it'll be better than before

by pearl_o, Red

Chapter 2

Magda only really realizes she's dozed off when she wakes back up again.

It's the shift of weight on the mattress that does it—she opens her eyes to see Erik climbing off the bed, and disappearing through the doorway to the living room. She makes a sleepy inquisitive noise, and Charles chuckles.

"He'll be back in a moment, don't worry. Fetching some water for us."

Now that she thinks about, she is thirsty. Magda pushes herself up to sit, stretching a little, and looks back down at Charles.

"Hello."

"Hello," Charles says, smiling.

Magda smiles back. "How are you holding up? Did I miss anything?"

Charles considers the question. "Not really. This bed is much more comfortable than the sofa bed, I have to say. And don't tell Erik I said this, but seeing him walk around nude is really very distracting."

"He does that a lot," Magda says. "You kind of get used to it."

"Really," Charles says, raising his eyebrows.

"Kind of," Magda says.

Charles shakes his head, still looking amused. "You know, in the dorms he used to sleep in just his boxers—which I knew because he'd just walk around like that at night or in the mornings. It was torture."

“I can only imagine,” Magda says. At least every time she’s seen Erik walking around like that, she’s had the option to do something about it. Again, she feels a little twinge of that guilt—as if she took Erik from Charles, somehow, all those years ago—but she can’t dwell on it too long.

After all, here they are now, right? And anyway, having Charles here in her bed makes it rather hard to worry too much about anything at all.

“Mmm,” Charles murmurs, seemingly in agreement. She’s not sure if it’s her thoughts he’s responding to, but either way… She’s happy to let Charles pull her down into another set of lazy kisses.

She hears Erik’s footsteps right before Charles pulls away to look over her shoulder. Magda smiles to herself. Predictable, she thinks.

Turning, she takes in Erik briefly. He’s naked, three glasses of water balanced in his hands (which would be much more impressive if one didn’t know Erik insisted on dishware with some trace metal), and of course… There’s the stupidly mesmerizing motion of his cock.

Ugh. Magda thinks she should be immune to it, after years of exposure, but no. It takes effort to tear her eyes away, just to look at Charles’s face.

Charles’s gaze is (unsurprisingly) fixed on Erik’s dick, his eyes moving back and forth ever so slightly to match the way it swings as Erik walks back over to them, almost making it seem like he's hypnotized. He licks his lips, a quick movement that seems unconscious rather than seductive—though the effect is the same.

When Magda looks back at Erik, he's standing by the side of the bed, watching Charles stare at his crotch, his cheeks very slightly flushed. After a moment, he sets one glass on the table and holds out the other two, clearing his throat before saying, “Water, as requested.”

Magda sits up a little and takes one of the proffered glasses, squeezing Erik’s hand in thanks. Charles doesn't even notice the other glass until Erik moves it directly into his field of vision. He props himself up on his elbow to take the glass, and sips at it distractedly; his eyes are no longer quite so fixed on Erik’s cock, but they're still looking more in that direction than not. He keeps licking his lips, too, and it's incredibly unfair.

Erik stares at Charles for a moment, then grabs the third glass and downs its contents in one gulp, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He puts the empty glass back on the table and climbs onto the bed, kissing Magda briefly before resuming his position on Charles’s other side.

Charles looks up at him, eyes bright. The air is heavy with arousal, Charles’s want suffusing the room. Magda can feel herself growing wet again, and she can tell from the brighter flush in Erik’s cheeks, and the way he's shifting, that he's starting to get hard.

Erik takes Charles’s half-finished glass of water and places it on the table behind him, his eyes never leaving Charles’s, and then he leans down and kisses him. Charles moans quietly, one hand coming up to cup Erik’s face.

Magda sets her glass aside, too, looking away for only a moment to make sure she's not about to accidentally drop it on the floor (while Erik can usually catch them, she's pretty sure he wouldn't notice at all right now), and then she settles more fully onto her side, splaying one hand on Charles’s chest, her fingers just barely brushing against his nipple, and taking his earlobe into her mouth.

