Lie to Me (Denial) (1/3)
Fandom: X-Men: First Class
Rating: R/M
Word Count: just over 4k
Category: Slash, Pairing(s): Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Characters: Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, briefly Angel Salvadore, Alex Summers, Sharon Xavier
Genre: Angst, Hurt without comfort, Unrequited love
Warnings: sex as a topic, nudity, mentions of violence, nothing serious
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, don't make money from this, you know the drill.
Summary: There's a lie in believe, an over in lover, an end in friend, an us in trust and an if in life.
...or: 1) Five Times Charles Wished He Didn't Have Telepathy and the One Time He Chose Not to Trust It, 2) Five Lies Erik Regrets and the One Truth He Can't Deny, and 3) Five Times Erik Visited and the One Time He Stayed;
Also on AO3.
A/N: Title and lyrics from Red's Lie to Me (Denial).
I feel as though angst should be a warning as well as a genre here. No, seriously, you don't understand, pure unadulterated angst. Angst fest. Nothing but angst. I also want to point out that no, for god's sake, I don't think Erik is actually this cruel and unaffected and whatnot, I just had the idea of what if Erik really didn't care about Charles, imagine all the potential for angst there and then, naturally, I had to write it.
Feedback is always appreciated ^^
Lie to Me (Denial)
or
5 Times When Charles Wished He Didn't Have Telepathy
And the One Time When He Chose Not to Trust It
Lie to me;
you can feel
that this love was never real.
Walk away,
you can learn to love again.
Lie to me;
you can leave,
I'll still be here when you see
you're not alone,
you don't have to run again.
Leave me in denial.
1
Charles likes to think that he's interesting. In fact, he likes to think he knows he's interesting. After all, plenty of people have told him so. Or at least thought that about him. He's also plucked out of their minds that he is unusually smart and well-spoken, that he's always polite and knows how treat everyone properly (he doesn't tell them that that's only because he knows how they want him to treat them) and that he comes off as very mature for his age. Many people think that about him and he's quite proud of those compliments, unspoken as they are.
So if he's that good with strangers, it should really be easy for him to talk to his mother. But she is hardly there at all, and when she is, she is too busy for him and he can sense that she doesn't want him to distract her from whatever unquestionably important thing she's doing right that instant (Charles doesn't know what exactly she's doing, but he gets a vague feeling that it has something to do with perfect burn down my throat, smells delicious, forget forget forget). He doesn't like to upset his mother, so he tries to tell his ever-changing nannies and baby-sitters everything he would like to tell her. They think he's charming and adorable, but their thoughts are not as warm with affection as he thinks they should be.
On his eighth birthday, his mother is remarkably sober. Everyone commends her for it and she tells them that she really doesn't know how that happened, but Charles has a distinct feeling that he may have just wished for it too hard. It can't be that bad, though, he decides, because everyone is praising her. She must enjoy that as much as he does.
When she approaches to give him his present, he waits for that such a smart kid, dealing so well, so well-behaved, properly raised, why aren't my kids more like him string of thoughts that inevitably comes with people giving him his birthday gifts, but behind her wide, bright smile he can see the so bored, why is there no alcohol at kids' parties, when is this going to be over, please just get it over with.
He would trade all the compliments he overheard, just to be able to get away from her thoughts. He would trade it all, he would take the silence of his lone mind, just to not hear that.
2
Charles is used to getting what he wants. It's just how the world works - one way or the other, through their own will, through his money or, in worst case scenarios, through his power, people will let him have what he desires. Sometimes, there's a tiny problem when he is not sure what he wants, but once that's settled, he goes and gets it.
The bigger issue comes up when he wants things that lose their meaning if obtained through his more unorthodox manners.
He's more than capable of making people love him, respect him, crave him. But... that kind of defeats the point, doesn't it? When he was younger, he always worried that somehow, without noticing, he was making everyone around him like him, think highly of him and care for him. (For a while he even thought that maybe he'd somehow subconsciously made Raven like him enough to stay with him, but then he realized that his ten-year-old self would have probably made his mother love him, if he'd been capable of doing such things). Sometimes, when he's too drunk to slur his pick-up lines seductively enough, he makes the most attractive person in the bar think they like him and that they want to come home with him. It's a cheap trick, but he's usually too inebriated to care at that point. Other times, when he really doesn't feel like studying, he makes his professors think he knows everything and let him pass. He doesn't do it often because it always makes him feel sleazy, but he'd be lying if he said he'd never done it.
He may be bad at boundaries and personal space (at least the mental kind), but he firmly believes that everyone should be given a choice. And if their choices truly don't sit well with him, well, he has ways of dealing with that. He's never really had a problem with this (he's long since convinced himself that he only meddles when it's for the best of everyone; he doesn't care to revisit that issue).
