Chapter Text
The first time Charles notices him is when his mother points him out.
She's holed herself up in her room for a few days now with the bottle she keeps in her sock drawer, the one that he pretends not to know about and isn't allowed to mention. He is sitting in his bed, a book propped open lying on top of his lap when she walks in. He looks up, unable to hold back the surprise that she has ventured out of her room, and and sees the laundry basket attached to her hip.
It has been too long since he has had to take care of his own laundry, as well as his mother's, if he ever wanted to see a clean pair of underwear. The thought that his mum was actually going to do the washing was almost ridiculous.
And against his better judgement, Charles feels his heart lift. It's moments like these when he allows himself to hope that things are going to get better. That maybe Mum's going to leave Kurt and it's just going to be the two of them again but they'll be happy and Charles won't have to keep hiding the bruises that somehow magically appear whenever Cain's home. But it also makes it all the more harder when his mum relapses and Charles is hit with the cold bucket of reality, that this was just how things were going to be and he should just get used to it. Because these days, the ones where Charles can almost hope for a future, are getting fewer and farther between.
Charles shakes his head, banishing the thoughts running across his mind, and regains his composure. He moves to deposit his dirty laundry into the basket and pauses to stand beside his mum, who is by the window, staring at the flat across his room.
It has stood empty for about a month now, and Charles has never given the place much thought. But now he can see an older man sitting by the window, languidly enjoying a fag. He hasn't bothered to put on a shirt and even from his poor vantage point, Charles notes that the man is rather attractive, if scruffy-looking men in their mid-30's are your type (Charles isn't exactly sure what his type is). A small smile tugs at his lips as his eyes trail on the man admiringly.
"I should get you new curtains," his mum says, fingering his flimsy old ones pensively before her hand drops to her side. Charles is taken aback at her sudden interest in his well-being. It's more than he can say about her since marrying Kurt.
His lips purse as he remembers a time when she used to be beautiful, when she used to have such an easy smile and laughter that rang throughout the house. But it's all just a distant echo from his childhood now. It's been a while since Charles has seen his mother happy.
He pries his eyes away from the window to look at his mother, notes the dark circles under her eyes, the streaks of premature grey that are a stark contrast to her dark hair so similar to his own (he's taller than her now, when did that happen?).
Charles reaches out tentatively and rests his hand on her shoulder. Her head snaps toward him and there is a flash of something in her eyes before it is gone as suddenly as it appeared and, with a huff, she leaves with the laundry basket.
He settles himself by the window, gazing out where the man was now sprawled on a ratty old couch, eyes intent on his television screen and completely unaware of the way Charles is staring appreciatively at him.
--
Charles comes home from school to new curtains that offer considerably more privacy than his previous ones had. He is surprised to find his mum doing dishes in the kitchen. The scene looks so deceptively normal that there is that niggling of hope again that he tamps down.
"Never know what kind of perverts are looking through our windows these days," she says when he asks about it. The thought of his mother doing some shopping... Charles really doesn't see the harm in allowing himself this tiny flicker of hope.
He walks over to his mum and gives her a peck on the cheek. She stiffens a bit under his touch but otherwise doesn't acknowledge the gesture. And, just like that, the flicker is gone and Charles turns to head back up to his room. He digs around his backpack until he finds what he is looking for. He throws open his new curtains, eyes automatically going to the flat across the street. But one look tells him that the flat across the street is empty.
Disappointed, he yanks open his drawer and crams his newly-purchased binoculars inside. Perverted neighbours indeed. His mum ought to worry more about what goes on under her own roof, if she only stayed sober enough to continue to care.
--
Charles is sitting at a table all to himself at the library. He doesn't really feel like going home just yet, the prospect of spending the rest of the afternoon with his mother particularly unappealing today, after he'd woken up the previous night and he could smell the alcohol permeating from under her bedroom door.
