Chapter Text
Erik opened his eyes to find blue irises--startlingly blue irises--staring intently at him. Erik blinked, even as the pair of blue eyes glanced away, Charles' face coming into focus then. He'd ducked his head and was blushing, somewhat furiously Erik couldn't help but note.
Without really meaning to--though what other response could he give--a smile crept onto Erik's face. When Charles caught sight of it he relaxed, sinking into the mattress at Erik's side--and try as he might, Erik couldn't quite believe he was in Charles' bed. Charles offered Erik a sheepish smile.
"I don't usually do that," he said. It took Erik a minute to realize he meant the staring. Erik cleared his throat.
"I don't mind," he said, because Charles could look at him forever--he wished Charles would never look away--if it meant he could have Charles forever.
It was still a little surreal knowing he could have Charles at all.
"Oh," Charles said, sounding surprised, but also pleased, like no one had ever wanted Charles' attention before. Erik couldn't imagine such a thing. It was painfully obvious that everyone before him was an idiot.
Charles was looking at him again, though now his expression was searching, as though he wasn't quite certain how to proceed. It was a strange look after last night, this uncertain hesitance. Certainly Erik had seen it before, but not last night.
Erik's body stilled hummed pleasantly to think about the things they'd done to each other. Things no one had done to him before.
Charles brought up a hand--the one without the splint, and guilt still coiled in Erik's chest to think of it; he had never wanted to hurt Charles--and ran it through his hair. It was an endearingly awkward gesture, nervous fidgeting like Charles wasn't quite sure what to do with his energy. It wasn't the first time Erik had noticed it; Charles tried so hard to contain himself to a single space, and yet anyone with half a brain could see that he was meant to occupy entire rooms. The effort left him bleeding energy, Charles shifting and fidgeting in way that Erik had only ever seen in Raven before meeting him.
And, oh, shit, Raven.
Erik's smile fell. He barely registered the confused expression that settled over Charles' face before he was scrambling from the bed and hunting for his clothes. He found his pants in a tangle on the floor, but his Blackberry wasn't in them, so he began searching for his coat, finding it pooled next to an overstuffed chair that was laden with books--Erik startled to find several poetry texts in the pile, two of which contained his own works.
It only distracted him for a moment, though, and then he was pulling his Blackberry from his pocket and dialing Raven's number, cursing himself for ten times an idiot for having not thought to contact her sooner.
He had never spent the night away without telling her. Never. And given the strain between them and her concern over Erik's recent mood, he suspected having not done so might have been a very bad decision.
She answered after three rings, voice thick with sleep--a good sign, Erik thought, because at least she was sleeping.
"I'm sorry," he said, "I'm so sorry. I'm fine. I'm fine. Are you okay?" He sounded desperate, he knew--an odd counterpoint to the languor he'd felt upon waking.
It was then that he became aware of Charles on the bed, propped up on one elbow, watching him. He looked confused, though there was an edge of panic simmering beneath the surface that Erik couldn't quite comprehend. Surely Charles hadn't thought he was going to leave, had he?
"Erik?" Raven said, distracting him from the thought. She sounded like she wasn't quite processing thought this early in the morning--and it was early he realized; far too early for Raven.
"Are you all right?" he asked, as slowly and evenly as he could. Raven grunted.
Across the room, Charles relaxed a little. He gave Erik an understanding smile, and then slipped from the bed and padded into the bathroom. Erik was so distracted by the sight of Charles' retreating backside that he missed what Raven had said.
"Sorry, what?" he asked, swallowing heavily, acutely aware that he was standing in the middle of Charles' apartment, without a stitch of clothes, cradling his phone to his ear. He turned towards the windows, relief filling him when he found the shades drawn.
"I said relax. Charles texted me," she said, and Erik spun then, staring at the closed bathroom door like it could answer in Charles' place.
"He did?" he asked, wondering when that had happened. Had it been when he'd gone to use the washroom, or when Charles had popped downstairs to pick up their delivery? Or maybe he'd done so after Erik had fallen asleep, exhausted and giddy with having just reciprocated--three hours too late--Charles' blow job.
Unbidden the thought of Charles beneath him--thrashing and moaning, running careful fingers through Erik's hair--came to him. It took considerable effort to shake the image off and focus on his conversation with Raven.
"Wait, are you still at his place?" Raven was asking, and when Erik didn't answer--distracted again by Charles, who had just poked his head out the door--she added, "and if you are, why the hell are you wasting time talking to me?"