"I thought you weren't fifteen any longer," Charles murmurs.

Erik huffs out a breath. "I'm not exactly an old man, either."

Magda scrapes her teeth lightly against Charles's earlobe, feeling him shiver beneath her palm on his chest. She lifts her head far enough that she can see Charles and Erik both, no longer kissing, but faces barely inches apart.

"Lucky for you," Magda says, and both of them look over to her, though it's Charles she's addressing. "Between everything else earlier, you didn't really get a chance to touch, did you?"

"You're right," Charles says. "I didn't."

Erik blinks rapidly, swallows, opens his mouth once and then again. "You can touch now," he says finally.

It's not, Magda thinks, that it necessarily needed to be said. It was fairly obvious, after all, that it was the case. But the way Erik says it—Magda can see, feel, the way it affects Charles.

She has to lean over Charles's body to kiss Erik. It's only supposed to be a brief kiss, practically a peck, but it's hard as always to pull away. She manages after a minute, though, and moves down to kiss Charles, too, before settling herself back at Charles's side.

Right now, she’s more than content to watch the two of them. If seeing Erik suck cock was good, Magda can only imagine how it’ll be when Charles puts his ridiculous mouth to work. Settled in by Charles’s side, she traces idly over his pale chest, watching the two of them with hooded eyes, waiting.

And… waiting.

Erik’s sitting back on his heels, thighs tense and his cock filling, and Charles still seems downright entranced by Erik’s prick, and both of them seem entirely content to prolong each other’s agony as long as possible. Soon enough, no matter how much she might tell herself to not be a backseat driver, Magda can’t stay silent any more.

“So,” she asks, her voice soft against Charles’s ear, “how do you want him? On his back, like when you went down on me?”

The sound Charles makes when he breathes in… it’s almost enough to make her stop there, but she trails her fingers over to pinch at his nipple and continues.

“Or do you want him like this? Kneeling over you?” Fucking your face, she thinks, and she knows Charles hears it all.

"Magda," Erik says. "You don't have to push him..."

If Magda was a less pushy person, the three of them wouldn't even be here together, and Erik knows it. She swallows that retort back for now, though she can't help shooting Erik a knowing look.

Charles reaches out and sets his fingertips on Erik's abs. All three of them watch in silence as he traces his hand slowly down Erik's stomach, tracing his happy trail, and finally stopping just above the thick scruff of Erik's pubic hair. He leaves his fingers there for a long minute. When he lifts his hand again, it's to brush his knuckles lightly down the length of Erik's cock as he withdraws.

Magda loves and hates both of them right now.

"Come lie down here, won't you," Charles says, and Erik nods.

Magda has to stop playing with Charles's chest to allow him to move on to his front alongside Erik.

Still, Erik seems to hesitate a moment before settling against the pillows, in the spot Charles just left. Magda watches him, quietly; puts a hand on his arm when she sees his tension.

It’s not that Erik doesn’t like being the center of attention—heaven forbid—but he’s always had some tension over something like this. Over being cared for, or spoiled; Magda doesn’t really know. Charles seems to sense his tension, too, and braces a hand against the sharp curve of his hip. At once gentling him, Magda thinks, and just holding him down, the way Magda has to most of the time when she’s sucking him off.

“You’re alright,” Charles says, his voice velvet smooth. Magda feels Erik shiver, just a little, against her side; she watches as Charles puts his other hand low on Erik’s left thigh.

Charles looks up from Erik’s cock, his eyes startling as he looks at them both in turn.

“You’ve wanted this a long time,” he says. His left hand is drifting slowly up Erik’s inner thigh, dragging against the grain of Erik’s hair, leaving gooseflesh in his wake. “Both of you have, haven’t you?”

Magda swallows, and says nothing. It’s not even her that Charles is focused on right now, he’s not touching her at all, and yet her body is flooded with heat. Flustered, she just tries to focus on Erik.

“I…” he starts, jumping as Charles’s hand reaches the base of his cock. He swallows twice.

“We have. Of course we have.”