He idly chews on the rubber of his pencil and looks up when he hears someone dragging a chair a few tables across. He is irked that his concentration should be so interrupted but then draws a deep breath when he sees that it's the man who lives in the flat across his house. The one he hasn't been watching from behind dark blue curtains for over a week now.
It is the first time that Charles has seen him up close. And the first time that he has seen him in more than a pair of old boxers and mouldy t-shirts.
The fact that he is wearing a pair of tattered jeans and a loose t-shirt that hangs from his thin frame, hiding the wiry muscles that Charles knows is beneath the layer of clothing, does not make him any less attractive to Charles's eyes.
It's impossible for Charles to focus on his homework after that. He steals a glance at the man as he reaches for a book on the top shelf and Charles licks his lips at the sliver of skin that shows above the band of his jeans where his shirt rides up.
Charles glances quickly back down at his notebook when the man returns to his seat to grab his backpack before making his way out of the library, book tucked neatly under his arm.
Charles takes his cue and hastily scoops his own things into his own bag, almost tripping on his own feet as he follows in the man's heels. An elderly woman stands between Charles and the man as he checks out the book. The receptionist is typing away at her keyboard and Charles hears her ask, "Name, sir?"
"Erik Lehnsherr." A barely-suppressed shiver runs up Charles's spine at the lightly-accented voice that will become the object of his fantasies.
Erik Lehnsherr. A smile tugs at the corners of Charles's mouth. The name suits him, Erik Lehnsherr.
"Excuse me, sir? Can I help you?"
Charles blinks, suddenly aware that the receptionist is directing the question at him. "No." He slinks away from the queue and starts to head home. He spots Erik not too far away and Charles keeps his distance. He doesn't want Erik to think that he's stalking him. That would just be bloody creepy.
"Erik," he says aloud and smiles to himself, liking the sound of it.
--
When Charles wakes, there is a warm body curled up beside him. His eyes flutter open and the corners of his mouth tug into a smile.
"Hello, Raven."
She nuzzles even closer to him and Charles can smell her shampoo as he scoots closer to her. His smile quickly disappears, though, when he sees the bluish-purple bruise at the back of her neck. His fingers brush the area lightly but Raven swats his hand away and they lie that way for a while before Raven breaks the silence.
"You're a complete and utter bastard, you know that?" she says even as her face is buried into his pillow, her blonde hair a tangled mess on his sheets. Charles nods but remains silent. He has a fair idea why she is upset with him and he's learned long ago to let her speak her mind uninterrupted or face dire consequences. Raven sits up on the bed and there is a flash of annoyance in her eyes.
"I can't believe you made me break into your room just to see you again. It's been weeks, Charles, weeks! What have you been doing holed up in your room, anyway?" She jumps out of the bed and stands by the window. Her hand brushes the binoculars that Charles had forgotten to replace in his drawer the night before. She glances at them and picks them up, looking out of Charles' window.
"I was waiting for you at the library the other day," Charles offers a bit unhelpfully as he pulls on a t-shirt and some jeans. Raven doesn't even look at him as she fidgets with the little knobs on top of the binoculars.
"Liar. I was there. You weren't." Oh. That's right. He'd left early after Erik showed up.
"I mean, seriously, Charles---" Raven cuts herself off and a small sound escapes her lips. Charles looks out the window and he can just make out Erik watching TV in his flat. He's barechested as usual, and he hasn't shaved but he still looks gorgeous. Raven smirks as she continues to look out the window.
"So this is why you've been blowing me off." She sounds appreciative before her voice takes on a teasing tone again.
"God, Charles! You're such a creepy little fuck. You know that, right?"
Charles doesn't even dignify that with an answer as he stands beside Raven. She's still looking through the binoculars and elbows him in the stomach.
"You've got taste, though. I'll give you that. He's fit." She hands the binoculars over to him and it's Charles' turn to raise it to his eyes. Raven nestles her head on the crook of his shoulder and sighs.
"So are we just going to perv on your neighbour all day or what?"