That was a very good question. Without saying goodbye, Erik ended the call and then tossed his phone somewhere in the direction of his jacket. It hit the floor with a rather alarming thud. Erik ignored it. He smiled sheepishly at Charles instead.
"Sorry," he said, and then, because he hoped it might help, added, "I don't usually do that."
Charles' smile widened. He stepped fully out of the bathroom, Erik disappointed to see that he was now wearing a pair of boxer briefs.
"She texted last night to ask if I'd seen you, so I told her you were spending the night. I hope that's all right," Charles said.
It was all right--more than all right--but Erik was too distracted by the line of Charles' hip to do anything other than step forward and reach towards it. Charles stilled as soon as Erik's fingers brushed his side, Erik tracing the ink that still marred Charles' perfect skin.
"Did you read it?" he asked, because Charles had wanted to know what it had said after Erik had wrote it, but twist as he might, Charles hadn't been able to get a good look, and Erik, still overcome by everything that had happened, still a little blindsided by the fact that he'd, on impulse, taken a pen and written verse on Charles' hip, hadn't been able to tell him.
Charles, who seemed a little flustered now that Erik was so close--and Erik would never get tired of that--ducked his head.
"I read it last night," he admitted, though it couldn't have been easy, Erik knew.
"I should have written it backwards," Erik admitted. He'd written it for Charles. It would have made sense to write it so that Charles could read it, even if he'd needed a mirror.
Erik let his finger trace the line of words. It had amused him last night, high on Charles, to write against the curve of Charles' body. A new medium he'd called it, and Charles had laughed and told him he was wonderful and after, when the ink had dried--Erik had made Charles sit perfectly still until it had--they'd kissed, the taste of tzatziki on their tongues.
Erik tugged on the line of Charles' boxers until the whole of the poem was revealed, and found himself reading out loud.
single-celled
evolution
brought you
to me.
genetic mutation
made blue eyes
who took
my heart
my mind
my soul.
proud of all
that made you.
made me.
made us.
Charles, who had gone perfectly still, trembled only slight when Erik was done. Erik flushing then, suddenly embarrassed, but Charles only turned towards him, pressed up onto his toes and kissed Erik with such soft tenderness that Erik was half afraid to reciprocate lest his awkwardness shatter the moment.
The thought lasted only until he registered that Charles had brushed his teeth--something Erik hadn't had a chance to do, and undoubtedly wouldn't unless Charles had a spare toothbrush. He pulled back and feigned a glare.
"That's cheating, you know," he said, but Charles only quirked a smile at him, grabbed his hand, and tugged him towards the bed.
Erik went willingly.
Later, and Erik probably needed to rethink his enthusiasm, because he wasn't used to this, the result of which was that he was wrung out and exhausted and it was only 10am, Charles lay nestled at his side, splinted hand resting on Erik's chest, the fingers that moved shifting against Erik's heart. It still amazed him that he was here--that Charles was here; that Charles looked like he didn't want to be anywhere else.
"I need to ask you something," Erik said, because it had fluttered on the outskirts of their night, and now their morning, and while he was terrified to ask--terrified to know--he needed to know, if only so that he could ensure Charles was protected. He would die before he let anything happen to Charles.
Charles, perhaps sensing the shift in Erik's mood--it had been so light before now--pushed up so that he was resting on an elbow. He caught Erik's eye.
"I need to know what you promised Shaw to get him to agree to an apology," Erik said. He couldn't help the way his voice twisted on Shaw's name. For as much as he'd vanquished the man last night, Erik was still coloured through with his taint.
Charles was looking at him now, expression scrutinizing, as though he was on the verge of figuring out exactly who Shaw was and exactly what he'd done. Erik held his breath, dreading the moment, because undoubtedly Charles would react with revulsion, and then all of this would have been for not.
"Is..." Charles paused, shaking his head. "Erik, is Shaw your ex?" he asked. He sounded only concerned.
The words were probably unnecessary--Erik's tension undoubtedly told the whole story--but Erik still forced himself to say, "Yes," like he wanted Charles to know; like maybe if Charles knew he could reach inside and wipe Erik clean.
"I see," Charles said, and he sounded angry--so very angry. Erik braced himself, even as his arm inadvertently tightened around Charles' waist, wanting to hold Charles to him for as long as he was able.
But instead of pulling away, Charles settled back against him, nuzzling his nose into the underside of Erik's chin.
"I'm glad you punched that son of a bitch in the face, and I'm sorry I made you apologize," he said, which was so far removed from what Erik was expecting that he pulled back, startled. "Also, I didn't promise him anything. I threatened him."