Charles smiles up at them both, bright and quick. “Good,” he says, circling Erik’s cock with his hand. He tilts his head, as if considering. “Then I’d hate to let you down.”

And then—before either of them can say a word—Charles leans in, opens his mouth, and takes Erik’s cock in between those absurdly red lips.

Erik lets out a sound between a gasp and a whimper, back arching slightly, though his eyes never leave Charles. Charles holds his gaze, looking up through his lashes, as he slides his mouth further down Erik’s cock, his hand sliding up until it meets his lips, his movements smooth and fluid. He stays there for a moment, then pulls his head back, leaving just the very tip of Erik’s dick between his ridiculous lips, his hand sliding back down to encircle the base. Charles pauses once more, and then closes his eyes and takes Erik in again, a little deeper this time, his cheeks hollowing as he sucks.

It doesn't take long for Charles to establish a rhythm, moving steadily up and down Erik’s cock, more disappearing into his mouth every time, his hand pumping Erik in counterpoint. It’s mesmerizing, watching Charles like this, so absorbed in what he's doing; Magda rests her head on Erik’s shoulder and wonders if Charles looked like this when he was eating her out, if this is how he is when he's going down on someone.

Charles pauses the next time he slides down, his eyes opening and locking with Erik’s as he does…something, Magda can't quite tell what, but Erik groans loudly, his hips stuttering in Charles’s grip.

“Fuck, Charles,” he breathes. “That—fuck.” There's a beat, and then he groans again, louder this time—apparently Charles did it again. Charles’s expression isn't the easiest to make out, his lips stretched around Erik’s cock as they are, but there's a definite hint of smugness in his eyes—and sitting in Magda’s mind, in the corner where she can feel Charles’s presence.

She can't exactly blame Charles for being pleased with himself. All of those stories, the offhand remarks—it seems that Charles hasn't been exaggerating at all. There's a part of Magda's brain that's already running forward, thinking about the next time and the time after that, what else they could do. She and Charles going down on Erik together, teasing him and sharing him between them (Charles might be unfairly good at this, but Magda has years of experience with this cock in particular to draw on). Or maybe Charles just like this, while Magda moves up the bed to sit on Erik's face. Fuck, even just kissing Erik while he's getting his dick sucked like this.

Too many possibilities; the sheer potential is overwhelming, and she has to shake the thoughts away. This is enough to concentrate on right now, what's in front of her.

Charles has increased his rhythm, and the blowjob's gotten more and more intentionally sloppy and wet. There's spit leaking from the corners of his mouth and down what of Erik's prick he lets slide out, and even the straining tendons of his wrist moving as he strokes Erik's cock seem unbearably erotic and obscene right now, like Magda's never going to be able to even look at his forearm again without picturing this.

His other hand's still on Erik's hip, holding him down—keeping Charles in complete control, even as he's practically fucking his mouth on Erik's cock.

Erik keeps making these little noises, like soft grunts, and Magda knows for certain that he's doing his best to keep from making them and failing anyway.

She doesn't want to do anything to distract either of them, but then, she's not sure it would be possible to at this point. So she doesn't feel guilty about moving a little, lifting Erik's tense arm she's been leaning against and lifting it to go around her shoulders as she snuggles back up against him. Erik's grip goes tight around her immediately, like he's been waiting for it, something familiar to keep him grounded against this new and amazing thing.

“Just look at him," Magda says. She can't help it.

Erik starts to say something—a smart remark about how that's exactly what he has been doing, Magda expects—but he's cut off again by another one of those soft noises.

Charles looks up again, at Magda this time, and if his mouth weren't currently full of Erik’s dick, she knows he'd be smirking. He holds her gaze as he moves up and down, never faltering, the heat in his eyes telling her that he heard all her earlier thoughts. Magda smiles slowly, and runs her hand up and down Erik’s side just to hear the hitching gasps he makes at the additional stimulation. He's so wired, so close to the edge, and they can all feel it, the air charged with anticipation.