"I am not perving on him, Raven. I am merely observing his everyday comings and goings. Very closely." Raven rolls her eyes at him before swatting him playfully with his own textbook.
"Come on, I'm bored." Charles doesn't have to tear his eyes away from the window to know that she is now pouting.
"Do you have a better idea?" he asks and looks away from the binoculars then. He recognises the gleam in her eyes as she looks at him. It was the sort of gleam that got him into trouble more often than not.
"Emma Frost from next door is away on holiday. Let's crash her pool."
The sensible part of him is telling him to say no. This is a bad idea. They are most likely going to get caught and then turned over to the local authorities. He and Raven already have a file at the police station, mostly for underage drinking and being caught under the influence. They don't need to add breaking and entering into the list. So he is horrified to hear himself say, "Sure."
Raven wavers, suspicious that she hadn't had to force him to go along with her plan, but she's not going to question this stroke of luck. She lets out a gleeful little laugh and drags Charles out of his room and through the front doors of his house, leading the way.
--
Raven receives a text from one of her mates about a party that Angel Salvadore is throwing at her place so, naturally, she and Charles have to go. Still dripping wet from their dip, they are giggling into each other at the bus as the other passengers are giving them wide berth. But Charles and Raven don't really notice them, they are in their own world and nobody and nothing can ease its way into the little contented bubble that they have crafted for themselves.
The music is already blasting when they reach the address on Raven's phone and there are people that Charles knows and people he doesn't know streaming in and out of the open front door. Charles somehow finds himself with a bottle of vodka and he and Raven retreat into the back to enjoy it between themselves, away from the general chaos.
The bottle's already half empty when a ginger (Sean, if Charles remembers correctly) sits himself beside Raven, eyeing the vodka pensively.
“Wanna trade?” Raven asks, jerking her head at the spliff he's holding. Sean jerks, as if he'd forgotten about her and Charles. He silently hands over the spliff and takes the vodka. Raven takes a hit before handing it to Charles. There is a moment's hesitation, where it rests between his fingers, burning lightly, before he raises it to his lips and takes a puff before returning it to Sean.
"Sean? There you are! I've been looking all over for you." Charles recognises the blonde as Alex, an exchange student from America. He and Charles go to the same school but usually hang out in different social circles.
“Dude, I thought you were gonna be my wingman tonight.”
“But it's so nice here.” Sean grins at Alex and offers him the joint. Alex looks dejected but he leans on the wall anyway and takes a drag.
It isn't long before they are joined by three others: Hank, who goes to Raven's school and Charles is amused to find that Raven is flirting with him, Armando, who came looking for Alex and Sean but was easily roped into the cozy little circle, and Angel Salvadore. Apparently, the party had started off as a quiet night between her and her girlfriend but she's fucked off with a boy and now Angel just wanted to get high and get drunk and forget tonight ever happened.
By the time Charles and Raven are able to drag themselves away, they can't walk straight and they're both giggling like school girls. Not that that's much of a difference from how they usually are around each other. But Charles makes sure that Raven gets home safely, though it's been a while since Raven has been able to call her home a safe haven. Charles kisses the top of her head and wishes her good night before stumbling towards his own house.
--
Even through his drunken haze, Charles can hear the yelling. He's not surprised, Mum and Kurt have been at each other's throat for a while now. Specifically, ever since they moved in together. Why they even decided to get married is beyond Charles. But he frowns as it dawns on him belatedly that Kurt must be back from his "business trip" and, with him, his son Cain. Charles scowls at the hateful Toyota as he passes it on the driveway. He tries to shake the drunkenness away from his head and barges into the house.
The yelling is loudest in the living room so he heads for the general area.
“I BLOODY WELL WILL KICK YOU OUT OF THIS HOUSE IF YOU WON'T TELL ME WHERE YOU'VE BEEN!”
"FOR GODSSAKES SHARON I TOLD YOU I WAS GOING ON A BUSINESS TRIP, DIDN'T I?!”