Charles glanced up at him then and Erik was surprised to see a sly smile creeping onto his face.
There were a million things he wanted to ask, but he settled on, "You threatened him?" because people didn't just threaten Sebastian Shaw--well, technically he had, but it was probably going to backfire on him and he'd end up out of a job and begging Charles to come live with him in Germany.
Charles blushed then, looking more than a little sheepish. He coughed.
"I may have been bluffing a little." When Erik didn't immediately grasp his meaning, Charles elaborated. "In the UK, the Poet Laureate is appointed by the Queen, on the recommendation of the Prime Minister, but the process is a little more complicated than that. There's actually a selection committee, but their job isn't just selecting the Poet Laureate; they also monitor them to ensure they continue to best represent England's interests.
"Not that it's anyone's been stripped of Poet Laureate status before--at least, certainly not in recent years--but it could happen."
Erik wasn't entire sure what this had to do with Charles. He said as much.
"Oh," Charles said, like it hadn't occurred to him before now. He flushed a brilliant shade of scarlet. "My uncle is the chairman of that selection committee."
He said it like it had pained him to do so, and Erik flashed back then to the comment Scott Summers had made, the one about Xavier family money. Dear God, he realized; if Charles' relatives were advising England's Queen, what did that make Charles?
"Not that I even really know him. I've only met him a handful of times, and while I'm sure he would be more than happy to help me out, he's not going to strip Shaw of his title just because I ask." He laughed then, a little self-deprecatingly, like the thought was just plain ludicrous.
Erik still didn't know what to say to that, so he said the first thing that came into his head. "I didn't apologize."
Charles glanced up at that, seeming somewhat startled.
"I think I might be blackmailing him now," Erik said with a shrug.
Charles, whose eyes had grown wide, brought a hand to his mouth, even as he let out a huff of a laugh. His hand didn't seem to be enough to contain it, though, because he chuckled again, making the most adorable snorting sound in the process. Against his will, Erik felt a grin spreading across his face. Charles gave him a looking, silently beseeching him not to start. Erik coughed.
"Oh my God," Charles said, and that was it, they both fell over, dissolving first into giggles, then outright hysterics.
Erik couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so hard, or so long. Charles had tears leaking from his eyes. Every time he thought he'd got himself under control, Charles would look at him, and then it would start all over, Erik laughing until he physically hurt from laughing.
"Oh, God, we're going to end up in jail," Charles said at one point, and when Erik replied, "Do you think they'll let us share a cell," Charles hiccuped, and that set Erik off all over again.
In the whole of his life, he had never once laughed over anything concerning Sebastian Shaw. Clearly Charles was otherworldly. There was really no other explanation.
There was, however, a limit to how much laughter the human body was capable of, because after several starts and stops, they eventually got themselves under control, Erik's stomach tense from the effort. Charles' expression grew contemplative.
"Feel like breakfast?" he asked, still grinning.
Erik's smile widened. He nodded his agreement, which seemed to be enough for Charles, who climbed from the bed, heedless of his nakedness, and meandered into the kitchen.
"I don't have much, but as long as you've no objection to Fruit Loops, I think we can manage," Charles said, pulling a box from the counter. It was quite possibly the most ridiculous thing Erik had ever seen, so he chuckled--as much as it physically pained him to do so. It occurred to him, as he watched Charles retrieving a couple of chipped bowls, that there was a good possibility this was actually going to work.
Certainly Erik was willing to put in the effort.
~*~
Raven Interlude
Raven smiled as she re-read the text on her phone. She had no idea what had happened--what had pushed Erik over the edge--but he'd sounded happy when he'd called--beneath his worry and his panic, he'd sounded happy. Raven was in a particularly good mood as she set her phone down on her nightstand and crawled out of bed.
The nice thing about having the apartment to herself, Raven thought as she padded into the kitchen, was how ridiculously easy it was to sleep in when Erik wasn't banging around making an incredible amount of noise--Erik would protest that he was quiet as a mouse, she was sure, but she knew better. It was well past noon and aside from Erik's early morning phone call, nothing had disturbed her slumber.
She was in the process of fixing a bowl of muesli when she heard the tell-tale jingle of Erik's keys. She abandoned her quest for food in favour of meeting him at the door. Erik glanced up--wearing yesterday's clothes she noted--seeming surprised to find her there. Raven offered a grin.
"So..." she began, but in place of embarrassment, or even the blush she was expecting, Erik merely rolled his eyes and headed into the kitchen.
He set about making coffee.
"You're not going to tell me?" she pressed.
