things at night, everyone knew that-even a perfectly innocent nightmare could turn that direction if the body demanded it; here again, perhaps, emotions followed the sensations of the flesh.
What Charles had done last night, however, had been entirely intentional, no matter now much he would have liked to blame his five years of enforced abstinence-his imagination was vivid enough that he could have pictured anyone he liked, had he wanted. It would certain be convenient if he could hold Erik responsible for the way the light played over the shifting tendons of his hands, or how the line of his hip dipped down from his belt loop and curved in a lean sheath of muscle over the greater trochanter of his femur, but… Well, it would be just as convenient to blame Erik for his ability to manipulate metal.
Would it be different if he were ugly? Charles asked himself, bitterly; but he didn’t know, so he turned his thoughts away from Erik and stared instead down the table, taking stock of those who were present. As always, there was some variation in which Brotherhood members had come, although the geneticist wasn’t sure if that had more to do with which of them happened to be in the area or whether they were specifically invited. Emma Frost was absent again, he saw, but to his surprise Zeus had not been deterred from attending.
Charles met the man’s eyes briefly-he caught a flash of scorn, a mental sneer, and then a blur of electricity as Zeus’ mutation drowned out the crackling of his neurons. The telepath carefully kept his surprise hidden; was that new? Surely he would have noticed if Zeus had done that before. He could have pushed past it, of course, but it was… Disquieting.
Still, it was hardly Charles’ concern if one of Erik’s-Magneto’s-lackeys had learned to shield his mind. Although… The plot to depose Erik seemed ill-fated. Perhaps… Perhaps he should take more of a role in the meetings, in trying to act as the Brotherhood’s conscience; after all, what had he intended to do after usurping Erik-overthrow the entire Brotherhood with Beast? Do battle against their militia with some nebulous anti-extinctionist force suddenly under his command? Restructure an entire world, just as full of destruction and dissent as it had been under Magneto’s rule?
And who would lead that empire-Charles? With all of his experience and knowledge in genetic mutation, surely there could be no one else more qualified. And so presidential, too! Even Franklin D. Roosevelt at least had the bearing of a president, even if he had hid his inability to walk-and who in their right mind would follow a man who had not only surrendered, but whose surrendering had allowed the entire predicament in the first place? Perhaps resisting Erik’s ultimatum four years ago might have gotten all of them killed, Brotherhood and Charles’ students alike, but the rest of the world would likely be unsympathetic.
Charles’ attention drifted over until it alighted on Azazel, present for the first time in at least a month-as far as the telepath knew, of course. The man was casually smoking a cigarette, shocking white against his red fingers and doing nothing to relieve his demonic appearance; with every exhalation of breath the mutant seemed to smolder with what might conceivably have been brimstone, had the cigarette not been so obvious.
Quietly, Charles reached out to touch his mind-and stopped guiltily as Azazel’s pale blue eyes flicked over to meet his, feeling a little like a kid caught reaching into a candy jar. Of course Azazel would be able to recognize the feeling of a telepath in his head; he’d traveled with Emma Frost for so long, after all, and she didn’t exactly seem like the discreet type. He didn’t seem upset, however; instead the other mutant appeared… Curious?
Azazel formed a cautious ? in his mind and Charles pushed it away gently. Once caught, he didn’t want to admit to snooping.
“Five of the nine contracted mutant work teams have refused to proceed with quarrying ore for the new city until we can issue an official statement assuring them of our pro-mutant intentions,” Skink reported, pushing his spectacles up over the scales of his nose with his human hand. “The human work teams responsible for recycling building material from the coastal urban areas, on the other hand, are demanding proof that we aren’t stealing their villages out from under them.”
“They are both valid concerns,” Erik pronounced carefully, “but not strictly contradictory. It is to our kind’s benefit if we allow and encourage the remnants of humanity to join us. Remember that they still outnumber us by at least four to one in most regions, but we don’t need laws in order to be superior. All we need are our genes, and those are hereditary.”
There was an overly loud whisper from further down the table: “Do we really need their cooperation for that?”