“BUSINESS TRIP? I CALLED YOUR OFFICE. THEY LAID YOU OFF LAST MONTH.”
“ARE YOU CALLING ME A LIAR?”
“A LIAR AND A CHEAT, YOU BLOODY BASTARD!”
Charles walks in on them just in time to see Kurt smack his mum. She hits the couch with a sob and Charles is filled with a burning rage. Even though there are times when she's a difficult woman to live with, she's still his mum and he's not going to let Kurt or anyone else hit her.
“Hey! You leave--- You! Leave her alone, you... you... bastard!” Charles winces as his grasp of vocabulary is just out of reach, the alcohol taking its toll on his neural functions. Kurt turns around, face red with fury, his hand still outstretched. One look at Charles, at how he's struggling to keep himself upright, and his expression turns even darker.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Kurt mutters under his breath but he doesn't leave from his spot hovering above Charles' mum. She looks up from the couch, sees Charles and glares at him.
“Go to your room, Charles. This is none of your business.” Charles grits his teeth and shuts his eyes, trying to will the alcohol away from his system. Normally, he would have slunk away to his room and bury his head in pillows, trying to shut out the screaming. Not tonight. Tonight, he's had just a little too much to drink. Tonight, he wasn't going to stand for it.
“Of course it is, Mum. He's. Beating. You. Of course it's my sodding business!” Kurt is advancing towards him and, with some stroke of luck, Charles is able to deflect the backhand directed at him. But then a fist comes flying from the other direction and suddenly, Charles is seeing stars and he can hear the blood rushing in his ears.
“OUT! OUT OF MY HOUSE!” Kurt is holding him by the collar. Charles can feel his feet dragging behind him and then Kurt is throwing him out the front door.
It's our house, you bastard! Mine and Mum's! Charles wants to shout back at him, but manages to bite back his tongue. He doesn't want to wake the whole neighbourhood, if they haven't already. He stumbles across the street and glowers at his house before a wave of nausea washes over him and he is throwing up into the gutter. Charles can feel bile rising in his throat and he spits it out, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth.
He starts at the sound of footsteps shuffling behind him and he whirls around to see Erik Lehnsherr cocking his head at him. The expression on his face is impassive but Charles can tell that he has been standing there long enough, if not to witness everything then to hear everything. Fuck, the whole neighbourhood would've heard them. Could this night get any worse?
--
Erik flicks his cigarette onto the pavement, his eyes never leaving Charles. His face is blank and Charles suddenly wishes he could read minds, if only to know what Erik is thinking. He has fantasised about this moment for days, come up with hundreds of different scenarios where finally meets Erik (and maybe gets to shag him). But Charles has to admit that meeting Erik when he is pissed, sporting a black eye and thrown out of his home, has never made his list.
Erik's takes a halting step toward Charles, his hand outstretched. Charles forces himself to tear his gaze away from Erik's face and his eyes dart down to his hand, and sees a handkerchief. It is only then that Charles can feel the telltale wetness of his cheeks and that he is holding back a sob. It's silly, but Charles is grateful that the lone lamplight in their street doesn't give enough light for Erik to see the blush creep into Charles's cheeks.
“Th-thank you.” Charles takes the handkerchief and wipes his tears away, wincing as the cloth brushes against the sensitive flesh under his right eye. He makes to return the handkerchief but Erik takes a step back, shaking his head.
“Keep it.” He shifts his weight to his other foot, looks a bit hesitant, before pointing to Charles's black eye and adds, “You should put some ice on that.”
Charles's hand reaches up to brush the bruise reflexively and he flinches again. Yeah, that's going to turn a lovely shade of purple in the morning. “Yes, you are... quite right.”
He looks down the street, contemplating his options for the remainder of the night. He can always climb into Raven's room and spend the night there. It's not like it will be the first time he's done so. But he doesn't want to wake her. She's probably fast asleep by now and although he can hear her telling him not to be silly and that he can always come to her no matter what time it is or how tired she is, Charles can't bring himself to disturb her.