The one time the decision if he should affect someone or not is taken out of his hands is when he senses Erik's mind in the water. He doesn't really mean to sift through all of Erik's memories, doesn't even expect it when the overpowering anger, hate, revenge hits him so hard it hurts, and it catches him so completely off-guard, that for the next few minutes he's hardly aware of the words that leave his mouth, of the steps he takes to the deck. In fact, he's hardly aware of anything but hurt, pain, darkness, rage, so much rage, and then the memories flood him before he can stop them and all the, oh god, humiliation, the marking like they're animals, the burn of the numbers on his forearm, the exhaustion, and then more pain, always more pain, and the sharp point of, oh no that's terrible, losing his mother, the only person on his side, and the following experiments, the disgust, the fury, the hatred, and it's all so strong that Charles is left reeling and scrambling for his own mind because he thinks that he somehow lost it somewhere along the way. The memories feel so raw and real and there and Charles literally can't tell what's him and what's not, he lives through the memories like they're his own life and in the end he can physically feel the pressure of water around him, the desperate, yet ignored need for oxygen; he doesn't have the concentration to use his mind, doesn't even know what's his mind, can only jump in and try, try so hard to hold Erik tightly, break off the flow of his thoughts, rely on the physical contact to distract them both and even that only gets him far enough to let him speak to Erik, not really influence him.
When they resurface, Charles is still a little dazed, lost and confused, but so awed at the sheer intensity of what he's getting from Erik, that it helps him regain some control (at least enough to be able to tell himself apart from Erik), decide what's best to say, what Erik needs him to say at the moment. And it's easy to see it now that Charles has at least some semblance of perspective, it's easy to find the shade of alone, so alone, no one there, no one cares, no such thing as care, no such thing as love in every memory, every thought, every everything he got from Erik. It's still so fresh in Charles' mind, like an unhealed wound that burns from the ocean's salt water, powerful enough that for a second Charles loses contact with himself again, feels like he's the one who is alone, the only one in the world, nobody who understands and for a fleeting second he wishes it would just stop, that he would just stop feeling it, thinking it, knowing it. He regrets the thought the very next moment because he loves his ability, is as proud of it as he is of his PhD, or of his sister, even more proud than that. And he can show it to Erik, he can teach Erik the worth of their gift; more importantly, he can make Erik see that he's not alone, he can give Erik the love that's been denied to him, prove to him that it exists.
Not only can he, he will. Because he wants to. And Charles Xavier always gets what he wants.
3
Charles likes sex. He doesn't think there's any shame to that. The human species has long stopped being about survival, and started being about pleasure; and sex, Charles has found, is a very pleasurable act indeed. And well, Charles is a bit of a hedonist; in fact, he's a bit spoiled, so he indulges in it when he feels like it. He likes women, enjoys the delicate curves of their bodies, but finds it difficult to establish a more profound bond with them (he usually jokes that Raven has already hogged all the affection for women he has in him). He prefers men, cherishes the rough, deep noises when he fucks them and revels in the feeling of being taken, quickly, from behind, favours having a familiarly shaped body with him in bed.
Sex with Erik, he learns, is more than just very pleasurable. It's bloody sensational. Erik somehow knows all the right places, the perfect speed, somehow guesses exactly where Charles wants his hands and his mouth, always says what Charles hopes he will. Charles doesn't think anyone has ever gotten him off as quickly as Erik can manage, or that anyone before Erik has ever made him come so hard, his vision completely blacks out. Everything is somehow more intense with Erik.
But for all that Erik is the absolute best he's ever had (and that's saying something), there's always that business edge to their nights together. Erik is always precise and to-the-point, like every move he makes must somehow lead towards his goal or it's not even worth making. For Erik, it's not about pleasure (although he thoroughly enjoys every second of it, Charles makes damn sure of it), and it's not about the emotional connection (Erik doesn't cuddle or sleep in the same bed as Charles, he doesn't wake Charles with a good morning kiss, doesn't treat him any differently during the day), it's not even about Charles (Charles tries not delve deep into Erik's mind again, half because Erik's asked him not to, and half because he's afraid of losing himself in it again if he does, but Erik's immediate thoughts are bold and powerful and sometimes, Charles couldn't stop them if he tried (to be fair, he doesn't try very hard); to Erik, it's always this feels so good, this is amazing, never he feels so good, he feels amazing - there's passion and desire there, underlined with gratitude, but hardly any affection); for Erik, it's about practicality - Erik has needs, he wants sex, wants to unwind after a long day, and Charles is there, willing, good-looking and great in bed. Charles knows all this because, well, he's not stupid (and also because he's the kind of person who sometimes does things he said he wouldn't). But the sex is still mind-blowing, and Charles still thinks Erik is magnificent, and well, he can't come up with a better way to get close to Erik. So, more often than not, they still end up tumbling onto the mattress, kissing and moaning and tearing at each other's clothes frantically, even as Charles feels like Erik's touch is too distant and disconnected and his mind only half-present.
Charles is no stranger to the kind of establishment one Ms Angel Salvadore, the first mutant on their list, works in; he hasn't had the need to really frequent such gentlemen's clubs, but he has visited a few (purely out of scientific curiosity, he tells himself). It's not a place conducive to his feeling at ease, what with all the unguarded thoughts flying his way, the visceral feelings too strong for him to fight off. It's only a slight relief when Angel takes them to a more private, secluded area.
“Are you all right?” Erik asks, his hand resting briefly on Charles' elbow as they sit on the bed.
“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine,” Charles brushes it off with a smile that even he knows is weak, but Erik doesn't press the issue. Charles doesn't let himself wonder much if Erik's concerned with his well-being or with his ability to see their task through (even through the haze of lust, desire, pleasure, loneliness, pain, disgust, fear, loathing, Erik's thoughts are bright and elevated, not a moment's slip from focus, goal, success).