Erik remained very quiet for a moment and the mutant who had said it withered under his cold stare. “Does that sound like the kind of world you would like to live in?”
The whisperer bowed his head and mumbled something indistinct.
Glancing around at the rest of his assembled subordinates, Erik continued, “We didn’t strike first because we wanted…” he curled his lip and spat the word, “Women. Our goal isn’t to grind humanity out; it’s to make sure that we’ll be around to take our rightful place in the future. Since what that future entails is up to us… We should be sure not to make it something we’re ashamed of.”
Several of the Brotherhood members nodded cautiously. Nearer, Infrared muttered, “Bit late for that.”
Erik narrowed his eyes at her. “Would you like to make that an official statement?”
“No, sir; just sayin’, sir,” the woman replied, quickly, straightening in her seat.
“Everything discussed in this room is of utmost importance,” Erik told her. “If you do not wish for your off-hand remarks to be taken seriously, don’t make them.”
They went on for a while longer, discussing how best to deal with the possibility of resumed human-mutant conflict and how to mollify both sides’ concerns over each other’s sincerity, and after a while Charles tuned them out. He moved his gaze from face to face to maintain the illusion of listening, and maybe he should have been in truth-this issue was practically Charles’ responsibility, if Erik was to be believed, but…
He could not trust Erik. The man had possessed no reason to believe that Charles would be able to contribute anything useful to the political discussion, but the geneticist had tried and Erik had taken his word as gold and now where were they? The anti-extinctionists and mutant supremacists were at each other’s throats again over what was supposed to be a peace initiative and Charles was half-tempted to tell Erik to discontinue the whole thing and maybe they could investigate space travel and just leave the Earth entirely.
They’re not fighting yet, Charles reminded himself, inhaling slowly through his nose. Hostilities hadn’t resumed yet, and so long as that remained true then he had to believe peace was still possible. Because… Because if he couldn’t remove Erik’s regime, and if he couldn’t help it either, then… What was left?
Keeping Erik’s bed warm, probably, he mused. Perhaps getting out to work on something scientific every now and then; maybe on biological weapons. It was not, to put it lightly, a prospect Charles relished.
Eventually, the meeting ended with no clear resolution and most of the arrayed mutants stood, lingering to speak to each other about the things that were too personal or too tangential to bring up during the actual conference. Charles began, without looking around, to head toward the door, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him and he looked up to see-
Erik. Charles’ mind juttered to a stop; the man’s eyes met his and for a confused moment Charles wondered dazedly whether perhaps there was another mutant just out of sight about to blow them all up or electrocute them or something equally ghastly because it really did seem like something tangible had taken up residence in the space between them; something so real and strong that it had to have an outside source.
Then Erik squeezed his fingers just a little tighter over Charles’ shoulder and he realized that no, this was just how things were now. One glance from Erik and all neural activity stopped, apparently. The spell had been broken, however, so Charles felt free to let his resentment build anew amidst their silence and in the buzzing not-quite-connection where the electrons in Erik’s glove repelled the electrons in Charles’ suit jacket.
“Wait here for a few minutes,” Erik told him, his voice a low rumble. His eyelids creased with warmth and-concern? Yes, the Brotherhood leader knew well enough that there was something wrong. He couldn’t address it in public, though, so Erik simply offered him a tight, awkward smile, and went away to speak privately with Skink.
Charles, for a moment, watched him loom over the patchily scaled mutant, standing close and with his helmeted head tilted elegantly down and to the side to get closer. With a morbid fascination, the telepath allowed his gaze to flow along the fall of Erik’s cape, down to his ankles, the long arch of his boots-
He blinked and looked away, toward nothing in particular, and he made his mind go blank because he didn’t want to think about Erik’s boots, of all things. So instead, Charles let himself lean back, soak into the perceptions of those around him-the little flashes of anger and pride and even, occasionally, camaraderie-and waited.
“I see they are letting you use your powers again,” someone observed, speaking nearby and with a strong Russian accent. Charles was not sure that the speaker was addressing him until he glanced around and saw that Azazel was in the process of slipping into conversation-distance.