Or he can try and find a cafe that's open until the morning. Charles checks his watch and sees that it's nearly 2AM. He won't have to wait long and maybe he'll even be able to take a nap before crawling back home.
Then again, he can sneak into his own room. But he can still hear Kurt and Mum at each other's throats. By his estimate, they'll still be arguing for another few minutes before they fuck and fall asleep. That's usually how these things go. And the walls in the house aren't particularly soundproof. Charles doesn't think he'll have the stomach for the Kurt-and-Mum breakup/makeup routine.
And then there is also the fact that he would most likely run into Cain, who doesn't need any excuse to pick on him. He and Kurt have been out for a few days and Charles has no doubt in his mind that his bastard of a stepbrother will be itching to get back to his favourite pasttime.
He shoves his hands in his pockets and sighs. Cafe it is, then.
“Do you... have somewhere you can go?”
Charles starts at hearing Erik's voice and turns to face him. It's probably just his imagination but he thinks that Erik might be looking a bit flustered.
"Not exactly,” Charles says honestly before a thought strikes him: he can take this opportunity and use it to get into Erik's flat. And why not? Everything's gone to shit already. He might as well have fun while he's at it. “I don't suppose you've an ice pack or anything?"
Erik stiffens and narrows his eyes at Charles. "Yes. Though I hardly think... I mean, it's late."
“I suppose.” Charles thinks he imagines it but he hears Erik take in a sharp breath and muttering something in a language that sounds vaguely German. He's about to turn away when Erik speaks up.
“Alright.”
“Pardon?”
“I'll give you something for that black eye. But only that. And then you're on your own.”
It takes a moment for the words to register properly. It's not exactly a smile, but at least Charles isn't scowling anymore.
--
Erik makes him wait outside the flat. But Charles doesn't mind as he looks up at the rusty brass number declaring flat 19B. It isn't long before Erik reappears with a bag of peas. “Here.”
He doesn't wait for a response and he's about to shut the door when Charles' foot takes on a mind of its own and thrusts out to stop the door closing. He gasps at the sudden flash of pain that sears up his leg and Erik glowers at him.
“Blöde Sau! What do you want from me, kid?”
“I...”
The look on Erik's face is enough to make Charles think twice. Maybe he shouldn't be dicking around with this guy. After all, what does Charles actually know about him, other than he's his gorgeous neighbour and Charles can't possibly resist the man from such close proximity?
“Move.”
Charles doesn't know why he hasn't noticed before but, from up close, Erik's really tall. He has to crane his neck upwards just so he can look into those harsh blue eyes that the binoculars he has hidden in his room can never do justice.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Charles knows that he's meant to be paying attention to the pain in his foot as Erik attempts to shut the door again but it's very easy to get distracted when he's close enough to see the bead of prespiration roll down one side of Erik's face. Charles is suddenly overcome with the desire to lick it, taste Erik's skin, breathe in his scent---
The pain in his foot screams for his attention and Charles blinks, crashing down into the present. “I'm sorry. I don't know what's gotten into me.”
“Get lost.” Erik grabs his shirt and is about to shove him away when there is a raucous yell. Erik's eyes dart around the deserted hallway, footsteps pounding up the stairs. There is a flash of panic in his eyes before he yanks open the door and he drags Charles inside.
There's the sound of muffled footsteps thudding outside Erik's door, a cackle of laughter and excited chatter as a group of teenagers pause at the landing. But none of these are registering in Charles' brain as he is pressed flush against Erik, Erik's breath ghosting over the top of his head and Charles can see his muscles rippling as he braces against the door and he wants to trace his finger along Erik's clenched jaw, down his neck, his waist, under his shirt, his lower back...
Charles doesn't know how long they stand like that, with Erik trapping him, his back to the door and their breathing slow and heavy.