And then Charles pulls back—and all the way off of Erik’s dick for what feels like the first time since he started. Erik makes a faint noise of protest, his free hand reaching out and his hips tensing against Charles’s still-iron grip. But before he can do anything more to get Charles’s mouth back where it was, Charles takes a deep breath, locks eyes with Erik, and then takes his cock back in—and in, and in, unhesitating, until his nose is firmly buried in the curls at the base of Erik’s cock.

And that is—well, distinctly unfair, first of all; it took Magda months of untraining her gag reflex before she could even so much as approximate taking Erik in all the way, and even then, it's something she can do every once in a while, and not always when she feels like it. But beyond that…

Magda’s not sure she can put words to all the emotions in the room right now, hers and Erik’s and Charles’s all mixed together in an almost overwhelming storm.

Erik raises his free hand, shaking just the tiniest bit, and touches the corner of Charles’s mouth. Charles closes his eyes and hums, and Erik releases the breath he’d been holding with a loud exhale that ends in a keen as Charles does it again.

“Charles,” Erik gasps, the arm around Magda tightening almost painfully, his other hand burying itself in Charles’s hair, “Charles, please.” She's not sure Erik even knows what he's asking for, but Charles seems to, and he hums again, louder this time, the tendons in his arm standing out even further as he holds Erik down, his free hand disappearing between Erik’s legs—

And then Erik shouts, his back arching, and his hand grips Magda’s upper arm so tightly that she wouldn't be surprised to see bruises there tomorrow, the knuckles of his other hand stark white amid the brown of Charles’s hair. Charles groans, and for a moment, Magda feels Erik’s dick at the back of her throat, feels it pulse against her tongue as he starts to come—and then she feels the full force of Erik’s orgasm barrel into her like a train, and then an echo that can only be Charles, and then her entire body clenches down as her boys’ combined orgasms pull her over, too.

"Did that live up to your expectations?" Charles says, somehow still smug even through his ruined voice, and Magda hasn't even managed to catch her breath yet but even so she can't help laughing.

"You know exactly how good it was, you dick," Erik says roughly.

He removes his arm from around Magda, bending at the stomach to tuck both his hands under Charles's armpits and drag him up the bed to join them again. It says something about how gone Erik is that he'd manhandle Charles like this; it says even more that Charles allows it without a hint of protest.

Magda pushes herself up and across Erik's chest, to steal the first kiss from Charles before Erik gets a chance. "Hey," Erik objects, but he's too late.

The mental projection of the sensation of Erik's come on her tongue had faded almost immediately, but the taste in Charles's mouth is the real thing. Her husband's come, thick and bitter, here in Charles's gorgeous, wonderful mouth.

Charles is grinning when they break apart. "You're going to give me a swollen head. You know what Erik says about my ego."

"We can allow it every once in a while," Erik says.

Charles's smile softens a little bit more at the words. They earn Erik a kiss as well.

Magda isn't sure how long they stay like that, the three of them, taking turns kissing, occasionally gently groping each other's chests and stomachs. They'll all pretty well satiated by now, after those killer orgasms, but she doesn't want to stop touching either of them, just making out lazily like this.

She winds up dozing off soon enough, however. They all do: one moment, she’s got her head on Charles’s chest, listening to his breath even out as she pets Erik idly; the next, she’s opening her eyes and the faint light of dawn is just starting to creep through the curtains. It’s May, the days getting longer, and it’s no hour to be up yet.

Beside her—well, half under her, in Charles’s case—the boys are passed out. Magda yawns, and carefully extracts herself, trying not to wake anyone. Really, she’d be content to stay just where she is, but by now the bathroom situation is more-or-less critical.

All the same, once she manages to get out of bed without much more than a quiet murmur from Charles, Magda has to pause a moment. In his sleep, Charles rolls towards Erik—looking for his warmth, Magda thinks, now that she’s not acting as his blanket. Erik shifts, too, nuzzling his face against Charles’s hair, and Magda can’t help grinning. How many times has she woken up to Erik complaining about her hair smothering him, like she’s doing it on purpose?