“Ah-yes,” Charles replied, somewhat belatedly. He had not thought it was polite to comment on such things; he still wasn’t sure whether it was. “I really only had my telepathy blocked for the one meeting.”
“Of course; I have not been here, since. But I am told you have not abused Magneto’s trust.” Azazel paused, and then added, with a crooked smirk, “As far as we know.”
“No,” the telepath agreed, cautiously. “There are other ways to bring about change without controlling people’s minds.”
“Yes, the city; your… ‘Legacy.’” The teleporter showed a hint of teeth. “I think you are a fool. But… An honest one, perhaps.”
Charles shifted in his chair, frowning. “Is that a compliment?”
“It may be,” Azazel admitted. “And maybe it is good, just to have a new perspective in the Brotherhood, who is not only looking out for himself.”
Quirking his lip, Charles remarked, “I don’t think I’d go so far as to say that I’m in the Brotherhood. After all, I hardly agree with any of your central beliefs.”
Behind him, Azazel’s tail flicked dismissively. “You are here, and you are listened to, and that is enough. And since it does not look like you will be leaving-perhaps we should get to know each other more. Do you have the time for a drink?”
Charles’ mouth went sharply dry with longing. Hard liquor-any liquor-he hadn’t had any since he’d been back in British Columbia, sitting in front of the fire with a stack of scholarly papers laid over his unfeeling legs, and if he truly wasn’t going to be leaving, a stiff drink or three would certainly help. But… “The time isn’t a problem,” he said, and then cleared his throat delicately because he felt suddenly, again, like a child, having to ask permission for the things an adult took for granted.
“I don’t know whether I’m allowed visitors,” Charles confessed.
Azazel arched one of his frayed eyebrows. “That is unfortunate. Perhaps you could find out.” Then he smiled, a little ironically, bowed his head to the geneticist, and-since the walls of the mansion blocked his powers just as surely as they did Charles’-walked away, his tail swaying undeterred by the declined invitation.
lxxvi.
Erik leaned down to kiss Charles’ forehead and paused with the geneticist’s fingertips dimpling the skin of his throat; he pushed against them and they dug in further so he stopped and angled his eyebrows together quizzically, making a grunted noise of inquiry.
“None of that, for now,” Charles said flippantly. “After all, I don’t want to seem like a whore.”
Erik pulled away and straightened, becoming shadowed as he left the narrow range of the single lamp he had flipped on with his powers when they’d entered Charles’ rooms. He appeared chagrined. “I’d wondered whether that would come up.”
Charles raised his eyebrows incredulously. “You’d wondered-? You didn’t think that I’d be bothered by the fact that you’ve been casually indulging in my body and then felt secure enough in your ability to come back for more that you insulted my grudging tolerance for this deal?”
The other man watched him, motionlessly, until he bared his teeth in a wry, silent chuckle and glanced down at Charles’ feet. “I assume an apology would not be appreciated at this point?” Erik asked.
“Are you going to tell me that you won’t apologize because you always mean every word you say?” Charles guessed, tightening his fingers over the hand rests of his chair.
Erik glanced up at him, sidelong. “I admit my mistakes when I make them,” he insisted, frowning when Charles scoffed. “I do. But I… Don’t think you would believe me.”
The telepath considered, briefly. “No, I’m not sure that I would-but you could at least go through the effort of trying.”
Erik’s lips curled into a thin smile; then he clasped his hands together in the small of his back and paced over to the lamp. It lit his skin up gold as he looked down into it and brought a hand forward again to trace along the top of the shade; the accordion fabric made a soft fluttering noise as his gloved finger pulled over the pleats.
He looked over to Charles; his expression was almost welcomingly calm except for the tension beneath his eyes. “You don’t have to be a telepath to know someone, Charles. I might not have shared your dreams-” Charles, recalling what those dreams were, shifted uncomfortably- “or relived your childhood, but I know what drives you. I know the kind of person you want to be, and that makes it easy to hurt you.”