When Angel closes the curtain behind herself, it doesn't cut off the endless chatter in Charles' head, but it does help him concentrate on her, as if physically not seeing anyone else makes her stand out more clearly in his mind as well. He can feel that she's tired, but morbidly satisfied that it was her who managed to get away with the handsome guy every dancer was ogling. She's confused that there are two men in front of her, but is fairly confident she won't come to harm - they don't look like the type to try something shady (well, one of them does, but she's confident the other can keep him under control). Charles is always entertained by learning how others see him (and he has to commend her for her correct assumptions), so he smiles up at her in what he hopes is a reassuring way.
But there's a deep-seated sentiment of repulsion, shame, unfamiliar hands everywhere, get them off, staring at me like a piece of meat, that makes Charles' smile falter. He's felt it before, has been feeling it since the moment they stepped it, now it's just a more clear-cut image in his eyes, so it's not really what Angel's sending that has him upset (Angel's mind is nowhere near Erik's in terms of strength and construction, details and power, it's far from threatening to overcome Charles and while Charles' heart goes out for the girl because of what the she's gone through, he's not consumed by her the way he was by Erik; that's what makes Erik so special to him). It's something else that hits him.
Angel has memories of men sliding their hands up her legs, tickling over her stomach and sides, forcing their tongues into her mouth, some of them still very fresh, and they unexpectedly coincide with some of Charles' own memories. Charles is familiar with the feeling of distance that comes from being touched by someone who doesn't really care about him, someone who's only in it for the sex; it surprises him that of all the no-strings-attached, one-night-only hookups he's had over the years, not one pops into his head. What is, however, brought forth by Angel's subconscious reminiscence, are Erik's hands as they unbutton his shirt, grip his shoulders, spread his thighs, Erik's eyes as they slide over his chest and arms, Erik's lips on his own. The striking similarity of the way Erik's touch feels on him, and the way these men's touches feel on Angel's skin has Charles sick to his stomach and pushing Angel out of his mind as fast as he can. He can't shut her out, her or the rest of the club, but he mutes it all as much as he can. It only helps a little, because now that he's already made the connection, he can't not see it, can't not compare himself to these girls, who are no more than fun, no more than just a bad decision, no more than a passing pleasure.
Charles wishes he didn't know, wishes he hadn't seen. He wishes he had just walked into the club like any other man, undisturbed and unconcerned. He wishes he didn't hear anything but his own thoughts, didn't have any but his own memories. It's unsettling, that Erik's managed to produce this effect twice on him now.
Charles looks to Erik, but can't hold his gaze for longer than a few seconds - clear and confused, but far from worried. Even through the mental earplugs Charles has, he hears Erik's thought of get yourself together, Charles, come on. He turns to Angel and says something, if nothing else for, than just to distract himself.
4
Nobody lies to Charles. That's just his life, nobody can ever lie to him. People try. Sometimes they try really hard. Some of them are good, very good even. But Charles sees past their perfectly proportioned smiles, and eyes just bright enough, and relaxed postures, he looks into their very own thoughts, things they can't hide, things they don't bother to censor. It often happens that Charles knows things about them, they are not even aware of. But that's just how it is for Charles; for him it's not just the perfectly intoned words or smoothly controlled body language, he knows the intent, feels the emotions built into the thought. Nobody is capable of faking that.
So when the guard tells them Alex Summers enjoys being in a solitary, Charles knows it's not true. The steel door presents hardly any boundary here where there are only a few people with him. Alex Summers' mind is new and unfamiliar, so naturally, Charles is drawn to it immediately. It's filled with coiled-up energy and barely suppressed anger, but woven around it is genuine concern covered in what Charles assumes has been the most present emotion in the young man's mind lately - loneliness. Alex misses company. He's not a social loner like Erik, someone who has no pressing need for constant human contact, who's courteously polite when they must be, but otherwise disinterested in the company of many people; no, Alex Summers is a young man who craves other people, who aches with the need to talk to someone, to touch someone, to just have someone by their side. His longing for companionship makes the stark reality of lack thereof even more jarring and Charles is easily reminded of how Erik felt that first night in the water. He wonders if Erik can assess the similarities between them based solely on his assumptions and without the help of telepathy.
And sure enough, when Charles extends his thoughts towards Erik, he can hear the must have spent a lot of time alone, know what that feels like, always alone, no one cares, everyone leaves. Charles withdraws from Erik's mind. Erik can't possibly still think that. He knows Erik doesn't love him (not the way Charles so desperately wants him to), but surely after all this time, after everything Charles has done, he must know how Charles feels, must know that he's the most precious thing Charles has ever had in his life, that Charles would never leave, could never leave or stop caring. But Erik doesn't know. It becomes clear to Charles (and he should have noticed earlier, really, he must be getting too casual with his gift) now that he knows what to look for, that there's a buzz of distrust, fear, apprehension in everything he catches from Erik on their ride back to the hotel. If he focuses on it hard enough, he can sense the determined refusal to get close to people as a preventive measure against the pain that comes when they leave. Charles tries to block it out, to make himself not hear it, but like everything else with Erik, it's too strong not to be noticed, and now that Charles has a name pinned to it, it's even harder to ignore it. He presses his head to the cold glass of the car window and wishes he could just have his head to himself, please.