Erik chuckled. "Fine, yes, okay. Except it's not what you think because we got it wrong."
Raven wasn't quite sure what to make of that. She frowned. "Wrong?"
Erik turned to face her, leaning against the counter as he did. He was smiling. She caught a brief hint of what could only be a hickey on the juncture between his jaw and his neck--his turtleneck did nothing to cover it--and was about to point it out when Erik answered.
"Charles is a professor."
Raven blinked.
Erik smile had grown particularly smug, and he was looking at Raven like he'd somehow just won a bet. Raven tried to process what she'd just heard.
"A professor?"
"Yes, a professor, not a student."
"But that means..." Raven said.
Erik's grin widened. "Yes, yes it does," he said, which seemed to be about all he was willing to say on the subject, because he started whistling, turning to fetch a pair of mugs from the cupboard.
~*~
Epilogue:
October 21, 2012
Charles woke to an empty bed, which was hardly unusual--Erik was an even earlier riser than he, and he liked to fit in his runs before breakfast--but Charles was rather hoping today might have started a little differently.
He scolded himself for the thought, because it wasn't like they'd even discussed this, so Erik probably had no idea, and what right did Charles have to expect anything from him?
Every right, a voice in the back of his head said--one that sounded suspiciously like Raven, who'd somehow managed to appoint herself Charles' unlicensed, untrained, and mostly unwanted psychiatrist. There were days when Charles honestly had no idea why he paid to see an actual psychiatrist. It was probably Charles fault for spending so much time talking to her about... well, the stuff no one else would ever talk with him about.
He considered then that he should have brought the topic up with Raven, because she would have undoubtedly talked with her brother, and then he would have known and Charles wouldn't be in the middle of freaking out over a stupid date on the calendar, like today meant anything other than another day in a string of very, very good days.
He really was the greediest bastard he knew.
"Just give him the card and don't expect anything," Charles said to the empty room, hoisting himself out of bed and retrieving Erik's card from where Charles had hidden it in the bottom drawer of his dresser--mostly cleaned out now, but Charles still kept a handful of things in there, like the cue-cards from Erik's Romantic Poetry class, and the ticket stubs from the first movie Erik had ever taken him to, and the receipt from their first official dinner, and a poster from the shark exhibit where Erik had pulled him into a dark alcove and kissed him until his toes had curled.
Erik's binder of poetry, along with Charles' binder of news clippings about his father, now sat on the bookshelf in their shared study.
He smiled fondly at the cast iron mouse--rat, Erik had called it, a lab rat, though Charles thought it far too cute to be a rat--paperweight that Erik had bought him for his office and that Charles had never been able to remove from the house on the off chance that it get lost and then he'd forever be missing the second present--the journal was the first and that was in there too--that Erik had ever bought him.
He grabbed the powder blue envelope lying next to it, tucked it into his bathrobe pocket and sauntered out into the hall.
Raven's door was still closed--it still astounded him how late she slept, though he honestly had no idea if she was even home, Raven spending as many nights here as she did at Azazel's--so Charles tiptoed past, heading downstairs to the kitchen with the intent of making coffee. It was an unexpected surprise to find Erik standing in the living room, hovering over a box that occupied pretty much the entire coffee table.
"I thought you were running," Charles said, crossing the room until he was standing directly in front of Erik. Erik smiled broadly at him even as he swooped down to meet Charles half way for a kiss.
"I thought I'd take the morning off," he said as he pulled back, still looking at Charles like Charles was his most precious possession. Charles would never get tired of the way Erik looked at him.
Charles let that show in his smile, which only served to soften Erik's expression--which was already impossibly soft.
"Besides," Erik said, "I thought you might want to open your anniversary present."
He looked nervous as he said it, but Charles was too busy fighting the swell of emotion the word anniversary had brought to offer reassurances.
"You remembered," he said, because every time he thought he couldn't love this man more, Erik would go and do something so utterly wonderful--so absolutely perfect--that Charles would fall in love all over again.
Erik gave him a little frown. "Of course I remembered. Why wouldn't I remember?" he asked, but in lieu of an answer, Charles could only shake his head.
He reached into his pocket and drew out his card.
"I only got you a card," he said, feeling sheepish then, though he suspected Erik would appreciate what it contained.
Erik smiled broadly, a delighted grin that took over his whole face. He plucked the card from Charles' outstretched hand, slipped a thumb beneath the seal and carefully pulled the envelope open. Charles bit his tongue as he watched Erik pull out the card, stomach twisting nervously as Erik read it. When he had finished, he glanced up, startled.
