"Oh, there's no need for such formality," Shaw says gently. "We're all friends here, are we not?" He spreads his hands, genial, and then thumps down both hands on the table in a gesture of brisk energy. "But since you asked. I would like very much if you'd help Charles onto a table. Tie him down. You know how. And Erik? I should not like to have to redo any of it afterwards
( ... )
"Excellent. Thank you, son. Almost like you've done this before." Shaw smiles. That same little smile he had when Erik destroyed his office, killed those two young Nazi gentlemen and lost his mother. It had all been so very much for such a young mind, but look at him now. Erik is his David, carved to carefully conceal the flaws in the cold stone
( ... )
Shaw bumps Erik's shoulder with his own. To anyone else, any casual observer, it would seem like a gesture of friendly camaraderie. It isn't. He's delighted of course. That little admittance. It is such a joy to see how Erik has borne up under the weight of his shadow all these long years they've spent apart
( ... )
Shaw takes Erik's hand with sublime gentleness. Strokes his fingers along the back of it and up to Erik's wrist. Just holding him a moment, possessive
( ... )
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