That night, Charles asks Erik to stay. Erik looks at him quizzically, but doesn't move from where his legs are entwined with Charles' and his arms artfully draped over Charles' waist. He rests his head on Charles' shoulder and closes his eyes. The buzz in his thoughts drops to a low hum, but it stays there. Still, Charles counts it as an improvement. He lets himself hope.
5
Charles likes being polite. He likes using pleasantries and smiling, just generally acting like a nice guy. It's not always easy, keeping a friendly face when the other person is thinking something decidedly unfriendly, but he's had years of practice. He likes the satisfaction of knowing that people feel just that little bit better after he's been nice to them.
This is also why he doesn't like to hide his sympathies and affection for people. Everyone feels good when they know someone cares for them, and Charles likes making people feel good.
His fondness of making people feel nice notwithstanding, he's never been a sap (or so he likes to think). He thinks telling somebody he loves them after three days of a relationship is juvenile and dishonest, and he doesn't like it when people tell him that, and lie. In fact, if he recalls correctly, he's only said it a handful of times (most of them to Raven, once or twice to a girl he dated in high school, but he was fifteen and trying to get into her pants so he figures that doesn't count), only when he was sure that he truly did mean it.
But right now, lying in his huge bed, in his huge mansion, with his huge plans and Erik's warm body underneath him, he can't seem to stop himself. He stares at Erik's face from where his head is resting on Erik's chest, runs his fingers over Erik's jaw and smiles when Erik looks at him. Erik's hand on his hip tightens and he sighs contentedly, feeling warm, sated and relaxed. Somewhere in the hall, the large grandfather clock is ticking away the seconds they have left (tomorrow they might kill Shaw, or they might not, they might stop a war or they might start it; either way, everything is about to change, even though Charles still can't predict how), and that makes him want to grip Erik tightly and kiss him until they both collapse from lack of oxygen and then do it again when they come to, but he knows that's silly and wouldn't convey just what he wants. He kisses Erik's throat gently, nuzzles Erik's shoulder and caresses his cheek.
“I love you,” he whispers. Erik doesn't react physically, probably pretending to be asleep, but there's a shift in the gentle thrum of his mind that doesn't escape Charles' notice. It's not quite panic and it's not quite recoiling, but it's a lot of honest disbelief and some contempt, a tinge of fear of some sorts - Erik's tired and boneless, so his thoughts are very fuzzy, blending with one another, it's very difficult for Charles to read them clearly. “You don't have to say it back,” Charles rushes to add and the fearful tint leaves Erik's thoughts. “But I do, really.”
I don't, floats up clearly on the next wave of sensations he gets from Erik, coloured in gratitude, but drenched in utter apathy; they ring as honesty in Charles' mind. Charles wishes he couldn't see it, wishes Erik could lie to him, say I love you too, and wishes, oh so strongly, that he could believe it, that he couldn't easily tell apart the dishonesty from the truth.
1
Controlling Shaw is not easy. Even after all the forethought and planning and practice, it's much harder than he anticipated. He has to focus, can't afford to slip up, not with Erik in there, he can't let anything happen to Erik, won't allow even the smallest opening for Shaw to move, refuses to put Erik's life in danger like that. It's risky to even brush over the minds of everyone else, just to check if they're alive and unharmed, so he doesn't do it. He's concerned for them, of course he is, but Erik is what matters to him right now, Erik in there, alone, in danger. No, Charles can't let himself be distracted, this is what's important.
He lets what little remains unoccupied of his thoughts brush against Erik's mind, but Erik feels it now, tells him, Leave me alone, Charles. The command is strict, if unnecessary, since Charles can't feel Erik's mind anymore which means Erik must have put on the helmet. The words echo in his mind as Shaw struggles to break free and Charles has to get a grip on himself and now, but it's difficult not dwelling on how cold the order sounded, how plain and simple, without even a hint of regret, not even fondness to soften the blow.
No. It's a lie, he decides. He secures his hold on Shaw and looks through his eyes. Erik is standing there, helmet on his head, coin hovering above his hand. Charles knows what's coming next, has picked the fantasy up from Erik's mind several times already, doesn't need to read Erik's thoughts to see his intent. He swallows. Takes a breath and exhales. He knows what's coming. But he can't let Shaw go, not even for a second, can't risk it, won't risk it, not when it's Erik's life on the line. He steels himself for the pain he knows is coming.
It's a lie. It must be a lie. There has to be a way for people to lie even in their heads, to control the emotions that normally seep into their thoughts subconsciously. There has to be a way to lie even to Charles Xavier. There just has to.
Because if there's not, well, Charles is not sure he can live with that.
He holds Shaw completely immobile as the coin starts approaching.This is for you, Erik, I'm not letting go. I care, I do, and I will prove it to you if it kills me, he thinks, but there's no way for Erik to hear him. No matter. It's true. Charles can't lie to himself in his own head.
Even if Erik can. And he can. Charles needs to believe that he can.
Yeah, I know, I'm terrible. Personally, I'm rolling with, Of course Erik can lie in his own head, what are you talking about. I suggest you do the same xD
...And then there were two more unplanned chapters.