He doesn't expect it when Erik's hand tentatively reaches for his and Charles can feel his cheeks growing warm, the feeling of skin on skin is electric and he is already heady from the liquor in his system and the sudden humidity in Erik's flat that threatens to overcome him.
Charles' eyes shut close expectantly and he is surprised when he feels something cold on his face. Oh, right. The peas. His good eye flutters open and his heart is pounding in his chest when he sees the look on Erik's face, concerned but doing his best to hide it. There is a momentary softness in his eyes and Erik's hand lingers just for a moment longer on Charles' than is absolutely necessary before he pulls away.
The sudden loss of physical contact is almost unbearable and it's all Charles can do to stand there, with his back to the door, supporting him. He's not quite sure that his knees will be able to keep him upright if they carry on trembling like that.
An awkward silence hangs between them, broken only by sudden outbursts from outside. Charles wonders idly what exactly they're doing out there but if it's keeping him inside the flat, he doesn't really mind.
Charles' eyes glance around the hallway, one of the rooms in Erik's flat that isn't visible from vantage point. There's not really much to it though, the flickering light reveals peeling wallpaper, a threadbare rug. It's the scrap metal sculpture pushed to one corner that catches his attention, though. The sculpture is a model of a shark's jaw, all jagged teeth and sharp edges, the metal looking sharp ennough to pierce human flesh as easily as if it were butter. Charles takes a step towards it, running his hand along the teeth lightly.
When Erik makes no move to say anything, Charles decides to take matters into his own hand. “I'm Charles, by the way. Charles Xavier.”
Erik studies him for a moment before his shoulders visibly slump in resignation. “Erik Lehnsherr.”
I know, Charles almost says before he bites down the words and says instead, turning back to Erik, “I've seen you at the library.
Charles thinks he sees a flash of recognition in Erik's face before his expression hardens again. And Charles decides to try a different approach: “Do you think I could have a glass of water? My head's really doing me in.
For a moment, Charles thinks that Erik's going to refuse and ask him to leave again (forcefully make him leave, more like, and with good reason) but then he silently turns and heads for the kitchen and Charles is suddenly struck with a belated realisation: He is inside Erik's flat. Alone. With Erik. He doesn't even bother to suppress the shiver of delight that works its way up his spine, warming him with the mere thought.
--
It’s hard to stay sullen when he’s finally inside Erik’s flat. Not that Charles has been plotting this from the moment he saw Erik from his bedroom. Charles’ lips quirk into a grin as his good eye skates over the room.
In one corner is the small bookcase filled with odds and ends. Charles walks over to it and sees some trinkets, the kind that you’d pick up at the flea market, and some photographs of Erik with some of his mates and one with him and an older couple who Charles presumes is his mum and dad. He can see the resemblance, at least. On top of the weathered coffee table are ratty old magazines and then there’s the mysterious stain on the floor that Erik never seems to take notice of, the area rug that the previous owners had left behind and the small television set that Erik is always sitting in front of.
Charles has memorised all these already by heart, of course. From all those days of watching Erik, he can probably make his way around this room blindfolded.
He has to keep from pinching himself. He still can’t believe this is real. That he is actually here, after endless days of being a quiet (if avid) observer to Erik’s life.
There is one thing about the room that his binoculars don’t quite reveal though, something that has piqued his interest for a while now. Charles makes his way over to the mysterious door to the side of the room where Erik disappears to when he’s not in front of the telly and tries the doorknob. He lets out a little sound of surprise as the door creaks open. His hand fumbles for a light switch to reveal a small room.
It was probably a storage closet before but now there’s a small workbench to one side and a paint-splattered cloth that covers a part of the floor. An easel is folded in one corner and Charles’ eyes fall on a cloth draped over a pile of canvas paintings (at least, Charles assumes they are canvas paintings judging from their general square shape), carefully leaning on one wall. He walks over to them, about to lift the cloth covering when he hears a cough from behind him. Charles drops the cloth as if scalded and twists to face him.