Erik stalked toward the telepath, his hand raised before him; his features were obscured by darkness, the line of his mouth grim and brooding; Charles dropped his palms down to the rims of his wheels only to find them locked.
Charles squeezed his eyes closed as Erik’s glove brushed his cheek, cool against his skin as Erik cradled his face. “I told you the things that I know you’re trying to convince yourself aren’t true. I gave your fears legitimacy by voicing them out loud,” Erik said, and the lull of his words sounded less like an explanation than a recitation. Then, softly, he added, “You should know better than to doubt yourself.”
Opening his eyes again, Charles stared up at him in helpless confusion, eyebrows knitted. “Why?” he asked.
Erik smiled sadly, leaning down as he stroked his thumb over the geneticist’s cheekbone. “Because you’re no less than the ideal you aspire to be.”
Something sharp and jagged caught in Charles’ throat, and he swallowed it with difficulty, dislodging Erik’s hand from his face with a quick shake of his head. As the other man’s fingertips trailed down his neck, Charles clarified, “No, why? Why try to-to hurt me at all? Why try to manipulate me when you probably could have-you might have just asked?”
Erik hooked his fingers around the gold chain and tugged Charles forward until there were mere centimeters between them. “Because it’s too late for asking,” he murmured, studying Charles with dark eyes.
Erik pulled on the chain until his lips brushed Charles’ as he continued, “It was too late after I kissed you the first time.” He huffed a laugh and it puffed over Charles’ skin. “Or maybe not after the first time-but definite, certainly-” he swayed still closer, speaking against Charles now- “after the second.”
He pressed into Charles, open-mouthed, and in that narrow space between them the telepath forgot-cold shoulder, damn it-and he almost thoughtlessly began to respond, parting his lips and tilting his face up except-except that Erik’s knuckles on his throat prevented him from getting any closer and for a moment he hung frozen against Erik’s mouth, breathing together through the places where they didn’t quite touch.
Then Erik inhaled, slowly, and although there was no real pull on Charles he still felt as if something was being drawn out of him, kicking and scratching up from his lungs to be trapped between Erik’s teeth as the other man moved away.
Erik stood, and Charles felt cold.
“It’s not too late,” Charles stated, and it sounded hollow to his ears.
There was a spasm of a smile; it just barely touched the corners of Erik’s eyes. “I told you,” he said, “I don’t have your aspirations of greatness. I’m a monster, I know that, and most of the world would agree with me-we needed a monster, before, to accomplish what had to be done. The future I’m trying to build isn’t meant for my kind, however; it’s meant for people like you.”
“Erik, if you’re a monster, then it’s only because you’re acting like one,” Charles commented.
Erik had been about to turn away, but now he snarled and plunged forward, pinning Charles back into the chair with a hand on the geneticist’s chest; the shock of it drove the air from his lungs and he began to gasp and then-stopped. Erik had pushed his face near again but now his teeth were bared and the skin around his eyes and nose furrowed with anger. “I don’t need your armchair psychology, Charles,” he hissed.
Then he flung himself away and prowled over to the wall, staring at the painting of the mountain lake with his back to Charles. His hands were wound tightly together behind him, and the telepath watched as Erik’s fingers clenched themselves bloodless-but he didn’t know what to say to halt those digits’ strangulation. Oh, my old friend, what an endless mystery you are.
Even as Charles thought it, however, Erik’s shoulders lowered just the littlest bit and, slowly, the flesh of his hands returned to pink, if somewhat more flushed than usual. He turned, slightly, at the waist; looking at Charles from just beyond the edge of his helmet. “You can’t make everything better, Charles. Now. What do you want so that you’ll be happy again?”
A time machine, maybe, the telepath mused. Instead, he reached down to his wheels-found them unlocked once more-and angled himself to face Erik. He raised his chin. “Azazel invited me for a drink. I’d like to take him up on it.”
“Azazel-?” Erik stepped, turning a little more, and the corner of his mouth twitched upward, briefly, before falling. “And what are you going to offer me in return?”
