From Rage to Serenity (With All the Points in Between) (3/3 - Serenity)
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Serenity
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They get epically drunk for Christmas, which results in Charles randomly projecting disturbing images of unicorns with flowers for eyes to everyone, and Erik only being able to focus on one thing at a time (which leaves him either mutely enjoying the view of wine-flushed Charles or accidentally attracting cutlery from the kitchen when Charles speaks to him or touches him). It doesn't matter anyway, because nobody remembers it tomorrow. Erik wakes up to the dull pain of his head throbbing against his brain... No wait, that's not right; his brain throbbing against his head and goes through his morning routine automatically, dressing himself and then taking off Charles' pyjama bottoms and is that Erik's tie? (how the hell did that happen?) and putting a comfortable grey tracksuit on him. Charles is awake and he mumbles all through the process, complaining about hangover and alcohol and the sun and a thousand other things that don't really compute to Erik's addled brain; when Erik places him in his chair, Charles projects gratitude at him, a little fuzzy and warm and wobbly, but Erik likes it that way - he doesn't think words would be a good cure for his headache.
Instead he decides to self-medicate with aspirin, coffee and food, so he goes downstairs to the kitchen. The student wing is quiet when he passes it which means that those who didn't go home for the holidays are either sleeping in or in a similar state to his own, in which case he should really admonish them severely for drinking and give them a speech on consequences and decisions and proper behaviour at school, but the idea is gone the very next moment because a) he couldn't string a coherent sentence right now if his life depended on it, b) it would be very hypocritical of him to lecture his students on alcohol when he himself is clearly still under its influence and c) Charles will do a better job of it anyway (when he sobers up).
The kitchen is empty as well, and the lack of dirty dishes tells Erik that he's the first one up. Which is pathetic, since it's almost midday already. He starts the coffee machine and checks the fridge for messages from the kids and the students. There are a few breathtaking Christmas cards made by some of their more art-inclined students pinned to the door with magnets, the list of chores and the class schedule, but no new shopping lists and reminders. He rummages through the fridge to find something to eat, ponders making pancakes, but decides it's too complicated, so he grabs a pre-prepared sandwich, unwraps it and bites a huge chunk off.
“Caveman,” comes Charles' voice from behind him. He jumps and turns around, shocked to find Charles' wheelchair (with him comfortably slumping in it) levitating right behind him.
“What the...?” he croaks. Talking feels like he's banging his head against the wall.
“I should be asking you,” Charles replies with an amused smile, his voice quiet and words a little slurred. “My chair doesn't normally fly on its own.”
Erik reaches out with his power and only then notices that, yeah, he is holding the chair in place. Weird. He didn't notice that. He lowers the chair to the floor steadily. “I had no idea I was dragging you behind me,” he says. He tries to figure out when he decided this would be a good idea, but thinking feels even worse than talking, so he settles for pouring coffee (for Charles too, because Charles sends him an affirmative mind-nudge when he raises an eyebrow).
Charles shakes his head, still smiling, and then opens a drawer, grabs a bottle of aspirin and swallows two of them before throwing them Erik's way. Erik's impressed with himself when he manages a catch.
They drink coffee in companionable silence and Erik eats half of his sandwich before he decides he's had enough and offers it to Charles who accepts with a strange look on his face (one that makes him seem torn between puking his guts out at even the prospect of food and devouring anything edible he finds in the house, which is actually a very strange thing to be feeling, Erik muses, noting that his head doesn't hurt so bad anymore, so thinking is an option again).
“I wish you'd given me time to pick up my presents before you kidnapped me from our room,” Charles comments between bites.
“I'll get them. Where are they?” Erik offers.
“On the top shelf in the closet, all the way in the back,” Charles grins. Erik opens his mouth to ask how, but it seems that they are both sober enough for a constant telepathic connection now, because Charles just shows him an image of Raven with legs of a really tall man putting a box wrapped in light blue paper in their closet. “I was going to ask one of the telekinetic students to do it, see if their coordination is getting better, but Raven was closer,” Charles shrugs, running a hand over Erik's thigh as Erik walks past him on the way upstairs.
There's something metal in the small box that Charles has prepared for him and Erik has to try hard not to sense how it's shaped. It rattles a little as he takes it out and tucks it under his arm; the new placement makes it even harder for him not to feel around the box, but he manages by focusing on locating his jacket from a few days ago and Charles' Christmas gift in its pocket.
It's a pair of rings, one for either of them. Erik is not sure why he made them or even if it's a present he's willing to give, but he's positive it's not the right gift for today. Last Christmas, Charles ordered the all-metal handmade chess set they now use for Erik, and Erik only bought him a pair of fingerless grey gloves (Charles loves them, wears them all the time, but Erik felt like an idiot that morning). After that, Charles suggested introducing a new theme every year, so they decided on small, silly things this Christmas. Erik wanted something he could put on his desk in his classroom (with the students still there) and Charles asked for something he could show off. And while the ring meets the criterion, Erik doesn't want it to be a silly thing.