Eventually she makes her escape to the bathroom. Still groggy and loose-limbed, half asleep herself, she moves automatically, daydreaming a little about all she’s done tonight. About all the possibilities of what they can do, the three of them, together…

She jumps when she’s washing her hands (and face, ugh, why did she sleep so long in her makeup), feeling Charles in her mind.

Could you be a dear, and—

He trails off with words, switching to the way he communicates with his power that’s more impressions and images.

Aren’t you sleeping? she sends back, still grabbing the towel he’d asked for before she walks back.

Charles has managed to disentangle himself from Erik by the time she’s in the bedroom; he’s sitting up, and Erik is somehow still fast asleep. Magda raises an eyebrow.

He needs the rest, doesn’t he? Charles asks, his expression all innocence. Shrugging, Magda goes ahead and lays the folded towel over the seat of Charles’s chair like he’d asked. Not like she wouldn’t convince Erik to sleep longer sometimes, were she the telepath. And I was, Charles continues, pulling himself over to transfer into his chair, I just… really should have done this hours ago.

I know what you mean, Magda agrees, climbing into bed to let Erik curl around her. She watches Charles undo the brakes, still lazily interested in the flex of his arms, and this time Charles raises his eyebrow at her.

What? she asks, smiling back at him. Just take the compliment, and get back here soon.

Charles laughs, not aloud but mind-to-mind, and Magda just grins all the wider.

I’ll do that, he sends, turning to head to the bathroom. The view of his shoulders is very good, and Magda doesn’t bother to pretend she’s not leering at him as he leaves.

She can feel Erik sigh in his sleep, warm breath against her upper shoulder. He's not quite snoring, but his breaths are loud, almost a faint snuffling, the way they get when he's sleeping deeply enough. When she stretches out her legs, he shifts too, the arm he has thrown over her belly coming up to cup at her boob instead.

It's still there when Charles returns from the bathroom, and he looks amused at the sight.

I think someone's having a good dream, Magda tells him. Definitely a good dream, given that she can feel his cock slowly starting to harden again where it's pressed up against her ass.

Already? Charles asks. You're a lucky lady.

Magda sends him a pulse of warm agreement as she watches him transfer again from his chair back to the bed. For any number of reasons, she adds.

She's still tired, but she doesn't want to go back to sleep quite yet—and she's pretty confident that Charles doesn't, either. She waits until Charles has gotten himself arranged and lying down comfortably before she wiggles out from under Erik's determined hold to climb on top of Charles, straddling his thighs.

In the early morning light his freckles are even more prominent, all over his collarbone and his upper arms. Fuck, Charles's arms. They're... something. Something good.

Very articulate, Charles teases.

"Shut up," Magda whispers, which is not a particularly strong argument in her favor, she realizes. She leans forward, running her hands down from Charles's shoulders down to his wrists and back again, stopping to squeeze at the firm muscles of his biceps. Charles doesn't say anything now, just staring up at her with his startling bright eyes, licking his lips again like he doesn't even realize he's doing it.

Obviously Magda has to kiss him.

Pressed as close as they are, she can feel Charles hum, a pleasant rumble in his chest. She takes her time kissing him again. Partly because he’s fantastic at it, but mostly because she knows how much he loves making out just like this.

Even without all last night to inform her, she’d known. How many times had Charles complained over lunch, the day after he’d been invited to yet another house party that turned out to be an orgy, that few people properly appreciate kissing?

Well, she thinks, he can forget all them. Magda’s good with kissing. She’s great with kissing. Trailing her fingers down the insides of Charles’s arms again, she feels Charles shake a little under her.

What?, she asks, not bothering to break off the kissing. If it’s an option, why not talk while still getting to use your mouth for other stuff? And even if Charles is having a laugh at her continued eloquence, he doesn’t seem any less inclined to get his tongue in her mouth.

It’s not that, he sends back. The muscles in his arms tense under her hands, as she’s stroking back up, towards his chest again. It’s… Ah, it’s that. That’s, um…

Something good?, she offers. They pull apart right then for air, and as she catches her breath, Magda considers.

