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Erik clears his throat when the boy steps into the restaurant, all rumpled hair and baggy pullover, but a smile that's so clear when he talks to the waitress. He glances in their direction briefly before being led to a seat, and oh a boy like that should not be alone. Not on a night like this, when Shaw's this edgy with anticipation and Erik's skin feels too tight stretched across his face. Shaw raises his brow, follows his line of sight. "That one," Erik says, and nods his head.
"Are you certain?" Not necessarily a choice he'd make, not Shaw, he likes them blond and brittle, all the more fun when they break, but Erik says: Please.
Later: The boy is on the bed, naked and bleeding and broken, staring at Erik with the one eye he can open and tracking his knife's every movement. There's so much distress on his face it almost makes Erik want to fuck him again, but instead he leans over and whispers, "It's okay. It'll be over soon. I promise, it won't hurt anymore. Tell me your name, hey."
"Charles," the boy says, hoarse and barely above a whisper. "Please."
Erik only exhales, and the knife slides under his - Charles' throat, but Shaw says, "Don't." He tilts his head. "We should keep him."
"I don't understand," Erik says. "What do you mean."
Shaw pats Erik on his sweat-soaked blood-soaked brow, all Charles', beautiful boy and all that sweet perfect blood, and smiles broadly, cheerfully. "He reminds me of you. We keep him."
-
The first time Charles tries to run, Erik frees a metal railing and twists it around his neck, round and round until he goes down. Shaw walks up to him as he's on the ground, choking, and says proudly, "Astonishing, isn't he." He turns to Erik and nods his head, "Now be a good boy and release him. We wouldn't want to permanently damage such loveliness."
Erik loosens the metal and drags Charles up by the neck with the force of it, loose enough so it doesn't break his neck, tight enough so the message gets across when he's dragging him back into the motel room. "Don't run," he tells Charles quietly, when Shaw is in the bathroom getting ready. "It only gets worse if you run."
"Is that what he told you," Charles says. He's crying.
Erik wipes a tear from his cheek with his thumb. "Tears are good," he mutters. "He likes that." He leans over and slides his tongue over heated skin, tastes salt and fear and resignation. "I like that."
He leaves the collar around Charles' neck for the rest of the night, even though Shaw says at one point, "Erik, I believe he's learnt his lesson."
"No," Erik says, because he enjoys the way it feels around Charles' throat, and he enjoys the way Charles keeps pawing at it as if he could somehow get it off, and he enjoys the way Charles gasps when Shaw is fucking him, and it's because Erik's tightened it and nothing else.
-
Charles asks Erik, "Don't you ever wish you were more than this."
"No," Erik replies shortly. Always so polite, Charles, even when he can hardly stand. Even when his lips are swollen and scabbed over, when Erik pushes him to his knees and shoves his cock into his mouth so the wounds open and his lips start bleeding again, leaving red everywhere they touch.
Charles rubs his fingers against his temple. He has blunt hands for someone otherwise so refined, and Erik imagines he has a family that misses him; his clothes were expensive and his watch - Shaw turned it over and said, "Nice. Something even I might wear," the second night, when they went through all his things. Watch, keys, wallet. Charles Xavier: credit cards, student ID and only the one photo of him and a pretty, smiling blonde girl. "Behave or she's next," Shaw told Charles, even though at that point threats were unnecessary. Erik could always tell the moment they stopped fighting back.
The girl at least might care that he's gone, will call the police, search for him, and even though Shaw never worries, Erik does.
Charles starts laughing, quietly at first, but then it turns hysterical and he puts his hand to his mouth but he doesn't stop, even though Erik tells him to, more than once.
"I can't -" he says between breaths, so Erik slaps him, hard, and finally he shuts up.
-
Shaw likes to ask Charles the most inane questions, at the worst times. When he's got Charles face down on the bed and Charles is breathing heavily, glassy-eyed and dazed, he asks cheerfully, "Tell me, Charles. And that's a lovely name, by the way. Charles Xavier. What's your major?"
Charles turns his head to the side and struggles gamely to answer, voice still raspy from Erik's fingers jammed down his throat earlier, "I was working on my thesis. Genetics." He coughs, slips back into silence. Erik pinches the soft flesh on the inside of his arm until he focuses, startled into attention. "Muta- ahh," and he's gone again as Shaw slams in particularly hard.