He opens the velvet-wrapped box and stares at the identical pair of metal bands etched with an intricate pattern of vines. He made Charles' by reshaping the Nazi coin he's had since he was just a kid; his is from the bullet he took out of Charles' back. He doesn't know why he needed to take those two things in particular, maybe he wanted to make them into something better, reshape them, change them, like Charles did to him, or maybe he wanted a reminder of what they've been through. Whatever the reason, Erik wants them to mean something. He doesn't know how to offer this to Charles, what to say or even what he wants Charles to think of this, so he closes the box and hides it on his part of the bookshelf, behind some old notebooks. They'll wait for some more opportune time.
He takes Charles' present and puts it under the “teachers' tree”; there's a package labelled with Alex in Angel's tiny handwriting and a box that says Raven in Hank's neat script and a bag that has Sean spelled out in glitter (the letters look like Raven's). Erik is glad the kids let Charles and him off the hook for the secret Santa - the glittery letters stare at him ominously as he sets the gift he's carrying under the tree. The floor around the “students' tree” across the room is littered with gifts of various sizes and shapes marked with colourful post-its.
“Tell me you didn't cheat,” Charles teases him, wheeling into the living room. Erik has the urge to stick his tongue out like a petulant child. Charles laughs. “And where is my present?” he asks, peeking around Erik to see the tree.
Erik makes a split-second decision, walks over to Charles, bends and sucks a hickey into his neck, so angry and large that nobody can miss it. Charles' initial giggle (Erik decides to blame the residual alcohol in his blood) turns into a long moan and by the time Erik's done, Charles is clawing at his back. “There you go, something people will see and know it's from me.”
Charles' entertainment shines through his eyes and Erik's mind alike. “Creative,” he says, before pulling Erik in for another kiss.
(It turns out that Sean's gift is actually not nightmares for the rest of his life - it's a diving suit and scuba lessons. And earplugs for his students. Sean loves it. Erik opens his gift last, savouring the anticipation and the hum of metal calling to him from the package. Charles is grinning at him as he unwraps and then opens the box. The tiny bits of metal inside may look like leftovers from somebody's totalled car to everyone else, but Erik can easily tell that when assembled properly they'll form a miniature of a satellite dish. Charles asks him if he likes it, as if it's not already crystal clear; not trusting his voice, Erik leans over the armrest of the couch and kisses Charles like his life depends on it. Raven makes a disgusted squeak, Hank coughs uncomfortably and Alex contains his reaction, but Angel and Sean cheer them on.)
*
The first actually warm day of spring happens to be a Wednesday, and just when everyone gave up on doing anything productive in school and chose to gaze longingly out of the window instead, Charles declared a day off and let everyone out to drink in the sunlight and warmth. The students are already scattered all over the considerable amount of the estate when Charles calls Erik to join him for a walk. Erik gladly stops grading the test from last week (Charles can be very distracting when he puts his mind to it) and thuds down the stairs to join Charles. They don't say anything, Erik only projecting a pulse of contentment and Charles responding with a series of images of his desired route and the feeling of childlike giddiness over the good weather.
They head for a little hilltop at the very edge of the forest that seems to be one of Charles' favourite places around the property. Sean and Angel are keeping an eye on some of their flying students; Erik communicates an image of himself and Charles floating around in mid-air, which Charles find exceptionally humorous for some reason. Charles shares his amusement at the general sense of excitement at a free day and a quizzical musing over whether the students really hate their school that much and why. Erik replies with an assurance that they're just being students. All the way to the hill their whole communication consists mainly of shared images and emotions (and Charles occasionally offering some gossip in the form of second-hand projecting of someone's nervous butterflies or gleeful smiles caused by a specific boy or girl reacting or not to a certain prodding question).
When they reach the bottom of the hill, Charles grabs Erik's wrist. “I... have a favour to ask of you, my friend,” he says; Erik can feel that he's a little nervous, but determined to see this through. It's been quite a while since Charles has been anxious around him about asking for something and Erik half-heartedly wonders if he's going to have to kill somebody or something equally tedious. “Oh, no, nothing like that.” Charles replies to his thoughts with a chuckle, “but it is rather... unorthodox.” This doesn't really comfort Erik (he'd have no qualm with killing, or anything else destructive for that matter, for Charles), because he's now not sure Charles will even ask for something plausible and doable. “Stop thinking about killing people,” Charles admonishes through a shaky laugh, “it's rather unsettling.” He squeezes his hands into fists, as if physically gathering his courage, then relaxes, reaches out and runs a hand over Erik's thigh. His eyes follow the movement of his hand as he quickly blurts, “I want to run. I want you to run because I'm making you. And I want to feel it.”
Erik lets out a sigh of relief and almost laughs. That's easy enough. He nods emphatically, saying, “Yeah, of course, no problem.”
“Don't be so quick to decide,” Charles warns, “it's not as simple as it may sound.” Erik raises an eyebrow; it seems simple to him - Charles' mind is as familiar to him as his own (if not more), its presence as quotidian as the sun rising, and they've done this before, Charles bringing them so close they were more one person than two, thinking and feeling what the other was. “This is different,” Charles' words interrupt his mental rant, and he is suddenly so very glad that Charles knows his thoughts because there's no way he could repeat that out loud and still have it make sense. “I want to... I want to control you.”
