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Charles never got enough of Erik's touch. It wasn't even really a sexual thing, though Erik certainly had the power to turn him on and then had infinite ways to get him off. But no, Charles just craved to be touched, to be held, to be caressed.
He was in his favorite place, on the couch in his study, head pillowed in Erik's lap, with Erik running his fingers through his hair.
Erik's strong, elegant fingers strayed to his cheek, stroking it gently. “Love you,” he murmured.
Charles closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. “I love you, too.”