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[butwedonot]

The morning had dragged on a bit to long for Charles' taste, there always seemed to be something that needed to be done. The air had been heavy throughout the house, be it the forboding shadow cast over the Westchester mannor or the tension that arose from many hard and not exactly fruitful trainning sessions throughout the day. It seemed that

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[drlehnsherr]

[ Charles and Moira had been preoccupied with training the boys during the mid-morning and afternoon, and Erik had taken it upon himself to explore the mansion. That done, and having run out of rooms to stalk through, he had taken to the gravel path instead, a brisk jog taking him around the house and the lake, then back up and in through the patio doors. Now standing, freshly showered and in a borrowed sweater and slacks, in the doorway to Charles' study, he catches sight of the telepath's head. Venturing in quietly, because this was around the time they would play chess, or have a drink-- he leans a hand on the backrest, looking down. ] Delving into the tomes are we?

[ It's a little wry, but still holding that overall timbre of affection that is reserved for Charles. It's a comfortable picture; the telepath curled around a worn volume, beside the fireplace and the stacked shelves. Erik himself is partially drawn in by the heat of the coals; it's a cold day-- not raining, but grey enough and brisk enough to warrant a pull towards

[butwedonot]

Something like that. [ His gaze finally lifts from the written word toward Erik, a light laugh tinting the words. Fingertips pulling in on his hand, the bookmark held at the edge of the page under them now secured near the spine and the book itself slid shut for the moment, words hidden under the cover which is far too old and plain to be read properly. The gold leafing having mostly flaked off and the cover itself rubbed a little sore near the corners. Something that had been pulled down from the shelf more than once, at the very least. He turns his upper body just enough so that he can get a better look at him, noting the damp nature of his hair and the few droplets that had refused to part with the towel. His teeth compact, erring on the side of caution as far as that trail of thoughts was concerned, pinching his cheek between pearly white molars as he ducks his head nodding. ]

I'd love some company, have a seat. [ His gesture is intentionally vague, waving somewhere between the usual armchair on the couch, letting Erik take a

[drlehnsherr]

As you wish, [ He says, with an interested lilt, casting a quickly searching look at the other man before circumventing the couch. Charles' study seemed to double as an extension for the library, the walls consisted of mainly bookshelves, crammed full with a mixture of old and new editions; some antique, judging by the gilded pages and heavily ornamented spines, others modern in their paperback bindings. The shift in Charles' posture could be an invitation to sit down beside him, rather than in the armchair that he usually took up during chess matches. There has been alteration in their relationship; it's turned and changed, and they have grown closer-- physically at times, in truth, though it's been a gradually natural progression. He's still uncertain to what degree the initiation of any contact closer than a clap on the shoulder, or another equally platonic gesture, is up to him-- and he is unwilling to broach that tentative trust that has been established, the slow warming they've experienced

[butwedonot]

That's not what I meant. [ He actually looks somewhat sheepish, however briefly, but for the most part amused. Shining with a hint of what would best be called mischief he turns his attention back to Erik. ] I meant in chess, I haven't got the wits for it-- not to argue. [ A pause before he ads on with a hint of self-depreciating humor, ] I can always argue. [ It's obvious that isn't his intent for the evening, his body turned just a bit on the seat to allow him to speak to Erik without straining his neck to look at him. The book itself was a basic collection of classic poems featuring European authors. The cover a faded burgundy Buckram, the small gentle ridges of the dull cloth softened over years of use-- the cover rubbed against it's companions on the shelf each time it had been removed and deposited. Charles lifts his arm when the cover lifts, allowing Erik to inspect it all he liked before dropping his palm back near the upper edge of it, fingers curling and gently brushing against the golden edges of the books pages. ]I think

[drlehnsherr]

I can suffer through the odd volume. Dependent on the authors. [ He muses for a moment, eyes catching the gleam in Charles', then dropping to watch his hands as they moves across the the book's binding; fingers that have turned such a multitude of pages in spare time, studied time-- he, himself has had less than the preferred time for reading, studying where he can, and in the years he's traveled-- between stations and airports and on planes. The books have been left in a trail behind him; there is no space for them to accompany him-- so he leaves them at the terminals and in the hotel room cabinets, for someone else to find. Sometimes books of mechanical equations, poured over because all he wants is to truly understand this bizarre but practical evolution; the affinity for alloys-- his aptitude for controlling them. ]

I like Yeats. Sometimes Byron, I liked his Lara-- his madness was not of the head, but heart, [ He quotes with a smile, as if to share the point. While not all too widely read in the lesser known poets favored by the