“Oh,” is all Erik manages. “That's... new.” He's not opposed to the idea per se, but he's never really thought about literally giving up control in such way.
“I won't make you,” Charles rushes to say, “if you don't want to, you don't have to. It's just...” Charles looks away, and Erik feels him emanate strong longing before he continues with, “It's the only way I can come up with of ever being able to feel it again.” That's about the moment when Erik mentally slaps himself; he hasn't thought of this before, hasn't considered suggesting this even though (now that Charles has pointed it out) it's a perfectly obvious solution. And Erik trusts Charles quite literally with his life; trusting him with his legs seems inconsequential compared to that.
“Yes, of course,” he agrees again as quickly as he finds voice. “Anything.”
“I'm told it's rather disturbing, scary even. You'll feel your legs, but you won't be able to control them. It will be much like the way I feel,” Charles explains in what Erik has learned to be his professor tone. He's not sure if it's supposed to calm him or Charles.
“Can you make me... not feel it? The way you do?” Erik suggests, surprising himself at the request. But he wants it. He wants to know what it's like for Charles, wants to have this in common with him as well, if only for a little while.
Charles looks at him quizzically, visibly taken aback by his words. “I could? But... it's not something you want to experience.”
“Do it,” Erik commands assertively. He can take this, he can. It will help him understand Charles at least that tiny bit better.
“Don't fight it, don't try to move,” Charles tells him, voice steady and unwavering, even as his fingers tremble on Erik's thigh. “The more you fight it, the harder it will be for me to maintain control.”
Erik nods quickly before realizing, with a start and a twitch of panic, that he can't feel his feet, he can't feel them squeezed lightly by his shoes, or the ground underneath them. The feeling spreads up his legs, until Charles' hand is only a distant memory, even though Erik can see it right there. It's a very strange, if unpleasant, sensation and his body and mind fight it subconsciously. It's almost like floating, only not quite so peaceful. He can feel nothing below his waist, and it's such an unnatural feeling that he almost asks Charles to stop.
But then he remembers - this is what it's like for Charles all the time. He grits his teeth and decides to bear it, without a word of complaint. He sees his foot move in front of him. It's absolutely bizarre.
“Would you like me to stop?” Charles asks, some of the feeling going back to Erik's legs. Erik shakes his head. Charles is all wide-eyed amazement and bubbling joy at even this smallest movement, and Erik would quite literally rather die then take it away from him.
(Charles makes him run until he can just barely stand on his feet. When he gets his legs back, they feel like boneless jelly. He falls to the damp ground on the hilltop, Charles' wheelchair neatly parked next to him. Charles places Erik's head on his lap, strokes Erik's hair and murmurs, “Thank you,” with such honesty and delight, that Erik considers suggesting another round. “I never would have asked anyone else for this,” Charles adds, and for a moment Erik expects the part of himself that remains from his past, that keeps hating and raging, to supply how Of course Charles would only ask him, it's only a just punishment or some such, but the thought never comes. Charles replies to him anyway, says, “I'd never dream of sharing this with anyone else.”
At length, Erik whispers, “I wish it was me,” half-hoping the wind would carry the words away, but Charles hears.
“Don't say that, don't ever say that. I would never wish that for you,” he replies.
“Nor I for you,” Erik counters, burying his face into Charles' thigh, kissing it and wishing Charles could feel it; crying and thanking fuck that Charles can't feel it.
“I know,” Charles says, kissing the top of his head, warm, gentle, soothing, loving. Erik dozes off to the warm breeze and Charles' nimble fingers on his neck.
When he wakes up, Charles is already manoeuvring his sleeping body into bed and they're both showered and wearing sleep clothes. Erik doesn't even find it strange not to be able to move his arms and legs. Charles lowers him gently to the mattress, then releases him. Erik curls around Charles' warm body immediately, laying his head on Charles shoulder, whispering, “Thank you.” Charles smiles against his forehead like he knows what he's being thanked for.)
*
As some boring human talks about... something boring, Erik isn't really listening, Charles mentally rolls his eyes. Erik snickers too loudly and gets a few looks, but the human doesn't stop rambling. Charles appears to be listening, but Erik can feel his growing frustration and impatience. As far as Erik can tell, it's just like any other conference with the human government - boring, tiring and pointless. He doesn't understand why Charles doesn't just take them over and make them sign the damn law instead of participating in this overly polite fake diplomatic meeting.
Erik , Charles admonishes sternly. I'm already arguing, can you please be on my side? I really don't want to be in a yet another fight right now.
I just don't understand why you even bother with them , Erik replies indignantly. He sends the memory of the news from that afternoon, some nameless politician giving a speech, saying how doctor Charles Xavier and his friend Erik Lehnsherr will be attending the UN conference in New York tonight. Doctor Xavier and Mr Lehnsherr are the leading activists for mutant rights. Their presence at the meeting tonight, ladies and gentlemen, is a warning to all of us, the soldiers and the civilians alike, that this is war.