Though they’ve obviously all had an amazing time tonight, she realizes suddenly that this is the first chance she’s had to really focus on Charles, one-on-one. Without clothes, anyway; to be fair, some of the dancing they’ve done in the past has verged pretty close to sex. And it strikes her, too, how curious she’s always been about some of the stuff he’s talked about over coffee or pitchers of cheap beer.

Wrists are good, she remembers. She scratches gently over the thin, pale skin, dragging her nails slowly upwards to see Charles shiver. Okay, she thinks. Make that wrists, and the entire span of his inner arms.

You’ve been selling yourself short.

Charles grins, and she’s sure he’s coming up with a response. But before he can, she ducks her head back down, and sucks his earlobe into her mouth.

“Oh!” he cries out, breathy and desperate, beyond his control.

Shh, she projects, trying not to smirk as she nips lightly at Charles’s ear. You’ll wake Erik up.

Then don’t jump to sixth base!

Laughing, Magda lets him off for now, leaning back again to look him over. He’s already flushed as bright red as he was eating her out (or fucking Erik’s ass, or swallowing Erik’s cock—) and his nipples are already drawn up tight. Magda licks her lips.

No attempting sports metaphors, she sends. Hot as Charles might be, he’s just as clueless about the subject as her husband—pretty much the only thing she’s ever got either of them to watch with her was soccer, and even that was under duress. And I played with your ears last night. I’m not jumping anywhere.

Charles shifts under her, reminding her that her hands are still tight on his wrists, holding him down.

It doesn’t look like he minds. Not at all.

Magda, he sends, arching his back, pushing his chest up. It’s barely enough to close the small gap between them, to get so her breasts brush lightly against his chest. He’s so turned on, and Magda realizes suddenly how warm her face is, how wet she’s getting.

Out of habit, she rocks her hips back, the position so familiar to when she rides Erik. She’s not thinking at all, her body driving her to get some friction against her clit and her brain honestly conditioned to expect a hard cock under her to supply it.

When she grinds down on Charles, though—

Oh god yes, he’s thinking. But at the same time, he’s whispering, “Sorry, sorry,” and that won’t do at all.

She hates to let his arms go, but she doesn’t have much choice. She sits up, reaches one hand behind herself, and pushes Charles’s cock against her cunt.

“Shut up,” she murmurs, rocking her hips again. It feels so different, but so good. His dick has filled a little but he doesn’t feel even half-erect yet, and he’s smooth and soft and perfect, sliding between her labia. You’re perfect, she thinks, honest and raw with affection.

It doesn’t seem possible, but Charles turns even redder, his blush extending all down his torso now. Magda doesn’t have time to be embarrassed, to worry about how she looks—probably more than silly, grinding on her best friend, holding his cock so she can rub off against it. Charles’s approval and desire (and maybe even love, she thinks) are radiating so strongly from his mind. All she can think of is one thing—to get him off in return—and so she runs her free hand over his chest.

“Yes,” he breathes. She pinches one of his nipples, tugs at it a little, the way she likes when she’s about to come. This is different than fucking Erik, too: she’s tried, of course, but she may as well be playing with Erik’s shins for all he cares. Charles is so sensitive, even more than her with chest stuff, and it’s amazing. It’s never surprised her that Charles gets so many one-night stands. But it’s crazy anyone ever let him out of bed, once they had him.

Charles moans, arching under her, seeking her touch. She’s happy giving it to him, thumbing over his nipples and scratching over his ribs and just finding out everything that makes his mind spark up with pleasure. But she can’t help noticing, too, how he keeps stealing glances between them.

By now, she’s got him almost half-hard and completely coated with her slick. She’d be more shy about it, but Charles obviously is just as into watching her as she is into grinding on him. He’s just as entranced with the visuals as he was when he was taking Erik.

And it’s that thought that makes her consider that one step further.

If Erik could get Charles hard with his mouth, well… This is different, yeah, so maybe Charles won’t get any harder from this. But she can’t imagine it wouldn’t be fun to try. Adjusting her grip slightly, she rubs the head of his cock once more against her clit before she gently presses him in.