"I thought you didn't write poetry," he said, staring at Charles like Charles had once again done something miraculous. It was a look Charles was only now getting used to seeing.
"As you can probably see, I don't," Charles said, letting out a laugh even as Erik shook his head.
"This is good, Charles." He brought his hand to Charles' cheek then, stroking his thumb across Charles' cheekbone. Charles could tell by the way his gaze kept dropping to Charles' lips that Erik intended to kiss him, but Charles also knew that that path would only lead them back to bed, and Erik had said something about a present, so Charles pulled back--just enough to remind Erik of the here and now.
Erik shook himself, and the reached for Charles' hand, dragging him around to the sofa so that they could sit, facing the coffee table and Erik's mysterious box.
"That's my present?" Charles asked, because it was rather large.
Erik laughed. "Kind of," he said, gesturing Charles towards the box-cutter Erik had obviously gotten out for exactly this occasion. Charles took it in hand and turned his attention to the box.
It was just an ordinary cardboard box, sealed with packing tape, a couple of this side ups written on the side. There was a square of torn tape where someone had obviously removed the shipping information. Charles threaded out the cutter the moved towards the box.
"Carefully," Erik said when he got there. Charles worried then that Erik had had some sort of animal delivered--but there were no air holes and Charles was fairly certain there was no one in the house particularly interested in caring for a pet--so he put the thought aside.
He took his time breaking through the packing tape, keeping the cutter from dipping into the box as best he could. When he was done, he retracted the blade and set it back down on the coffee table.
He glanced at Erik, who was looking more and more nervous as time went by. Charles took pity on him and opened the box, finding, to his surprise, dozens of wrapped books, all exactly the same shape and size. Charles grabbed one off the top of the pile and tore off its protective sleeve.
Charles blinked several times before what he was seeing began to make any sense. Erik was hovering next to him, so Charles shot him a glance, eyes wide, even as he felt his bottom lip begin to tremble.
"Was I being presumptuous?" Erik asked. He looked terrified now. Charles shook his head.
"You... You named the collection for me," he finally managed, overwhelmed by the very idea.
It had been hard enough processing that Erik had intended to publish the poetry he'd written for Charles in a collection. The thought had made dizzy--the whole world seeing and knowing everything Erik had ever felt for him. He'd floated high on that for weeks.
To hold that collection in his hand now, his name staring up at him from the cover--The Charles Collection--like Charles was somehow worthy of this honour.
He glanced again to Erik, the sight blurry, and it was some time before Charles registered that that was because his eyes were watering.
"Oh, Erik," he said, flinging himself at Erik then, laughing into Erik's chest--and he was laughing, not sobbing he told himself--even as he clutched Erik's book in his arms.
"I'm sorry," Erik said, shushing him, like Charles' display was anything other than a man overjoyed at being in love. Charles drew back smiling and wiped at his eyes.
"You ridiculous, wonderful man," he said. "Every time I think it impossible to love you more, you go and prove me wrong."
Erik smiled at that, like Charles had just handed him the world. His own eyes grew misty, though only for a moment, Erik blinking rapidly until Charles was half convinced he'd imaged the sight.
This time when Erik leaned towards him, Charles surged forward to meet him half way.
Which is exactly where Raven found them, half sprawled across the couch, tongues buried in each other's mouths, Charles still sobbing--somewhat uncontrollably now, but he could hardly be blamed for that--Erik murmuring soothing sounding German things into his mouth.
"Oi!" Raven said, startling them both. "We have a rule about this sort of thing," she said, but when Charles glanced over she was smiling. Azazel, who was standing at her shoulder in a pair of red pajamas, smirked. They'd probably both known about the title, the bastards.
"Sorry," Erik immediately said, drawing back so that they were sitting once again, side by side, Charles still clutching Erik's book to his chest. He turned to Charles then. "I'm thinking we should probably retire to the bedroom before you read the dedication."
Charles mouth fell open, even as his eyes grew wide.
"Dedication?" he asked. Erik nodded, a little solemnly, but there was an edge of a grin dancing in his eyes.
Charles didn't hesitate. He bolted off the couch, vaulting over the coffee table--box and all--in his quest to reach the stairs. He heard Erik's amused chuckle as Erik followed behind.
That last thing he heard, as he ducked into their bedroom, was Raven shouting, "For God's sake, keep it down, some of us are trying to eat!"
Not exactly an easy task when faced with an enthusiastic Erik, but Charles was up for the challenge. First, he had a dedication to read.
My love
My light
My Charles
Thank you.
THE END