Anger spikes within Charles at that and the flash of blood-red burns through Erik's mind, but Erik just smiles triumphantly; he's undeniably smug at knowing Charles well enough to trigger such a strong reaction so quickly. Charles seems to be much better at dealing with rage than Erik has ever been, though, for he only sends a faint sense of warning towards Erik and the words, We're here for peaceful negotiations.
Boring negotiations more like, Erik replies with the feeling of a yawn.
Can't argue with that , Charles agrees with a heavy sigh that only Erik can hear.
We should leave , Erik suggests, a hint of mischief colouring his tone.
We're not done yet! Charles protests, but it's feeble at best.
Oh, and you will be in a few more hours?
Charles sighs audibly and looks around the table full of human politicians. “I'm afraid, gentlemen, I'm tired. Shall we continue tomorrow?” he says, with an imitation of weariness and soreness. There's a general affirmative hum as the next meeting is scheduled for 10 o'clock tomorrow before everyone starts to leave. Erik wheels Charles out into the hall. “The good thing about being an invalid,” Charles says, rubbing his eyes, “is that everyone feels obligated to cater to your every whim.”
Erik doesn't manage to catch a stray thought of There are good sides to it? before Charles hears it. He bites his lip and calls the elevator, hoping Charles will let it go.
“Of course there are,” Charles says. “For one, I have you.” That catches Erik completely off-guard. He looks at Charles in utter befuddlement and Charles gives him a warm smile before answering, If I hadn't been shot, would you have stayed? Or would you have gone on with your hatred and revenge, directed it at humans? Would we have ever been together?
Erik feels awe spread through him, from the core of his being to the tips of his fingers and toes - that Charles would deem their relationship worthy of such a sacrifice was beyond him. He's left speechless and he barely even registers the ding of the lift door.
“Close your mouth, darling,” Charles calls after him, wheeling into the elevator. Erik jumps in at the last second, still stunned silent. “You're a terrible influence, Erik,” Charles teases, clearly in an attempt to call Erik back to Earth and lighten the mood, “making me ditch like some schoolboy unprepared for a test.” He laughs, a loud, ringing sound that fills Erik with such a mix of emotions, he feels dizzy.
“Shut up,” he says, lightly slapping Charles' shoulder, “you love me.”
“Very much,” Charles replies, quick, unthinking, honest, long before Erik's mind even catches up with his mouth and he figures out what he said.
(When he comprehends the implication behind his words and Charles' response, it's well past midnight and he's half-asleep with Charles snoring lightly, drooling on his shoulder. He sits up in the bed suddenly, eyes wide and brain working too fast for its drowsy state. Charles grips his forearm firmly, pulls him back down and settles on his chest again. A few minutes later he comments, “You're thinking too loudly, stop. I can't sleep.” Erik tries to close his eyes and count sheep, but he's still racking his brain a while later when Charles huffs and hits his stomach none-too-lightly. “There's nothing to think about, yes, I did mean it. Now sleep, for the love of all that is sacred,” he mumbles, his cheeks heating up a bit. Erik closes his eyes and basks in Charles' words, wants to put them on and wear them like his favourite suit, or maybe like underwear - close to his skin. He thinks that maybe he whispers you too before he falls asleep, but he's too out of it to pay much attention.)
*
Erik tells himself that he's not carrying around the indigo blue velvety box with Charles' ring and waiting for the right moment to present it today because it's been exactly four years since he first kissed Charles and Charles kicked him out of then-his now-their room. He also tells himself that his own ring, which he tied to a string and hung around his neck that morning as he snuck out of bed to prepare Charles' favourite breakfast, and the singing of the metal in it is not the only thing that gives him courage to grip the little box in his fingers and lift a hand to knock on the door of Charles' classroom.
He tells himself, and he knows, deep down, that he's lying. The truth is, as vehemently as he will deny it in front of everyone else, he is every bit as romantic and emotional for Charles, as Charles is for him. The truth is, Charles doesn't blame him, but there's no denying that it was Erik's mistake that brought them here, and while that has its merits, it was a high price for Charles to pay for such small favours. The truth is, Charles could find this ridiculous and superfluous, oppressive and patronizing, pushy and too traditional. The truth is, Charles could say no.
And it mortifies Erik to think about that. He knows he's asking for a lot, but he's willing to give more, he's willing to give everything (ever since Shaw's death, Charles has been his sole purpose in life and fuck it, but he likes it that way). He knows he doesn't deserve it, but he lets himself hope, feeds that hope with Charles' smiles and kisses and touches. He knows it's bordering on impossible, frowned upon, dangerous even, but he can't bring himself to give two shakes of a rat's ass (do rats even shake their asses?) about that.
He stops just short of knocking, his knuckles less than an inch from the door, because he can hear voices inside. He lowers his head, frowns at the door, comes closer to hear better. He can feel that the room is not locked, but if Charles even closed the door to his classroom, he must be having a serious conversation with someone. Erik closes his eyes and focuses on listening.
“Alyssa, you know you can tell me anything,” Charles is saying to one of his students. Oh, so that's what this is about. Erik feels distinctly like he should stop eavesdropping. But he's genuinely curious about how Charles will deal with it, far more than about what the actual problem is. “Is it about your family? Or is someone else from the school bugging you?”