“Mr Lehnsherr! I was… just… Um…” Charles looks from Erik to the glass of water. “Thank you.”
Erik watches while he drinks the water greedily and Charles can’t exactly say that he feels uncomfortable under his scrutiny. He shoots Erik a sloppy grin and turns his attention back to the paintings.
“So are you an artist, then, Mr Lehnsherrrrrr?” There are way too many “r”s but Charles can’t help the slur as the name rolls off his tongue, the alcohol working its way slowly to the synapses of his brain that monitored speech.
Charles shouldn’t be surprised at this new piece of information about Erik, really, considering that Erik spends a lot of time at home so he obviously doesn’t hold a job that requires him to leave his flat. But it was just that Charles hasn’t really given much thought to Erik’s profession as most of his musings about Erik up until then had not strayed far from his physique.
He moves to attempt to lift the cloth again, fingers ghosting over the fabric but Erik is behind him in a flash, seizing Charles’ wrist before he can even touch it.
“Let me go.” Charles pouts as he tries to tug himself free from Erik’s grasp. But Erik is unyielding as he grips Charles’ hand even tighter.
“Are you always this meddlesome, Mr Xavier?” Erik asks, his voice a low rumble in Charles’ back. And Charles finds himself leaning into that broad chest. Erik’s chin brushes the top of his head, Charles leaning into the touch and Erik makes no move to pull away.
“Mmm… No, I’m afraid you haven’t caught me in my best behaviour.” He is pracitcally nuzzling into Erik now and then he feels himself being whirled around and the room is spinning about him.
“Wheeee!” Charles he giggles, his unruly mane whipping around him.
Erik’s hand clamps over his mouth, eyes flashing and he hisses at Charles, edging even closer. “Shhh! Do you want the whole building to hear?”
Charles is barely listening, his blue eyes focussed on Erik’s mouth moving a mere few inches away from his and, through the haze of alcohol and the blood rushing through his head, he thinks he hears Erik draw in a ragged breath.
“Erik.” His voice is trembling but he feels a sort of release to be able to address Erik, finally. To say his name out loud somewhere other than the confines of his thoughts or longingly to himself as he lies in his room in the dark with the sheets curled around him, sweat dripping into his eyes, his hands sticky as he drags them on the sheets and wishing for Erik’s long, deft fingers on him instead of his own clumsy digits.
Something seems to click inside Erik and he finally does pull away. Charles hears a whimper and is surprised to find that the sound came from him. He reaches out to Erik, fingers brushing Erik’s forearm. Erik stills, eyes intent on an imaginary speck of dust on the floor.
“Please, Erik.” He doesn’t mean to plead but his voice comes out needy anyway.
“Will you look at me?” Charles moves to cup his other hand under Erik’s jaw but Erik shrinks away.
“Don’t.”
Erik’s voice is deliciously rough and it takes Charles a considerable amount of effort to draw back. Considering that Erik hasn’t thrown him out of the flat yet, it’s almost too much for him as his brain works overtime, wonering why it is that Erik hasn’t already kicked him out, and Charles thinks he already knows why, but he needs to be sure.
“You’ve noticed me, too.” It wasn’t a question and Charles’ heart skips a beat as he takes Erik’s silence as a confirmation. He should probably run away and snuggle into the familiar comfort of Raven’s bed and forget tonight ever happened. If he was smart, he would do just that. He can even hear Raven’s voice, thick with worry as she sees the mark that Kurt has left on him and hears about Erik and being inside Erik’s flat. And Charles is almost tempted to go and lose himself in Raven’s warm and reassuring embrace.
But Charles isn’t even going to blame the alcohol for the fact that he wants to stay. He wants to stay with Erik, who he barely even knows but, somehow (and maybe it’s the alcohol talking here) he feels safe here, too. He knows that there’s no logic to this, but Charles ignores that as he traces down Erik’s arm until he is holding onto Erik’s hand.