“Magda,” Charles groans, and at the same time she hears the distinct hitch of Erik’s breath. Either he just woke up, or he was faking for a few minutes, it doesn’t matter. She glances over her shoulder, and can’t help moaning quietly herself, to see him. He’s stroking himself, his eyes dark as he watches her work Charles’s prick into her cunt.

All of the talking they've done this week about Charles, and somehow they never discussed this in particular. Charles's mouth, yes, all the types of sex that Erik's never had a chance to have with another man, yes, but Charles inside Magda, fucking her? She can't imagine how they overlooked such an obvious possibility. What were they thinking?

Erik looks every bit as into it as Magda felt watching Charles fuck him, and that makes all of it even better. Magda can't help but groan, too.

"Wait," Charles breathes out, and Magda shakes her head. Her hair's a mess now, falling down over her shoulders and a little in her face, but she doesn't have a hand to spare to push it back.

"It's okay," she says, "Erik doesn't mind, he likes it, don't you, Erik—"

"Yeah," Erik says, voice still thick and heavy with sleep. He clears his throat. "Don't stop on my account."

Charles glances over at him, taking in the image of Erik sprawled out, naked and touching himself, and when he turns his head back to Magda he closes his eyes for a moment and she can see the jump of his Adam's apple as he swallows hard.

"It's not that," Charles says. "And it's—God, it's not that I'm not into this, I am really into this, I promise you that, it's just—"

Magda freezes suddenly as a realization washes over her. Of course; the fucking condoms again. Shit, she and Erik are laughably bad at this—but it's been so long since they used them, it's so hard to remember when she hasn't had to think about it. And now that she is thinking about it… Were they supposed to be using them last night for oral, too? She and Erik had never done that, even back in college, but they'd been virgins except for each other and mostly just concerned about preventing pregnancy. Hell, Charles must think they're idiots.

"Shhhh," Charles says, reaching up to cup her cheek. "None of that, Magda. We can talk about that later if you want, but I'm not worried about that. I just meant, well. If there's something else I can request?"

She stays completely still, one hand braced on Charles’s chest and the other behind her, but she manages to relax a little at Charles’s touch. His expression is so sweet, so earnest, as he looks up at her.

“Anything,” she says, turning her head so she can kiss his palm. “Whatever you want, Charles.”

He makes a soft noise, his mind electric with nerves and want. “That’s, ah, pretty generous. I’m not sure you’ll… I mean. It’s a little weird.”

Magda raises both eyebrows. What even qualifies as weird, for Charles?

Does it matter?

“Hey, we can do weird,” she blusters, and she can almost feel Erik nodding behind her.

“Weird is great,” he adds, helpfully.

Charles laughs slightly, then runs a hand over his face. “I don't—” He sighs. “I'm not even sure I know how to ask.”

Magda re-adjusts her balance and moves her hand from Charles’s chest to stroke his face gently. “Charles, whatever you want, we mean it. Show us,” she pets his temple, and he shivers slightly, “if you can't find the words.”

“I, ah, that's all right,” he says, his hand pressing more firmly against her cheek. He smiles gently, and then turns to look at Erik again, his gaze resting on him for a moment before it returns to Magda. “I…could I watch the two of you?” Magda blinks at Erik, who looks just as confused, and Charles clarifies, “Having sex. With each other. Just...the way you would normally.” His smile turns crooked, just a little. “I must confess that I've always been fond of the two of you together, the little I've seen before this.”

Well. Magda can't say she was expecting that. But, she thinks, looking over at Erik, who's lounging in a way that should be criminal, if that's what Charles wants, she can't say she objects to fucking her very, very hot husband. Erik meets her eyes and they have their own silent conversation, and then Magda turns back to Charles and says, “If you're sure that's what you want.”

“I am.”

“Then tell us where you want us,” she says, straightening up.

Right now, she thinks she’d do anything for Charles, same as she would for Erik. Maybe this is weird, but it could be a lot weirder, and sex with Erik certainly isn’t a chore. All the same, letting go of Charles and lifting her weight off his lap—letting his perfect, lovely cock slip from her cunt—she can’t help making a soft murmur of disappointment.