“I got my mom's letter last night,” comes the quiet response. Erik is familiar with this particular mom and her rigid attitudes towards mutants. He feels his fists clench. “She asked how long I'd be staying at this school. And... And if...” Alyssa sounds very near crying now and Erik feels sorry for her, remembers what it was like to be rejected and told you were a monster and a freak, but at least he had his mother to help him through it. And then when he didn't have his mother, as much as it pains him to admit, Shaw's acceptance pushed him through the hurt (and into rage, but he doesn't focus on that now). It's disappointing to know that things haven't changed much. “If I could stay here forever, because she doesn't much care for seeing me again,” Alyssa finishes, so quietly that Erik only hears her through Charles, her image coloured with Charles' own sympathy for the kid.
“What did you reply?”
“I haven't, I didn't know what to say,” Alyssa admits, sounding a little guilty and maybe like she feels stupid for asking this of Charles. Erik knows Charles doesn't mind, though, expects Charles' answer before it comes.
“You're welcome here for as long as you want,” Charles says, at exactly that moment and Erik smiles to himself - he even got the phrasing right.
“But, Professor, surely- I mean, I can't be your student forever,” Alyssa sounds properly terrified of staying in school for the rest of her life, Erik thinks. It makes him chuckle, makes him wonder if he would have shared the same sentiments had he gone to school.
“Of course not!” Charles replies, humorously appalled. “But did you think Raven, Alex and Hank, Angel, Sean... They were all my students once. And look at them now, teaching all of you. Even Erik- Mr Lehnsherr,” he mentally nudges Erik and Erik smiles at it, “he learned a thing or two from me as well.”
“Oh?” The girl sounds properly interested now, pacified by Charles' words, and probably much more by the notion that she's not the only to have ever felt this way.
“Story for some other time,” Charles replies. “Now, why don't you go out with your friends? It's the lunch break now, if I am not mistaken?” He's not and he knows it, Erik thinks, because there's anticipation in Charles that cannot be hidden, the sweet thrum of awaiting, of expecting, of hoping for Erik to come. It's humbling and elating simultaneously.
As Alyssa walks out, Charles follows her, giving Erik a brilliant smile. Alyssa shyly looks at him, mumbles an apology for keeping Charles. Charles brushes it off as he takes Erik's hands and kisses it; Erik runs his fingers over Charles' neck. Alyssa smiles at them with a fond smile and an optimistic look in her eyes and Erik thinks that maybe they'll inspire in these kids more than just learning about their mutations.
“You know, I think that perhaps I was wrong,” Charles says as they watch Alyssa walk away, a new skip to her step now.
“About?” Erik prompts.
“The perfect point. I think now that it may lie solely in serenity.”
“Oh, I beg to differ,” Erik laughs, “I think you were quite right about it being between rage and serenity.”
“I'd rather not mix rage with my current setting,” Charles replies, leaning his head to rest against Erik's stomach.
“Yes, well, we're not looking for focus right now, are we?” Erik says, his fingers ghosting over Charles' cheek.
“What are we looking for?” Charles asks, eyes closed.
“I'm not sure,” Erik admits, bending to kiss Charles gently on the lips. “Maybe we've already found it,” he breathes against them and feels Charles smile at that.
Erik doesn't give Charles the ring, decides he doesn't want to spoil the moment. He doesn't, however, take his own off either. He doesn't care to discover if it's because he honestly forgets, or because he wants Charles to see it.
(Charles doesn't disappoint. That night when they fall into bed and Charles strips him, the heated blue gaze that rakes over his body quickly zeroes in on the new accessory. There's no reaction, though.
In the morning, Erik wakes up alone in the bed. It's disconcerting because they've gotten up together for long long months now. He dresses hastily and carelessly, pausing only to check if he's still wearing the ring around his neck. When he all but bursts into the kitchen, Charles is making breakfast in his pyjamas, a new ring glinting on his left ring finger. Erik freezes. “Well, will you wear yours around your neck forever?” Charles asks, flashing him an all-teeth smile. Erik kisses him to hide the tint of his cheeks and the honestly embarrassing amount of rapture in his eyes. Also, he's less likely to make any undignified noises with Charles' tongue shoved down his throat.)
*
The sun. The sun and whoever the fuck turned it on. That's all Erik can think (curse, actually) as he wakes from a pleasant dream he already doesn't remember. He blinks his eyes open lazily, shields them with a hand. A soft moan comes from right next to his ear and he turns just in time to see Charles stretch.
Enjoying the view? Charles teases, but the words are blurry, Charles' mind sluggish and drowsy. I've been told that I look much like an angel, bathed in sunlight like this.
Clearly, whoever told you that didn't know you very well, Erik replies with a snort.
Not the way you do, Charles says readily. Erik admires the ease with which Charles seems to share his thoughts, the simplicity of saying the things that Charles feels. It's something he's been trying to learn over the past years, but he feels he's not being a very good student. Nonsense, Charles says, stroking Erik's arm where it rests around his middle. Erik nuzzles his neck, kisses it. Charles almost purrs under him.
The dull sense of pain in his lower back startles Erik. It's stronger than the last few times Charles experienced ghost pains, which worries him.
