The One About The Turtleneck (1/5)
Charles knew that this was not a very good idea.
Yet it was with a certain triumph that he pulled the turtleneck snug over his head and regarded himself in the mirror. It was too big for him, too long for his torso. But it smelled of Erik. He inhaled that strange scent of leather and metal and something indefinable and sweet and felt even sillier than he had when he’d thought of this.
Then Erik emerged from the washroom and he froze.
“Charles?” he said.
“Hello,” Charles said. “This seems - safe.” He realized that this remark made no sense in context. “Just making sure,” he added. “Neutralized.”
“Do you need more clothes?” Erik asked, and Charles could detect a faint edge of amusement in his tone, even without trying to use his power. Erik seemed almost unsurprised by the fact that Charles was sneaking around his room so early in the morning rummaging through the turtlenecks.
“I - Hank suggested that I might benefit from a change of wardrobe,” he muttered, and this sounded even lamer than the first excuse.
“Ah,” Erik said. His eyes raked up and down Charles’ body and Charles’ stomach yanked suddenly downwards as his grin widened and those eyebrows lifted the tiniest fraction of an inch. “Suits you,” the taller man said. “Come to breakfast?”
Fuck.
You couldn’t very well say, “I was just taking this to sleep in.” You couldn’t very well look into those blue eyes-warm now with mirth, and mumble, “I couldn’t wear it in the house, I’d be mortified, everyone would know, I think you must know already.”
“All right,” he said, and he knew he was blushing.
“Good,” Erik said, grinning at him as though he’d just discovered something else to do with his power that hadn’t occurred to him before. “After you, vicar.” He stood to one side and let Charles pass. Charles felt his eyes following him down the hall. If he dared to presume he would have said that Erik was rather unsubtly staring at his ass. But Charles didn't like to presume.
--
“Morning Raven,” Erik said, stepping into the kitchen. The students were seated at the breakfast table, except for Raven, who was rummaging for something in the refrigerator. “Hank. Alex.”
“Good morning, Erik,” Raven said, not looking up.
“Where’s Sean?” Erik asked, sidling over to the counter and pouring himself some coffee.
“Still asleep,” Alex said. “He had the fish nightmare again last night.”
Everyone nodded sympathetically.
Charles slipped in as unobtrusively as possible, unfortunately just when Raven found the orange juice she was looking for and shut the refrigerator.
“Good Morning, Charles!” she said, with an emphasis that Charles thought was really hardly necessary. Everyone’s heads turned toward him. Out of the corner of one eye he could see that Erik was grinning wolfishly. The expression suited him.
“Morning, Charles,” Hank said, apparently oblivious.
“Good morning, Erik,” Alex said, turning back towards where Erik stood leaning against the counter.
“Not very subtle, Charles.” Raven said, walking over to the table and sitting down. “Next time how about you re-monogram all the bath towels while you’re at it?”
“Why would he re-monogram the bath towels?” Hank asked.
“Absolutely no reason,” Charles said, approaching the table and pulling out a chair. Calm your mind. Under no circumstances blush. Take a plate. Act as though nothing is out of the ordinary. “Could someone pass me the bacon?”
“Absolutely,” Erik said. The children’s eyes flashed toward him. Suddenly a fork had flown across the room, stabbed two pieces of bacon, and deposited itself on Charles’ plate with a clatter.
“Thank you, Erik,” Charles said. Erik grinned.
“Happy to be of use.”
Alex sighed heavily. “Well, it was only a matter of time,” he said.
Erik let out a harsh laugh.
“You could have at least changed,” Raven hissed across the table to Charles. “You have plenty of shirts.”
That was when Sean shuffled in.
“Don’t talk to me,” he muttered, shambling over to the table and sagging into a chair.
Everyone winced sympathetically.
“Sean, do you think it would be better if we moved you to a higher floor where you might feel more remote from the fish?” Charles asked.
“These were flying fish,” Sean said. “They climb trees. You’re never safe.” He took a desolate mouthful of toast. Then his eyes flickered curiously back to Charles. “Wait a second,” he said, chewing slowly on the toast. His eyes roved from Charles to Erik and back again. “That’s his shirt.”
“Everyone has been neglecting the possibility that I might own any turtle-necked shirts of my own,” Charles said.
“You don’t,” Raven said.
“Thank you for that,” Charles said, grimacing at her. It was times like this that he hated Raven.
“Whoa,” Sean said. He leaned across the table towards Erik and raised his hand. “High five.”
“I’m not high-fiving you, Sean,” Erik said dryly. He sipped a little coffee and smirked at Charles. Charles glowered at him.
“Why the long face, Charles?” Alex asked, laughing.