Second chapter - Five Lies Erik Regrets and the One Truth He Can't Deny
Rating: R/M
Word Count: just over 4k
Category: Slash, Pairing(s): Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier
Characters: Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier, briefly Angel Salvadore, Alex Summers, Sharon Xavier
Genre: Angst, Hurt without comfort, Unrequited love
Warnings: sex as a topic, nudity, mentions of violence, nothing serious
Disclaimer: Don't own anything, don't make money from this, you know the drill.
Summary: There's a lie in believe, an over in lover, an end in friend, an us in trust and an if in life.
...or: 1) Five Times Charles Wished He Didn't Have Telepathy and the One Time He Chose Not to Trust It, 2) Five Lies Erik Regrets and the One Truth He Can't Deny, and 3) Five Times Erik Visited and the One Time He Stayed;
Also on AO3.
A/N: Title and lyrics from Red's Lie to Me (Denial).
I feel as though angst should be a warning as well as a genre here. No, seriously, you don't understand, pure unadulterated angst. Angst fest. Nothing but angst. I also want to point out that no, for god's sake, I don't think Erik is actually this cruel and unaffected and whatnot, I just had the idea of what if Erik really didn't care about Charles, imagine all the potential for angst there and then, naturally, I had to write it.
Feedback is always appreciated ^^
Lie to Me (Denial)
or
5 Times When Charles Wished He Didn't Have Telepathy
And the One Time When He Chose Not to Trust It
Lie to me;
you can feel
that this love was never real.
Walk away,
you can learn to love again.
Lie to me;
you can leave,
I'll still be here when you see
you're not alone,
you don't have to run again.
Leave me in denial.
1
Charles likes to think that he's interesting. In fact, he likes to think he knows he's interesting. After all, plenty of people have told him so. Or at least thought that about him. He's also plucked out of their minds that he is unusually smart and well-spoken, that he's always polite and knows how treat everyone properly (he doesn't tell them that that's only because he knows how they want him to treat them) and that he comes off as very mature for his age. Many people think that about him and he's quite proud of those compliments, unspoken as they are.
So if he's that good with strangers, it should really be easy for him to talk to his mother. But she is hardly there at all, and when she is, she is too busy for him and he can sense that she doesn't want him to distract her from whatever unquestionably important thing she's doing right that instant (Charles doesn't know what exactly she's doing, but he gets a vague feeling that it has something to do with perfect burn down my throat, smells delicious, forget forget forget). He doesn't like to upset his mother, so he tries to tell his ever-changing nannies and baby-sitters everything he would like to tell her. They think he's charming and adorable, but their thoughts are not as warm with affection as he thinks they should be.
On his eighth birthday, his mother is remarkably sober. Everyone commends her for it and she tells them that she really doesn't know how that happened, but Charles has a distinct feeling that he may have just wished for it too hard. It can't be that bad, though, he decides, because everyone is praising her. She must enjoy that as much as he does.
When she approaches to give him his present, he waits for that such a smart kid, dealing so well, so well-behaved, properly raised, why aren't my kids more like him string of thoughts that inevitably comes with people giving him his birthday gifts, but behind her wide, bright smile he can see the so bored, why is there no alcohol at kids' parties, when is this going to be over, please just get it over with.
He would trade all the compliments he overheard, just to be able to get away from her thoughts. He would trade it all, he would take the silence of his lone mind, just to not hear that.
2
Charles is used to getting what he wants. It's just how the world works - one way or the other, through their own will, through his money or, in worst case scenarios, through his power, people will let him have what he desires. Sometimes, there's a tiny problem when he is not sure what he wants, but once that's settled, he goes and gets it.
The bigger issue comes up when he wants things that lose their meaning if obtained through his more unorthodox manners.
He's more than capable of making people love him, respect him, crave him. But... that kind of defeats the point, doesn't it? When he was younger, he always worried that somehow, without noticing, he was making everyone around him like him, think highly of him and care for him. (For a while he even thought that maybe he'd somehow subconsciously made Raven like him enough to stay with him, but then he realized that his ten-year-old self would have probably made his mother love him, if he'd been capable of doing such things). Sometimes, when he's too drunk to slur his pick-up lines seductively enough, he makes the most attractive person in the bar think they like him and that they want to come home with him. It's a cheap trick, but he's usually too inebriated to care at that point. Other times, when he really doesn't feel like studying, he makes his professors think he knows everything and let him pass. He doesn't do it often because it always makes him feel sleazy, but he'd be lying if he said he'd never done it.
He may be bad at boundaries and personal space (at least the mental kind), but he firmly believes that everyone should be given a choice. And if their choices truly don't sit well with him, well, he has ways of dealing with that. He's never really had a problem with this (he's long since convinced himself that he only meddles when it's for the best of everyone; he doesn't care to revisit that issue).