"I think you've lost him," Erik comments mildly, waving his fingers in front of Charles' face.
Shaw grunts. "Not all of them are built like you. Especially not boys like these."
"Do you plan to break him permanently."
"I'm not sure." He sounds confused enough to stop momentarily, and it's about the oddest thing that's happened to Erik all week. Of all the emotions Shaw is capable of, confusion isn't one of them. It fades soon enough though, replaced by his usual careless charm. "I'll sleep on it. Decide tomorrow."
-
Erik fashions a thin collar out of the metal on Charles' clothes, wraps it around his neck, below the darkly blooming bruise from earlier. "In case you try to run again," he says, when Charles touches it tentatively.
"I won't run again."
"You all say that," Erik replies. "But then you run."
"Except for you. You stayed."
Erik doesn't bother to reply.
-
Charles disappears into the bathroom and Erik feels the stopper in the bathtub being plugged and the tap turning. He calls Shaw, says, "Don't forget the cake."
"How could I, his highness would be upset if I didn't come back with his precious cake." Shaw sounds amused, indulgent. Charles had asked, right as Shaw was leaving, "To get supplies," he said, even though he usually sent Erik out for those. He'd only shrugged at the request, and bent down to kiss Charles, hard and harsh, pulling his head back so the line of his throat was exposed. When they finally broke apart he said, "Chocolate, right," and Charles nodded his head, shaking slightly as he readjusted his shirt.
Erik snaps, "No-one's forcing you. And it's not as if you -" He swallows the it's not as if you ever give me what I ask for.
"Charles," Shaw says, and he stops sounding amused. "And remember, what I give to you, I can easily take away." The line disconnects.
Erik throws the cell onto the bed and stalks into the bathroom; he has to unlock it, and that irritates him even further. "They probably make you pay for all the water you waste," he says. Charles only blinks slowly at him, small smile on his face as he sinks further into the tub. He doesn't look surprised, but then Charles never looks surprised. Only scared, and even then. Erik drops to his knees next to him and lays his elbows on the edge of the tub.
"You should at least take your shirt off, Erik. It will get wet."
"I don't want to," Erik says, but he's doing it even as he's uttering the words.
Charles rubs his eyes with his fists, he can open them now, and he said once, told Erik quietly, "I would appreciate it if you avoided hitting me in the eye again, please. It's rather difficult to see out of just the one." Erik almost did it again, just out of spite.
The bathroom is wet with steam, so Erik takes off the rest of his clothes as well, just to keep them from sticking. Charles shrinks back, but only a little. "There's room enough for two," he mumbles finally. "You can join me if you'd like."
Erik smiles softly, grabs his chin and twists it until their faces are inches apart. "This isn't the type of relationship where I have to ask, Charles."
"Fine," Charles says. He wrenches himself away. "Do what you want."
When Erik slides into the tub it's across from Charles. The water's just on the edge of being too hot and there's barely enough room for his legs, he ends up tangling them with Charles. It smells lovely though, familiar and - "It's jasmine," Charles says.
"Oh," Erik replies. He shakes his head violently, to clear the memories from crowding in, sharp and unwanted, but his throat is starting to close nonetheless.
"Erik, stay calm," Charles says. His fingers are on Erik's arm, his body too close. Erik grabs his wrist and twists it violently behind his back, pulls him up until he's mostly in Erik's lap. Charles whimpers. "Please, Erik." But Erik just tightens his grip and shoves him forward. Nothing makes sense anymore. None of this makes sense. "Erik, please," Charles says again, and his palm is against Erik's cheek and it's barely there but it burns like fire, like Erik is twelve again and Shaw is standing over the body of his mother telling him calmly, "All you had to do was not tell, Erik. This is your fault."
"Stop, stop." Charles kisses him, his cut lip breaking open again. Erik moans, and he doesn't even realize he's hard or that he's let Charles arm go until a hand wraps around his cock, and Charles is speaking again and still kissing him desperately, over and over again, and Erik jerks into his fingers as he whispers nonsense words or maybe not nonsense words, just soothing promises of salvation, of hope, and Erik starts, and cries out, and comes.