“Children,” Charles said. He was having difficulty restraining himself from erasing everyone’s recollection of this meal, freezing them, going upstairs, changing, and coming in again. But that seemed awfully involved.
Sean was still looking beseechingly to Erik. “Where’s your sense of team spirit?”
Raven started laughing too.
“Frankly I’m amazed at the attention you’ve been paying to my clothes,” Erik said.
“As Erik sagely points out, our respective sartorial choices are none of anybody’s business,” Charles said.
“Oh shut up, Mom,” Alex muttered.
“Excuse me?” Charles and Erik said, simultaneously.
Alex seemed to be positively shrinking into his scrambled eggs.
“Please don’t refer to the Professor like that,” Erik snapped. Alex’s butter knife arose menacingly and hovered a few inches above the table.
“Erik, that’s not necessary,” Charles said, amused in spite of himself. “Alex was just being silly.” Erik’s eyes flickered-- apologetically towards him and the knife lowered itself back onto the table.
Sean let out a low whistle. Charles tried to look less tense and irritable.
“Let’s go jogging, shall we?” he suggested. “All of us. Five miles.”
“I thought sex was supposed to relax you,” Sean muttered.
“Sex?” Hank asked.
“Not for you,” Alex said.
“No one’s been having any sex,” Charles said.
“Then why are you wearing his clothes?” Raven asked.
“Well, I was-” Charles began, trying to say each word as slowly as possible to give himself time to think of something plausible.
“It’s a training exercise,” Erik said, and Charles’ mind shot towards his with a rush of overwhelming relief and gratitude.
“Training exercise, huh?” Alex said, looking suspiciously at him. “How’s that working out for you?”
“Exceptionally,” Charles breathed.
“Oh, the Kronsky Maneuver!” Hank exclaimed. “That makes more sense now.”
Charles fumbled quickly into Hank’s mind to figure out what on earth the Kronsky Maneuver was. It was some sort of oddly technical training exercise employed by the Russian chess team, he learned, where you tried to gain an advantage over an opponent by lulling him into a sense of false security with his own scent. Or something.
“I knew there had to be a simpler explanation for Charles and Erik’s behavior this morning,” Hank said. “Occam’s razor.”
“Who’s razor?” Sean asked.
“It’s a law that the simplest explanation is generally the best one,” Hank said.
“And the simplest explanation wasn’t that they just-y’know’ed - and Charles happened to wear that shirt to breakfast?” Alex asked.
Erik laughed. “We’re in the room, you realize.”
“And not deaf,” Charles said.
“Why would you leap to that?” Hank asked, looking perturbed. “This is a training exercise used by the Russian chess team. I mean, obviously.”
“And that’s a simpler explanation to you than that they finally -- did it?” Raven asked.
“I don’t think they realize we’re in the room,” Charles said to Erik across the table. “More coffee?”
“Yes, thanks,” Erik said. “You really ought to invest in a metal kettle, you know. It’d make breakfast easier.”
“There is still something to be said for table manners, Erik,” Charles said.
“We get that you’re in the room,” Sean mumbled.
“May I watch the chess game?” Hank asked, turning to Charles. “I’ve always wondered if this were hokum or not; I generally think the Russian approach to these things combines a great deal of mumbo-jumbo spiritualism with a bare minimum of science, but if someone of your intellectual caliber thinks it’s worth trying, there may be useful applications down the road.”
“In English?” Alex said.
“The Kronsky Maneuver is a training exercise used by the Russian chess team,” Hank explained, enunciating each word very carefully as though he were not certain whether this were Alex’s native language. “It uses our bodies’ innate trust of our own scent to lull an opponent into a false sense of security, undermine his mind set, and make him more vulnerable to attacks, simply by ratcheting up the psychological factors that determine trust.”
“What?” Sean said.
“Well, yes, Hank,” Charles said. He thought he was getting enough of a handle on it to fake an explanation. “You know how, if you want to accustom a puppy to new surroundings, you bring items that already have its scent on them? And how we are not able to smell our own body odors? The Russians seemed to think that this might be applied to trick our subconscious. Your assumptions of how far an opponent will go vary based on your trust. And whom do we trust more than ourselves?”
He felt Erik looking at him with a question in his eyes.
“And that’s all this is,” Erik said flatly. Charles thought he felt a wave of disappointment.
“But why wear it to breakfast?” Sean asked suddenly. Charles felt Erik’s eyes on him again, that amused appraising glance, as he stood in the bedroom in the black turtleneck that was clearly not the right size for him, saw the eyebrows raise. It suits you.
“Yeah,” Raven asked.
“I assume they will play chess directly once we’ve finished the meal,” Hank said.
“Oh,” Alex said, still looking somewhat unsatisfied. “I guess so.”
Charles finished his bacon. “Precisely, Hank."
Part Two is here