The one time the decision if he should affect someone or not is taken out of his hands is when he senses Erik's mind in the water. He doesn't really mean to sift through all of Erik's memories, doesn't even expect it when the overpowering anger, hate, revenge hits him so hard it hurts, and it catches him so completely off-guard, that for the next few minutes he's hardly aware of the words that leave his mouth, of the steps he takes to the deck. In fact, he's hardly aware of anything but hurt, pain, darkness, rage, so much rage, and then the memories flood him before he can stop them and all the, oh god, humiliation, the marking like they're animals, the burn of the numbers on his forearm, the exhaustion, and then more pain, always more pain, and the sharp point of, oh no that's terrible, losing his mother, the only person on his side, and the following experiments, the disgust, the fury, the hatred, and it's all so strong that Charles is left reeling and scrambling for his own mind because he thinks that he somehow lost it somewhere along the way. The memories feel so raw and real and there and Charles literally can't tell what's him and what's not, he lives through the memories like they're his own life and in the end he can physically feel the pressure of water around him, the desperate, yet ignored need for oxygen; he doesn't have the concentration to use his mind, doesn't even know what's his mind, can only jump in and try, try so hard to hold Erik tightly, break off the flow of his thoughts, rely on the physical contact to distract them both and even that only gets him far enough to let him speak to Erik, not really influence him.
When they resurface, Charles is still a little dazed, lost and confused, but so awed at the sheer intensity of what he's getting from Erik, that it helps him regain some control (at least enough to be able to tell himself apart from Erik), decide what's best to say, what Erik needs him to say at the moment. And it's easy to see it now that Charles has at least some semblance of perspective, it's easy to find the shade of alone, so alone, no one there, no one cares, no such thing as care, no such thing as love in every memory, every thought, every everything he got from Erik. It's still so fresh in Charles' mind, like an unhealed wound that burns from the ocean's salt water, powerful enough that for a second Charles loses contact with himself again, feels like he's the one who is alone, the only one in the world, nobody who understands and for a fleeting second he wishes it would just stop, that he would just stop feeling it, thinking it, knowing it. He regrets the thought the very next moment because he loves his ability, is as proud of it as he is of his PhD, or of his sister, even more proud than that. And he can show it to Erik, he can teach Erik the worth of their gift; more importantly, he can make Erik see that he's not alone, he can give Erik the love that's been denied to him, prove to him that it exists.
Not only can he, he will. Because he wants to. And Charles Xavier always gets what he wants.
3
Charles likes sex. He doesn't think there's any shame to that. The human species has long stopped being about survival, and started being about pleasure; and sex, Charles has found, is a very pleasurable act indeed. And well, Charles is a bit of a hedonist; in fact, he's a bit spoiled, so he indulges in it when he feels like it. He likes women, enjoys the delicate curves of their bodies, but finds it difficult to establish a more profound bond with them (he usually jokes that Raven has already hogged all the affection for women he has in him). He prefers men, cherishes the rough, deep noises when he fucks them and revels in the feeling of being taken, quickly, from behind, favours having a familiarly shaped body with him in bed.
Sex with Erik, he learns, is more than just very pleasurable. It's bloody sensational. Erik somehow knows all the right places, the perfect speed, somehow guesses exactly where Charles wants his hands and his mouth, always says what Charles hopes he will. Charles doesn't think anyone has ever gotten him off as quickly as Erik can manage, or that anyone before Erik has ever made him come so hard, his vision completely blacks out. Everything is somehow more intense with Erik.
But for all that Erik is the absolute best he's ever had (and that's saying something), there's always that business edge to their nights together. Erik is always precise and to-the-point, like every move he makes must somehow lead towards his goal or it's not even worth making. For Erik, it's not about pleasure (although he thoroughly enjoys every second of it, Charles makes damn sure of it), and it's not about the emotional connection (Erik doesn't cuddle or sleep in the same bed as Charles, he doesn't wake Charles with a good morning kiss, doesn't treat him any differently during the day), it's not even about Charles (Charles tries not delve deep into Erik's mind again, half because Erik's asked him not to, and half because he's afraid of losing himself in it again if he does, but Erik's immediate thoughts are bold and powerful and sometimes, Charles couldn't stop them if he tried (to be fair, he doesn't try very hard); to Erik, it's always this feels so good, this is amazing, never he feels so good, he feels amazing - there's passion and desire there, underlined with gratitude, but hardly any affection); for Erik, it's about practicality - Erik has needs, he wants sex, wants to unwind after a long day, and Charles is there, willing, good-looking and great in bed. Charles knows all this because, well, he's not stupid (and also because he's the kind of person who sometimes does things he said he wouldn't). But the sex is still mind-blowing, and Charles still thinks Erik is magnificent, and well, he can't come up with a better way to get close to Erik. So, more often than not, they still end up tumbling onto the mattress, kissing and moaning and tearing at each other's clothes frantically, even as Charles feels like Erik's touch is too distant and disconnected and his mind only half-present.
Charles is no stranger to the kind of establishment one Ms Angel Salvadore, the first mutant on their list, works in; he hasn't had the need to really frequent such gentlemen's clubs, but he has visited a few (purely out of scientific curiosity, he tells himself). It's not a place conducive to his feeling at ease, what with all the unguarded thoughts flying his way, the visceral feelings too strong for him to fight off. It's only a slight relief when Angel takes them to a more private, secluded area.
“Are you all right?” Erik asks, his hand resting briefly on Charles' elbow as they sit on the bed.
“Yeah, yeah, I'm fine,” Charles brushes it off with a smile that even he knows is weak, but Erik doesn't press the issue. Charles doesn't let himself wonder much if Erik's concerned with his well-being or with his ability to see their task through (even through the haze of lust, desire, pleasure, loneliness, pain, disgust, fear, loathing, Erik's thoughts are bright and elevated, not a moment's slip from focus, goal, success).