Charles swept his tongue along his bottom lip, then declared, “Nothing.” Erik’s eyes crinkled with amusement and he seemed ready to make a taunting remark, so Charles hurried quickly on, “Nothing except that, if you refuse, you never get to touch me again.”
A predatory smile unfurled across Erik’s face as he stalked forward. Charles held rigid as Erik circled around behind him; didn’t flinch as the man’s hands came down on his shoulders, the edges of his fingers framing Charles’ neck. “That could set a dangerous precedent,” he rumbled into the telepath’s ear.
Erik leaned closer, until his mouth pressed into the hinge of Charles’ jaw and his lips brushed the short hair there. “And anyway, I don’t think you could stop me from breaking that bargain, if I wanted.”
Charles’ head wanted to turn but he stifled the impulse; he had to be still. For this to work, he couldn’t show any fear-he shouldn’t have any fear, because… “You and I both know you wouldn’t,” Charles stated. “You might call yourself a monster, but there are still things you wouldn’t do.”
“Mm?” Erik mused; then one of the hands on Charles’ shoulders moved to his hair and-shortened though it was-tangled into the strands and yanked. The telepath gasped, despite himself-it didn’t hurt much but everything had moved-and the gold chain slipped into his mouth, clinking against his teeth and slithering over his tongue and Charles’ eyes watered as he tried not to struggle, as cold metal caressed his tonsils and he thought, wildly, not down the throat, please, not down the throat, I will vomit all over the place if you do that to me, see if I don’t-
Just as he was thinking of how it would be equally unpleasant to have his sinuses flossed, however, Erik released his hair and stepped back. Charles snapped forward and reached for his mouth but the chain was-was no longer a chain, it was fused somehow, link to link in the grooves of his teeth, and he couldn’t close his jaw-
The telepath glared at Erik, cheeks burning, probing at the rigid gold with his tongue and finger as the other man looked on with a nearly scientific indifference. Finally Charles, rather than face further embarrassment, covered his mouth with his hand and waited for Erik to grow bored with his manipulations.
Instead, Erik stepped over Charles’ legs, crouched above him, and pried at the telepath’s wrist until his hand fell away. Charles twisted his head down to his shoulder and Erik pinned him there with one hand; the other hovered just beyond Charles’ mouth, and the geneticist wrinkled his nose and pulled back his lips to show his displeasure.
Erik ignored his defiance and traced his index finger over the bottom row of Charles’ teeth, starting with the incisors and ending with a molar. Then he twisted his hand around and stroked the pad of his thumb along the slick interior of the geneticist’s cheek, the callus rough against the delicate skin. “You couldn’t stop me,” he whispered, simply.
Charles couldn’t speak, but he shook his head, as much as he was able, and made a sound deep his throat; Erik didn’t let him up but the metal in his mouth shifted, became fluid again, and flowed like a living things as Charles said, thickly, “I wouldn’t have to. You’ve changed, yes, but-ack-” He tipped his face down and tried to push the necklace out; for a brief moment it seemed like it was about to coil around his tongue, until Erik held up his hand and called it to him. It coiled bright and innocent in his glove and he wrapped his fist around it with finality.
The telepath tried to forget that it was there and continued, after licking his lips, “You’ve changed, but you wouldn’t hurt me.” He flashed his teeth in a nearly feral grin. “You’ve threatened me and shoved me around and tried to humiliate me, but you haven’t yet forced me to do anything I didn’t agree to.”
Erik stared down at him, still holding him pinned; expression inscrutable. Charles met his gaze and tried not to blink, because for all that he’d said-it was true, yes, every bit of that was true, but it could change at any second and he’d rather his first foray into sex with men didn’t begin in… Quite that way.
Then Erik shifted and looked almost-confused?-for a moment before his face hardened into something like a proud smile and-thank goodness-he pushed himself off of Charles. Wordlessly, he went to the couch and sank down into it; crossed one long leg over the other, booted foot dangling. He deposited the chain on the endtable.