“Sorry,” Charles whispers, muting the pain.
“No, I don't mind, I've already told you,” Erik retaliates, squeezing his hand between Charles' body and the bed, turning Charles to face him and rubbing his back gently. “It's stronger, isn't it? Than last time?”
Charles' head falls to Erik's shoulder, his breath hitching as Erik presses down over his scarred lower back. “Ah, yes. Mornings tend to be... troublesome,” Charles replies with an air of peaceful resignation that still unsettles Erik. “Harder,” Charles says, and for all that he's frowning and doesn't look exactly comfortable, Erik knows more pressure helps.
He digs his fingers into the sleep-warm skin, kissing the lines between Charles' brows. “Turn over?” he suggests, and flips Charles over at the agreeable nudge to his thoughts. He runs his fingers over Charles' spine in almost-reverence, stopping right where the white scar tissue begins. He straddles Charles' thighs and hunches over to kiss the scars he helped create.
Don't think that, Charles chastises him. Erik smiles against his skin non-committally, then kisses up his spine, his hands coming back to rest on Charles' hips. He works his thumbs in slow circles up and to the centre of Charles' body, dipping into the small of his back, rubbing over his scars, gently at first, but then with more strength behind it. Charles buries his face further into the pillow that his fingers are white-knuckled from squeezing. Erik eases his ministrations until Charles relaxes, then works him harder again. His fingers go numb after a while, but he doesn't stop, prodding and massaging the affected part of Charles' back until Charles starts moaning under him, his skin damp from sweat and his back arching in pleasure.
“Better?” Erik asks, bringing his lips down and running them over the length of Charles' spine again. The position they're in has already done wonders for his morning erection, taking him from mildly interested to fully hard and all but rocking against Charles' legs (once of twice just the very head of his cock slips between Charles' arse cheeks and he shivers all over at the feeling, but doesn't give in to it, pulling back quickly; he's promised himself not to do this).
“Much,” Charles breathes when Erik kisses the back of his neck, noses through his hair, nips at his ear. “Face to face, please?” Charles asks, craning his neck to kiss Erik sweetly on the lips. Erik smiles and guides Charles' body around, not breaking the kiss. Impressive, Charles comments, wrapping his arms around Erik's neck and deepening the kiss.
Time, Erik has learnt, is a non-existent concept when he's with Charles. (He runs his hands gently over Charles' ribs, tickles lightly; Charles wraps his long fingers loosely around Erik's cock, just settling them there for a second before removing them again.) Sometimes, it feels like time has stood still, waiting for them, and it's only minutes that he's lost even though they feel like years. (Erik rocks his hips into Charles' touch, too brief, too teasing; Charles licks just behind his teeth, making him shudder all over.) Other times, Erik thinks they've had far too little time together, and it turns out that hours have passed. (Erik starts kissing down Charles' chin and neck and chest, licking at his nipples and biting them gently; Charles moans and arches his back up, his now free hand tangling with Erik's hair and pulling carelessly, a bit too harshly, not that Erik minds.)
Mornings with Charles are always like this - easy, lazy, warm, heavy. (Erik trails kisses from Charles' shoulder down his extended arm, sucks at the pulse point in his wrist, nuzzles his hand and licks his fingers; Charles rewards him with muffled noises and gentle scratching of his scalp.) Erik likes to wake up with Charles by his side, the bed warm and the covers tangled around them; he's not sure how Charles manages to hog the blankets, but he always does. (Erik kisses up the inside of Charles arm and bites on the most sensitive parts, just to feel Charles shiver under him; Charles combs through Erik's hair, then lays his palm on Erik's neck, presses his fingers around the knobs of Erik's spine gently.) It doesn't really matter because they hardly ever part, even in their sleep; and when mornings come, Charles always has an unguarded, intimate smile for Erik, eyes glazed over with sleep, sleep-heavy fingers to dust mellow touches over Erik's chest. (Erik tickles the sides of Charles' neck with the tips of his fingers, scratches behind his ear, and kisses a path down his chest, flicking his tongue over Charles' perked nipples and delighting in the sounds Charles makes at that; Charles tightens his fingers in Erik's hair, snakes his other arm between them, takes Erik's cock in hand and starts pumping it, movements still uncoordinated from sleep.) Erik loves Charles' affectionate morning self, always enjoys waking up like this - the heated slide of their mouths and bodies, slow and without pressure and rush, the easy, gradual slip from dreams to reality, from sleep to alertness; it's not always the most practical habit, but it is always a pleasure. (Erik captures Charles' lips in a wet, sloppy kiss, rocking into Charles' hand; Charles strokes him slowly and firmly, all expert twists of the wrist and practiced fluctuations in pressure.)
When Erik comes, he bites Charles' bottom lip and Charles moans with him through it. It's satisfying in ways more than just a physical release is, and Erik cherishes every second of it, letting Charles kiss his breath away, hold him up and pull a sheet between them to clean them off. The sunlight caresses his eyelids open and he looks down at Charles, who seems to be just as dazed and pleased as Erik feels. Charles smiles at him and pulls him closer, so that Erik lies down completely on top of him.
“I'll let you breathe. Soon,” Erik promises, nuzzling and kissing Charles' neck.