When Angel closes the curtain behind herself, it doesn't cut off the endless chatter in Charles' head, but it does help him concentrate on her, as if physically not seeing anyone else makes her stand out more clearly in his mind as well. He can feel that she's tired, but morbidly satisfied that it was her who managed to get away with the handsome guy every dancer was ogling. She's confused that there are two men in front of her, but is fairly confident she won't come to harm - they don't look like the type to try something shady (well, one of them does, but she's confident the other can keep him under control). Charles is always entertained by learning how others see him (and he has to commend her for her correct assumptions), so he smiles up at her in what he hopes is a reassuring way.
But there's a deep-seated sentiment of repulsion, shame, unfamiliar hands everywhere, get them off, staring at me like a piece of meat, that makes Charles' smile falter. He's felt it before, has been feeling it since the moment they stepped it, now it's just a more clear-cut image in his eyes, so it's not really what Angel's sending that has him upset (Angel's mind is nowhere near Erik's in terms of strength and construction, details and power, it's far from threatening to overcome Charles and while Charles' heart goes out for the girl because of what the she's gone through, he's not consumed by her the way he was by Erik; that's what makes Erik so special to him). It's something else that hits him.
Angel has memories of men sliding their hands up her legs, tickling over her stomach and sides, forcing their tongues into her mouth, some of them still very fresh, and they unexpectedly coincide with some of Charles' own memories. Charles is familiar with the feeling of distance that comes from being touched by someone who doesn't really care about him, someone who's only in it for the sex; it surprises him that of all the no-strings-attached, one-night-only hookups he's had over the years, not one pops into his head. What is, however, brought forth by Angel's subconscious reminiscence, are Erik's hands as they unbutton his shirt, grip his shoulders, spread his thighs, Erik's eyes as they slide over his chest and arms, Erik's lips on his own. The striking similarity of the way Erik's touch feels on him, and the way these men's touches feel on Angel's skin has Charles sick to his stomach and pushing Angel out of his mind as fast as he can. He can't shut her out, her or the rest of the club, but he mutes it all as much as he can. It only helps a little, because now that he's already made the connection, he can't not see it, can't not compare himself to these girls, who are no more than fun, no more than just a bad decision, no more than a passing pleasure.
Charles wishes he didn't know, wishes he hadn't seen. He wishes he had just walked into the club like any other man, undisturbed and unconcerned. He wishes he didn't hear anything but his own thoughts, didn't have any but his own memories. It's unsettling, that Erik's managed to produce this effect twice on him now.
Charles looks to Erik, but can't hold his gaze for longer than a few seconds - clear and confused, but far from worried. Even through the mental earplugs Charles has, he hears Erik's thought of get yourself together, Charles, come on. He turns to Angel and says something, if nothing else for, than just to distract himself.
4
Nobody lies to Charles. That's just his life, nobody can ever lie to him. People try. Sometimes they try really hard. Some of them are good, very good even. But Charles sees past their perfectly proportioned smiles, and eyes just bright enough, and relaxed postures, he looks into their very own thoughts, things they can't hide, things they don't bother to censor. It often happens that Charles knows things about them, they are not even aware of. But that's just how it is for Charles; for him it's not just the perfectly intoned words or smoothly controlled body language, he knows the intent, feels the emotions built into the thought. Nobody is capable of faking that.
So when the guard tells them Alex Summers enjoys being in a solitary, Charles knows it's not true. The steel door presents hardly any boundary here where there are only a few people with him. Alex Summers' mind is new and unfamiliar, so naturally, Charles is drawn to it immediately. It's filled with coiled-up energy and barely suppressed anger, but woven around it is genuine concern covered in what Charles assumes has been the most present emotion in the young man's mind lately - loneliness. Alex misses company. He's not a social loner like Erik, someone who has no pressing need for constant human contact, who's courteously polite when they must be, but otherwise disinterested in the company of many people; no, Alex Summers is a young man who craves other people, who aches with the need to talk to someone, to touch someone, to just have someone by their side. His longing for companionship makes the stark reality of lack thereof even more jarring and Charles is easily reminded of how Erik felt that first night in the water. He wonders if Erik can assess the similarities between them based solely on his assumptions and without the help of telepathy.
And sure enough, when Charles extends his thoughts towards Erik, he can hear the must have spent a lot of time alone, know what that feels like, always alone, no one cares, everyone leaves. Charles withdraws from Erik's mind. Erik can't possibly still think that. He knows Erik doesn't love him (not the way Charles so desperately wants him to), but surely after all this time, after everything Charles has done, he must know how Charles feels, must know that he's the most precious thing Charles has ever had in his life, that Charles would never leave, could never leave or stop caring. But Erik doesn't know. It becomes clear to Charles (and he should have noticed earlier, really, he must be getting too casual with his gift) now that he knows what to look for, that there's a buzz of distrust, fear, apprehension in everything he catches from Erik on their ride back to the hotel. If he focuses on it hard enough, he can sense the determined refusal to get close to people as a preventive measure against the pain that comes when they leave. Charles tries to block it out, to make himself not hear it, but like everything else with Erik, it's too strong not to be noticed, and now that Charles has a name pinned to it, it's even harder to ignore it. He presses his head to the cold glass of the car window and wishes he could just have his head to himself, please.