“So,” Erik began, a black humor suffusing the word. “I believe you wanted to go drinking with Azazel? Before I agree to anything, may I ask why?”
Charles, waiting for his pulse to slow, took in the other man’s relaxed posture, the carefully balanced mixture of both stillness and the potential for motion, and had to admire Erik’s control; the way in which he could so effortlessly move from his explosive rage to this watchful, elegant creature who studied him with glinting eyes. The telepath wondered whether that was something he’d taught Erik.
He cleared his throat. “Well, it’s been a while since I’ve had anything to drink, hasn’t it?”
Erik’s eyebrows twitched upward, then fell, slowly. “I could easily acquire a bottle of scotch for you.”
Charles frowned at him. “That’s not the point. Besides, you wanted me to work with you and your-organization-so if one of your senior officers extends his hospitality, shouldn’t I oblige?”
The other man’s smile was nearly a baring of teeth. “You do know that Azazel is Russian? He invites nearly everyone to drink.”
“That’s a generalization,” Charles protested, with a sniff, “and anyway, maybe the Russians have the right of it. If you find you don’t like the person you meet with, at least you can enjoy your liquor.”
“It’s not as simple as that,” Erik explained, then uncrossed his legs and stood all in one smooth movement. He paused, poised, and continued, “Azazel is one of my officers for a reason; not just because he’s been with me since the start. He could kill you easily.”
“It must be nice, to have so much confidence in your underlings,” the telepath remarked dryly. “Still, you know I’m not without my defenses.”
Erik’s eyes wrinkled with fondness. “Of course.” Then he was moving; pacing again. The image of a cat sprang once more to Charles’ mind, but this cat was caged: a fearsome, majestic beast circling the borders of its narrow concrete world for lack of anything better to do.
“I would rather not take the chance,” Erik determined, at length. “Still, your challenge is… Formidable. I suppose that, to have any chance at all, I will at least have to consider the matter. You can’t be alone with any of my officers.”
“You can’t be there looking over my shoulder, either,” Charles objected.
“Was that part of the agreement?” Erik asked.
“New clause,” the geneticist admitted.
“Very well, then. I’ll arrange some social event so that you can drink with all the evil, human-hating mutants you want,” Erik agreed, with a jauntily ironic tilt to his brow.
“You’re going to throw a party?” Charles inquired, dubiously.
“Not a party. A… Soirée, perhaps,” the other man corrected, stepping closer again. “Will that suit whatever your ulterior motive is?”
“Who said I wasn’t just lonely and thirsty?” the telepath challenged, sweeping back his hair with his fingers. “To that end, however… Yes, I think so.”
Erik’s mouth curled into a smile, and he held out his hand. His voice, when he spoke, had dropped in pitch. “Will I get to touch you again?”
A line of searing ice shot down from the hollow of Charles’ throat through to his navel; split at his groin and tickled the arches of his feet. He held himself still in the wake of it and instead extended his own hand. Erik caught his wrist gently between his fingers and lifted it up while he bent down, angled his head, and settled his lips against the veins beneath Charles’ wrist. The edges of the helmet brushed over his skin and he could feel his heartbeat trapped between them.
Erik’s fingers went loose around his arm and Charles began to lower it-stopped, and, tentatively, touched the pads of his fingers to Erik’s mouth. The man’s eyelids fluttered closed, the lashes long and dark against his pale skin, and Erik made no move to keep him there, only leaned into the contact a little, the stubble of his chin rough on Charles’ hand.
Then Erik opened his eyes and Charles let his arm drop back to the chair. The air felt very close. “After,” he asserted. He sounded hoarse to his own ears. “You can after.”
Erik straightened. “I look forward to it,” he promised, and Charles shivered again. The man looked toward the couch, considering. “I had thought we might play chess tonight. However-” he smirked crookedly- “it seems we already have.”
He leaned down close to Charles’ temple, stopped just short of touching him, and murmured, “Good night, Charles.”
The geneticist watched him leave with a sinking feeling. On top of everything else, Erik was making chess jokes. How was he going to survive?
Chapter 14