“It’s not wrong to take what we both want.” His voice is a whisper and Erik stiffens under his touch. Charles stands up on his tiptoes and closes his eyes expectantly but then his eyes snap open again as feels Erik wrenching away from him, his hands on Charles’ shoulders, holding him at arm’s length.
“Don’t.” Erik says again, his voice ringing clearer now as he meets Charles’ gaze.
“I don’t understand—” Charles tries to shift closer to Erik but his grip is firm. Charles’ lips turn down into a frown as he looks up at Erik.
“Charles… don’t. Okay?” Erik sighs at the gutted look in Charles’ face as his mind tries to sift through the rejection. He can’t have misread the signs. It isn’t all just isomething that he’s been obsessing about, it’s not all just in his head. Charles isn’t the only one here who can feel the connection. Erik felt it too, he’s sure of it. A million questions start to rush to his head as he wonders about Erik’s conflicting actions and Charles holds his head as it starts to ache again.
“Can you… Just… Here, sit.” Erik leads Charles away from the room and towards the couch, nudging him gently so that he is sitting down. Charles is too tired and too dazed to resist as he settles himself down into an Erik-sized pocket in the upholstery. He can understand what Erik sees in the old thing now. Despite its looks, it’s actually quite comfortable. Charles wiggles a little so that he is snuggled into the couch, his eyelids heavy.
“Hey! Hey, don’t fall asleep!” Erik crouches in front of Charles and snaps his fingers in front of him. Charles jumps, his eyes fluttering open momentarily but his gaze is unfocussed and he barely even registers Erik’s face.
“Hmm? No, of course not. Let me just…” Charles lets out a yawn, “rest my eyes a little and…”
“You can’t sleep here.” Erik tries to shake Charles awake but he’s already knocked out in the manner of the truly plastered and Erik knows that any more attempts at waking would just be futile.
Erik pushes off from the floor and sighs. This night… has been interesting, to say the least. He should’ve known the boy would be trouble from the moment he laid eyes on him that day at the library. He’s tried so hard since to forget the ache in his chest when he first noticed how bright blue Charles’ eyes are, the way his hair flops about his head, his bright red mouth that turns down into a frown when he’s concentrating.
And now, Charles (because that was his name, but Christ Almighty how had he gone so long without knowing?) practically barrels into his life and everything is in shambles and he now has a very drunk boy out cold in his couch and that was not good at all.
Erik retreats into his room and comes back with a blanket. Very carefully, he tucks it around Charles, trying not to think about how easy it would be to just lean down and kiss him, taste his obscenely red lips, trace his fingers on his pale skin.
Erik grits his teeth as his eyes settle on the bruise and he holds back the biting rage that anyone would dare to strike a hand at this beautiful boy. He brushes the hair away from Charles’ face and Erik pauses as he murmurs contentedly in his sleep.
Yes. He has noticed Charles. At the library. Sometimes, on the bus. From across the street. It’s not something that he was entirely willing to admit to himself until now. But Charles knew, somehow. It’s uncanny that he is able point something out the thoughts that Erik has been afraid to entertain even in the dark corners of his mind that whisper to him enticingly.
Because there really is no proper way to go about this. He really should’ve just left well enough alone, if he knew what was good for him, if he had been a better man.
Erik straightens up and heads for the kitchen. He pours himself a glass of whiskey, polishing it off in one gulp. He contemplates another glass but fears for his self-restraint if he were to be intoxicated.
Erik tries not to look at Charles’ sleeping figure as he passes by him on his way to his bedroom. He locks the door behind him and strips out of his clothes, strewing them haphazardly on the floor. Erik crawls under his sheets as he plays the night out before him. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or curse at the universe for sending Charles Xavier his way. He’s barely known the boy an hour and he’s already upending Erik’s semblance of a life.
It is a while before sleep finally comes for him.