“You're not going anywhere,” Charles replies, kissing Erik's face all over. Erik laughs at him.
“Oh, god, please tell me it's Saturday,” Charles says, suddenly serious. “Because if it's not, we're epically late for our own classes,” he laughs, pointedly looking at the clock by the bed which reads eleven in the morning.
“It's Saturday,” Erik replies, stroking Charles' arms and kissing his cheek. It's not, it's actually Thursday, but it's not like the students will complain.
“You're insufferable,” Charles teases, nipping at Erik's earlobe, but only pulls him closer.
(When Charles nuzzles his hair, stirring him from his half-nap some time later, Erik still feels like he's wrapped in warmth and peace and happiness, and something tells him he has Charles to thank for that. He wants to say something, tell Charles how he feels, but words never did come easily to him. “I love you too,” Charles breathes through a quiet laugh and Erik remembers that, luckily, with Charles, words are not necessary; feelings and thoughts alone are more than enough. He kisses Charles' collarbone and closes his eyes again, hyper aware of Charles' naked body under him, Charles' warm breath on the side of his face, Charles' fingers gently tugging at stray strands of his hair.)
*
Erik knocks on the door without preamble and pokes his head inside. “The class was over five minutes ago,” he says, smirking. The kids jump from their seats and start packing excitedly.
“Really? You won't even let me finish my own class?” Charles shakes his head, at the same time waving Erik inside which makes for an amusing and contradictory image. Oh, sod off, Charles' voice rings out in his ears, fond and not in the least offensive.
“Happy birthday, Professor X,” the children sing-song as they leave the classroom, notebooks and bags in their hands.
Professor X? Erik asks incredulously, unable to stop a snort.
Shut up, it wasn't my idea , Charles replies, but his ears are turning red and Erik can tell that while the name wasn't originally his idea, he's definitely the one who brought it back to life. Erik laughs and Charles sends him an image of himself sticking his tongue out, probably finding it too childish to actually do so in front of his students. The picture makes Erik laugh even more, but has him torn between cuddling Charles to his chest and kissing him all the way to the next week, which all ends with Charles' hand firmly grasped in his and a secretive look exchanged between them, which, Erik realizes belatedly, must look utterly besotted. He feels his own ears burning with colour.
“Are you taking Professor X somewhere special?” Alyssa asks him with a sweet smile. A girl Erik doesn't teach (Charles quickly informs him that her name is Kate and that she's Alyssa's roommate and best friend) stands by her side, one hand on Alyssa's elbow. Erik thinks there may be more to the friendship Charles is mentioning.
“As a matter of fact, I do have something very special planned,” Erik replies with a sly smirk; Charles goes pink at the tone, but doesn't seem otherwise bothered with the situation.
“Oh, awesome!” somebody says.
“Yes, we all think Professor X deserves a very nice birthday,” Alyssa's friend, Kate, agrees. Erik is not sure if he wants to laugh at the narrowed-eyes-warning-looks protectiveness displayed by these... well, kids compared to him, or if he wants to be overjoyed at how profoundly Charles seems to have affected their lives by squirming into them. He feels a strong wave of affection from Charles, who looks utterly flattered and maybe a little misty-eyed. Erik runs his hand through Charles' hair, brushing a few insubordinate strands behind Charles' ears.
“Well, I got to spend it with you guys, it can't be a bad birthday,” Charles replies, and there's unexpected genuineness in the words that seems to stun the kids silent.
“All right, well,” Erik breaks the awkward silence, “off you go, you've had him all day, I do believe it's my turn.” The kids all fumble with their stuff and start to walk out, apologizing for keeping them. As the door shuts behind the last student, Erik laughs loudly. “I was actually joking. I guess they're not used to that.”
“You're too harsh on them sometimes,” Charles comments, but it's ruined by the way he turns his face to kiss Erik's wrist.
“You're too lenient,” Erik replies readily. “I guess we balance each other pretty well then.” Charles seems to consider this for a moment, as though it's not as obvious to him as it is to Erik, but then he shrugs with an air of acquiescence and pulls Erik down for a kiss.
“So, what do you have planned for me today?” he asks, brushing his lips over Erik's and sliding his hands to Erik's hips to pull him closer down.
“Actually, not much, I was just showing off,” Erik admits with a self-deprecating smile as he kneels. “I thought maybe you could take a walk,” he suggests, projecting the feeling of Charles controlling his legs. “And we could play chess, and I'd let you win,” he adds, grinning.
Charles swats him on the shoulder, “Stop teasing me.” Then he smiles as well, bites at Erik's nose playfully.
How old are you again? Erik jokes.
Twelve , Charles replies, actually sticking his tongue out this time.
*
“Happy birthday,” Charles whispers in his ear, stroking random patterns over his stomach and chest. Erik hugs him closer and kisses his forehead.
“What makes you think it's my birthday today? I told you I don't remember when it is,” he says, which is partially true. He really doesn't have anything more than a foggy memory from his childhood before the war to connect to his birthday. Sure, he could easily find out if he wanted to, but the thing is, he doesn't care. The last birthday he remembers was with his mom; with Shaw, every day was torture, there were no holidays, so Erik learnt not to expect anything spectacular no matter what date it was.