Charles disentangles himself from Erik slowly, but he doesn't move away. All Erik can hear is the sound of own breathing, and Charles' voice, everywhere.
When Shaw comes back he practically sniffs the air, switches his gaze from Charles to Erik. Erik tries to seem unaffected and Charles barely seems to notice, he just continues to stare blankly at the wall.
"Erik," Shaw says calmly. "Come here." When Erik's in front of him he grabs Erik's chin and pries open his mouth, jerks his head back and forth.
"Are you searching for cavities," Erik asks, after he's finally released.
Shaw's lips twitch. "Tonight, Erik. I think you've missed me." It's been a while: Charles overwhelms everything. They've shared him but not much else. Erik senses rather than sees Charles rise from his chair, and Shaw says, "Sit down, boy. I'm feeling nostalgic tonight."
Erik wants to tell Charles: don't watch, but Shaw won't stand for it, so in the end he just falls backwards onto the bed, pulls Shaw along with him. "Oh, Erik," Shaw says fondly, his fingers scratching lightly at Erik's belly, just the way he knows will make Erik twitch, shimmy up into him. "I think perhaps I've neglected you. Made you jealous. But he's just," and he turns to Charles then, who's staring at the both of them, his expression dark and strange, "He's ordinary, and you're special. You've always been." His cock jams inside Erik, and Erik hisses.
"Harder," he gasps, his fingers scrambling for purchase against Shaw's sweat-slicked shoulders. "Please, harder. I need, oh oh -" Shaw kisses him, complies.
Near dawn, Shaw finally tires enough to fall asleep. Erik removes a heavy arm from his waist and gets up from the bed. He slides into the chair across from Charles, who only glances up from his game of solitaire to ask, "Are you hurt?"
"Funny, that you're asking me that question."
Charles' smile is wry. "Bruises suit me far more than they suit you."
Erik sighs heavily. "There was a time," he says, but he shakes his head. "He'll bore of you soon enough. Then it'll be over."
"And you?"
"Me what?"
"Will you bore of me as well?" It's phrased as a question, but the way Charles is looking at him -
"I barely know you," Erik says. "You're a victim. Just one in a long line of victims. We'll bury your body where even God won't find you and no one will even remember you existed, once upon a time."
"I think you'll remember me."
"Shut up, before I make you." But he can't find the threat behind the words, and in any case Charles doesn't seem the least bit impressed. Erik lunges forward, sweeps all the cards off the table violently. "You don't have to fear me," he says. "But fear him."
"If you insist," Charles says, so quiet that Erik almost doesn't hear him.
-
Erik wears a bracelet around his wrist, made up of thin chains of metal in various hues, intricately twisted. Each of their boys and the metal on his body, and Erik will feel for something that sings to him and snag it, mould it until he's satisfied. He has twenty-five of them now.
Charles touches it, says, "It's beautiful, did you make it yourself."
Erik says, "Yes," and doesn't say: It was supposed to be twenty-six.
-
Charles insists on chocolate cake every town they go to even if they're not low on other supplies, and Shaw always ends up going out to buy it for him. Erik never knows when he'll be back, so he just sits and waits and watches Charles as he fusses over one thing or another.
"I need a new sweater," Charles says, idly pulling at a stray thread. He flexes his fingers and winces. "I believe you might have broken my finger."
Erik takes his hand, probes at the swelling flesh and ignores Charles' yelp. "It's just cracked," he says eventually, releasing him. "Suck it up." He glances at the door, anxious for Shaw to return. Being alone with Charles gets harder every time. When Shaw is gone, it's almost as if he never existed at all, as if it's just him and Charles in this tiny space they've carved out for themselves, licking their wounds and clutching at one another like scared children. It makes his skin crawl, makes him want to run far into the night screaming, makes him want to shove Charles down and fuck him until he starts to cry again, until he starts to bleed again.
Instead he grabs Charles finger, turns it until he hears the sharp, satisfying crack. Charles yanks his arm back, clutches his hand to his chest. "That was," he says, voice hoarse from tears, "That was unnecessary."
