(Untitled)

[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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[butwedonot]

[ His head tilts back a bit, and even more to the side, as if assessing Erik's words while he speaks them. A little note of a hum coming out in acknowledgement of the quote, but he doesn't comment on it-- or anything else-- till Erik is done speaking. It was a curious thing to study someone from the outside; sure he had been fairly deep inside of Erik's mind upon their meeting, amazed with it in a sense, but he had promised not too long after to refrain from doing so without permission. It left Charles at a bit of a loss, normally he could probe-- even just lightly-- for information, to make conversation flow easier; to know what someone wanted before they asked for it. With Erik, he found he felt decidedly normal, it was unusual to say the least. ]

I think if you were to grab me by the lapels, your point might be forgotten shortly after. [ The words tumble out with surprising ease, his expression going from thoughtfully neutral to the complementary countenance his voice dipping toward the end and body edging a little closer with a

[drlehnsherr]

You've quite mastered the art of posing a distraction, my friend. Our first ever meeting was a testament to that, I believe. Though that was more of an intervention. [ His arm is propped on the back cushions, backs of his fingers touching the wool of the telepath's cardigan; an innocuous touch, but ever-present-- they're always close together, even around the others, and it would seem to be absolutely platonic-- but for the fact that it is not. Attention straying to Charles' eyes, and the longer strands of brown hair that frame his face-- curving over and hiding the tips of his ears. Initially, he'd found the man abrasive; altogether too academic and boisterously youthful to warrant seeking out his company, if it were not for that first second of connection when their thoughts had intersected

[butwedonot]

I think I only distract you because you let me. [ He was just as humored as Erik, though he believed the words he spoke-- the man seemed far too determined and able to obtain that single-minded focus if he cared to that Charles wasn't entirely sure he could distract him unless allowed to. Still, it was a flattering thought to know he could pose some sort of a distraction regardless.

The suspicious, or lack thereof, nature of their sitting arrangement doesn't seem to phase him. Mostly because he doubted any of the students could manage to make it all the way down the hall and into the study with neither of them noticing the approach-- be it their thoughts or the metal they carried on their person. Besides, they were mutants, this was at best half as unusual as their genetic dispositions-- not that he minded either, not really, though he'd probably talk more openly about his mutation than anything otherwise. For now, though, perhaps it was best-- they were both still settling into things and he didn't care to jump (metaphorically,

[drlehnsherr]

[ A nearly unconscious smile spreads at the sudden turn of the conversation; he had not expected a poem in his home tongue, let alone Charles to read it aloud to him-- it's undeniably endearing; the softened consonants, where they ought to be sharp-- but the telepath's quiet English accent detracts from the roughness of the original German, and not in a way that is even close to unpleasant. The meaning too, catches his attention-- because it would be impossible for Charles to have chosen one and have it remain devoid of any subtextual connotation to the two of them. A love poem. Enough implication right there to halt all warring theories, and it does catch him off guard, to be met with forward honesty. Whatever Charles' motive, it's well received.

Erik allows himself to watch the other man, following the line of his profile-- curve of forehead, curve of nose, cheek, mouth, jaw-- and listening; such plaintive words, these German phrases translate to: I think of you, when I see the sun's shimmer, gleaming from the sea. I think of you

[butwedonot]

[ He doesn't realize that he had stopped breathing till he can feel Erik's breath against his cheek when the man leans over his shoulder. They're not impossibly close, but enough so that he can feel the wisps of it against his flesh. It isn't unpleasant, he notes, however much he thought that sort of thing probably should be. He follows Erik's finger, at first, his own hand easily sliding out of the way and down to the underside of the book to help keep it angled toward him and thus easier to read. But as the words begin to flow out his attention on the written form is lost, blues drifting toward the other man instead, watching the way his mouth moved around the words, the proper enunciation for each interesting but not so much as just listening to them. Listening to him.

It was in the following silence that he partially wished he could fall back on that pushy charm, say something witty or lascivious to change the mood he'd practically set. He can't, though, not now-- because he doesn't want to be that person, at least not with Erik