You have a new life now, Charles says, why not a new tradition? A new birthday?
Why today? Erik asks, considering Charles' offer. It's not unappealing.
Today is exactly seven years since we met , Charles replies, the memory of that night playing out before Erik's eyes, the feeling of drowning, of failure, and the warmth of Charles' body, the friendliness of his thoughts. Charles supplies his own take on it, the immense concern for Erik's life, the awe he felt at Erik's mind, the fascination with Erik's thoughts and powers. I thought you could pick a symbolic date , Charles adds, smiling against Erik's shoulder.
Erik likes the idea. It's somehow more than a birthday, more than just marking a year more in your life, this way it's a celebration of so many things: of meeting Charles, of what he's gained from Charles, a way to signify the day when they met for what it is - the day he really started living.
Indulge me? Charles asks, a sheepish smile adorning his features as he looks up at Erik with pleading eyes. I've already bought you a present.
I sometimes honestly wonder if you're any older than your students , Erik replies with a smile. Charles kisses his jaw and then untangles himself and sits up.
“I'm taking that as a compliment, just so you know,” he says, casting a look at Erik over his shoulder through his lashes, looking downright coy. Erik rolls his eyes (he tries to look properly exasperated; he has a distinct feeling he's failing since there's a smile on his lips that he doesn't remember allowing) but gets up and runs them through their morning routine without complaint.
“What would you like for breakfast?” Erik asks as he descends the stairs, Charles levitating behind him.
“Breakfast can wait,” Charles answers cheerfully. “Take me outside.”
Erik frowns but does as he's asked. The weather is lovely and he's not really hungry anyway. Besides, spending some time with Charles outside is always a welcome way to start the day. Charles mentally guides him to the front of the building and Erik goes willingly, the silence between them pleasant and easy, no need for meaningless chatter to fill it with.
“Well,” Charles startles him from his thoughts, stopping at what has become the official entrance to the school. He spins the ring on his left hand with the fingers of his right, a nervous habit that's replaced fidgeting with clothes when he got used to having a ring there. Erik puts a hand on his shoulder, frowning.
“Everything all right?” he asks, crouching next to Charles. He notices that Charles' hands are not shaking and he's not swallowing convulsively, which means he's not actually anxious, just excited. Erik takes Charles' hand and cocks his head questioningly. “Charles?”
Charles only offers, I have a gift for you, putting his free hand on the side of Erik's face. It's um. I didn't think you'd want something grand and expensive, Charles says, worrying his lower lip before apparently deciding that he thought right and relaxing in posture and tone of thought. Erik smiles, amused and maybe a little giddy - he hasn't gotten a birthday present in, well, decades. But since it's your first birthday, Charles chuckles at the idea, I wanted it to be special. Something to remember.
I'm sure we can agree that the fact that my first birthday is this late is both special and memorable in itself, Erik suggests with a smile. There are actual butterflies in his chest, multiplying rapidly, like the warm glow of Charles there is the best environment for their reproduction. He decides that maybe living with Charles as a constant part of his mind is influencing him in ways he hasn't noticed. He pushes the thoughts away and labels them with this is not regression into adolescence.
Yes, but- Charles nudges Erik's chin with his thumb. Turn around.
Next to the large wooden double door (complete with utterly useless but impressive-looking lion head door knockers) there used to be a dark green plaque with golden letters saying Xavier school for gifted children. Raven had picked it out in some old store when she'd gone shopping the first weekend after the school opened, and Alex had placed it, adjusting it several times. Now, instead of it, there's a thin pure silver tablet on the brick wall, clean and gleaming in the sun.
“I thought maybe you could finish the job,” Charles says, his hand falling to rest on Erik's shoulder, smile all perfect white teeth and plush red lips.
Erik feels for the metal, silky smooth and bright, pure silver. It feels good as he wraps the tendrils of his thoughts around it and sneaks them through it; the silver reverberates at a higher pitch than regular metal and it's a rarely beautiful sound in Erik's ears.
Charles leans closer to him, buries his nose in Erik's hair and whispers, his lips just barely touching the shell of Erik's ear, “And you should put your name on it, too.”
(When Erik's done, the plaque says Xavier-Lehnsherr school for gifted children in a strong, bold script, but it's edged with a delicate vine pattern, not unlike the one around their fingers. Charles' hand is still on his shoulder, and Charles' breath is still damp on the side of his neck and it feels so... natural, like it finally all fits, like it's finally all right. With the idea comes the fear of the other shoe dropping, of everything finally falling apart, because every time Erik thought everything was perfect, his world was rudely yanked from under his feet. But nothing happens. The sun is still shining, the breeze is still whistling through his ears, the manor is still standing and Charles' hand is still a grounding presence on his shoulder.
He turns around and kisses a still-smiling-stupidly Charles, breathes Thank you against his lips, maybe says I love you (and the words taste honest, feel like rich chocolate ice-cream on his tongue and he wants to say them again, use them more often). Charles' fingers tighten their grip and the world doesn't fall apart. Maybe everything finally is as it should be.)