That night, Charles asks Erik to stay. Erik looks at him quizzically, but doesn't move from where his legs are entwined with Charles' and his arms artfully draped over Charles' waist. He rests his head on Charles' shoulder and closes his eyes. The buzz in his thoughts drops to a low hum, but it stays there. Still, Charles counts it as an improvement. He lets himself hope.
5
Charles likes being polite. He likes using pleasantries and smiling, just generally acting like a nice guy. It's not always easy, keeping a friendly face when the other person is thinking something decidedly unfriendly, but he's had years of practice. He likes the satisfaction of knowing that people feel just that little bit better after he's been nice to them.
This is also why he doesn't like to hide his sympathies and affection for people. Everyone feels good when they know someone cares for them, and Charles likes making people feel good.
His fondness of making people feel nice notwithstanding, he's never been a sap (or so he likes to think). He thinks telling somebody he loves them after three days of a relationship is juvenile and dishonest, and he doesn't like it when people tell him that, and lie. In fact, if he recalls correctly, he's only said it a handful of times (most of them to Raven, once or twice to a girl he dated in high school, but he was fifteen and trying to get into her pants so he figures that doesn't count), only when he was sure that he truly did mean it.
But right now, lying in his huge bed, in his huge mansion, with his huge plans and Erik's warm body underneath him, he can't seem to stop himself. He stares at Erik's face from where his head is resting on Erik's chest, runs his fingers over Erik's jaw and smiles when Erik looks at him. Erik's hand on his hip tightens and he sighs contentedly, feeling warm, sated and relaxed. Somewhere in the hall, the large grandfather clock is ticking away the seconds they have left (tomorrow they might kill Shaw, or they might not, they might stop a war or they might start it; either way, everything is about to change, even though Charles still can't predict how), and that makes him want to grip Erik tightly and kiss him until they both collapse from lack of oxygen and then do it again when they come to, but he knows that's silly and wouldn't convey just what he wants. He kisses Erik's throat gently, nuzzles Erik's shoulder and caresses his cheek.
“I love you,” he whispers. Erik doesn't react physically, probably pretending to be asleep, but there's a shift in the gentle thrum of his mind that doesn't escape Charles' notice. It's not quite panic and it's not quite recoiling, but it's a lot of honest disbelief and some contempt, a tinge of fear of some sorts - Erik's tired and boneless, so his thoughts are very fuzzy, blending with one another, it's very difficult for Charles to read them clearly. “You don't have to say it back,” Charles rushes to add and the fearful tint leaves Erik's thoughts. “But I do, really.”
I don't, floats up clearly on the next wave of sensations he gets from Erik, coloured in gratitude, but drenched in utter apathy; they ring as honesty in Charles' mind. Charles wishes he couldn't see it, wishes Erik could lie to him, say I love you too, and wishes, oh so strongly, that he could believe it, that he couldn't easily tell apart the dishonesty from the truth.
1
Controlling Shaw is not easy. Even after all the forethought and planning and practice, it's much harder than he anticipated. He has to focus, can't afford to slip up, not with Erik in there, he can't let anything happen to Erik, won't allow even the smallest opening for Shaw to move, refuses to put Erik's life in danger like that. It's risky to even brush over the minds of everyone else, just to check if they're alive and unharmed, so he doesn't do it. He's concerned for them, of course he is, but Erik is what matters to him right now, Erik in there, alone, in danger. No, Charles can't let himself be distracted, this is what's important.
He lets what little remains unoccupied of his thoughts brush against Erik's mind, but Erik feels it now, tells him, Leave me alone, Charles. The command is strict, if unnecessary, since Charles can't feel Erik's mind anymore which means Erik must have put on the helmet. The words echo in his mind as Shaw struggles to break free and Charles has to get a grip on himself and now, but it's difficult not dwelling on how cold the order sounded, how plain and simple, without even a hint of regret, not even fondness to soften the blow.
No. It's a lie, he decides. He secures his hold on Shaw and looks through his eyes. Erik is standing there, helmet on his head, coin hovering above his hand. Charles knows what's coming next, has picked the fantasy up from Erik's mind several times already, doesn't need to read Erik's thoughts to see his intent. He swallows. Takes a breath and exhales. He knows what's coming. But he can't let Shaw go, not even for a second, can't risk it, won't risk it, not when it's Erik's life on the line. He steels himself for the pain he knows is coming.
It's a lie. It must be a lie. There has to be a way for people to lie even in their heads, to control the emotions that normally seep into their thoughts subconsciously. There has to be a way to lie even to Charles Xavier. There just has to.
Because if there's not, well, Charles is not sure he can live with that.
He holds Shaw completely immobile as the coin starts approaching.This is for you, Erik, I'm not letting go. I care, I do, and I will prove it to you if it kills me, he thinks, but there's no way for Erik to hear him. No matter. It's true. Charles can't lie to himself in his own head.
Even if Erik can. And he can. Charles needs to believe that he can.
Yeah, I know, I'm terrible. Personally, I'm rolling with, Of course Erik can lie in his own head, what are you talking about. I suggest you do the same xD
...And then there were two more unplanned chapters.
Second chapter - Five Lies Erik Regrets and the One Truth He Can't Deny