"What are you," Erik asks, because it occurs to him just then, and oh that makes sense now, it does, but Charles just tightens his lips, and Erik blinks, and then the door opens and it's Shaw, returning, finally.
-
When Shaw allows, Erik pushes Charles face down onto the bed and carves into his back with his knife. Charles flinches, and stutters, and he cries out when Erik cuts too deep, but he never tells Erik to stop. A hand taps his shoulder, and Erik looks up at Shaw, who's staring down at him speculatively. Erik flushes, but Shaw only smiles. This amuses him, perhaps.
Erik turns back to Charles, carves riddles on his skin, the blood flowing enough that they will never be solved. He carves faintly remembered poems and meaningless single words: Victim, at the base of one shoulder, too small to read. Monster, on another. Charles shakes, and when he turns his head his face is flushed pink and his eyes are shimmering with tears. Nothing in his mind except for Erik's name, nothing at all. Mine, Erik writes, large enough that its intent is unmistakable.
Shaw laughs at that as well, sits down heavily next to them and idly worries at Charles' wounds. "You're remarkably well behaved," he says. "Or is it just Erik. Would you scream if it were me, Charles." Charles doesn't respond, just squeezes his eyes shut. Shaw sighs. "What I put up with nowadays. You had to choose him, didn't you."
"I didn't," Erik starts, then stops. Shaw pulls him into a kiss, soft and exploratory, but Erik can't turn his attention away from Charles. Shaw sighs again as he pulls away, and when he finally gives Erik permission to fuck Charles Erik runs his fingers through clotting wounds, opens them up until Charles' back is slick again, until there's only the taste of copper and sweat and Charles whimpers as Erik bears down on him, sinks his teeth into his shoulder hard enough for it to hurt. "Please," Charles says, shuddering. "Oh, please."
-
Erik wakes up in the middle of the night and Shaw and Charles are talking, low enough that all Erik hears is murmurs. Shaw's relaxed, slumped into the chair with a glass of whiskey in front of him. Charles is smiling softly, for all the world as if he's not about to die. For all the world as if he wasn't on his knees hours ago, face red with exertion and a cock jammed down his throat. There's a shift in Charles' posture, his gaze slides over to Erik briefly before it returns to Shaw. Erik closes his eyes, and when he opens them again Charles is kneeling down in front of him.
"Where's Shaw," Erik asks.
"Bathroom." His lips quirk up. "He enjoys his rituals."
"Yeah." Erik's so tired. Nothing feels real anymore. It used to be so simple: there's before Shaw, and there's after Shaw. And now there's Charles, and Erik doesn't know how to even be. Charles touches his fingers to Erik's face, tells him, "It'll be over soon."
Erik yawns, mumbles sleepily, "It will never be over." He falls asleep before he can hear Charles' response.
-
Driving from one town to another, Charles asleep in the backseat, Erik asks Shaw, stumbling over the question, "Do you ever think that we could be more? You told me once that I was."
"More than what," Shaw says, but his voice is distant, as if he's not even hearing the question. More than this, Erik thinks. More than this.
"Erik," Charles says. Erik turns his head and Charles' eyes are open. "Leave him be."
"Okay," Erik replies, and returns to staring out the window.
-
Shaw brings back a boy, thin and frail and sixteen at most, and oh he's beautiful, they always are, and once upon a time, he'd be number twenty-six. Twenty-seven. He tells Charles generously, "As lovely as you've been, my boy, it's time for us to move on."
Erik keeps his face neutral, but Shaw says, "Oh don't pout, you can keep him. I just want something different."
Charles lifts his head and says, as the boy starts sobbing, "Don't be afraid, no-one's going to hurt you, not tonight."
-
Erik makes a thin band out of Shaw's wedding ring, the one he never took off even after he murdered his wife in front of her son. He wraps it around his wrist and breaks the other bracelet, leaving it to fall to the ground, tangled in itself. "Twenty-six," he tells Charles.
Charles shakes his head. "One," he says.
They bury him in the desert, a hole in his head and his blood on a coin in Erik's pocket, and Erik asks, "You could have stopped us any time. Why didn't you just stop us."
Charles only shrugs. "I would have. But there was you."