Charles reaches for her again, running his hand down her side in a soft, gentling motion.

“Well…” he starts, trailing off as he looks at her, then at Erik for a moment, then up at her again. “However you do, normally?”

Magda considers. When she turns to share a glance with Erik, he’s got a slightly distant expression. Oh no, she thinks. The idiot’s actually trying to do the math.

Truth is, they don’t really have one go-to position. When they first started having sex—penis-in-vagina sex, that is; the first time they got naked together Magda made it very clear she hadn’t expected, well, all of that—they did it with her on top exclusively. But once she got used to all of that, they tried everything and never settled on a favorite.

When it becomes clear that Erik isn't coming back from his mental calculations any time soon, Magda rolls her eyes and looks at Charles, and says, “Any requests? We don't really...have a usual position.” She pokes Erik in the arm, hard. “Isn't that right, honey?”

Erik blinks up at her, still clearly thinking through their sex over the past several months. She narrows her eyes at him, and he says, well-trained, “Yes, yeah, of course.”

Charles snorts as Magda suppresses the urge to roll her eyes again.

“Well, if either of you has any preference—” Charles starts, looking between them.

“This is about your preference,” Magda interrupts.

“Yes, but I don't want you doing anything that's uncomfortable,” Charles argues.

“We haven't had any issues with any of the standard positions,” Erik points out, sitting up and moving behind Magda, resting his chin on her shoulder and wrapping an arm around her waist so his hand is on top of the hand Charles still has resting against Magda’s side. “If you really have no preference, we can try whatever and see how that works, but if you do…” Magda feels Erik shrug against her back. “And if something doesn't work, we can always adjust.”

Charles reddens slightly as they look down at him. It's kind of adorable how awkward he is about this, though Magda can't say it's not awkward for her and Erik, either; exhibitionism hasn't ever been something they've discussed with any seriousness. But it's...a different thing, with Charles. It doesn't feel like they'd be putting on a show or like he'd really be a voyeur, removed from what's going on. It's pretty clear that’s not what this is about.

“Tell us what you want,” Madga says quietly, tracing the inner veins of Charles’s arm, though she keeps her eyes on his face.

"Well," Charles says, that rare note of uncertainty still audible in his voice. "I suppose… missionary, then?"

Another small surprise; if she'd had to guess, Magda would have expected maybe something with more of a view of the proceedings. But missionary is good, too, absolutely. Magda's always thought it was a little underrated, honestly, between the feeling of closeness and the satisfaction of Erik's weight above. Easier on her thighs than riding Erik would be, too.

"We can do that," Erik rumbles. He kisses her shoulder and then he moves away, leaving Magda missing the comfortable warmth of him against her back. She climbs off Charles and lies down beside him on the bed, turning her head to look at him.

Charles is chewing on his lower lip, worrying it between his teeth. His gaze keeps drifting down the length of Magda's body and up to Erik and back again.

Magda reaches out and curls their fingers together by their sides. Charles gives her a small, pleased smile, and then they both turn to Erik.

Erik's been watching silently, still kneeling down the bed. Magda spreads her legs now, makes room for him between, inviting him in. He moves forward, filling the space like he's meant to be there.

"Hi," Erik says, grinning down at her.

"Hi," Magda says back—a little breathless, because Erik's just slipped his hand between her legs, stroking one finger into her cunt.

"Fuck, you're wet," Erik murmurs, mostly to himself, and Magda squeezes around him. Erik's never been good at purposeful dirty talk, but sometimes in the moment…

Charles’s hand tightens on hers, his breath catching as he responds along with her. And to her; his presence in her mind is as solid and warm as his body by her side. Magda has no doubt that for Charles, this is less about watching than it is feeling, so in every way she knows how, she opens her mind to Charles, giving his fingers a brief squeeze as she focuses on Erik.

Some nights, Erik is happy taking forever with the foreplay. Magda can’t say she minds per se—some nights, fingering and handjobs are the main act, some nights that’s just what they’re in the mood for—but it can seem a tad sadistic. She’s not the one with a fetish for not coming, after all.

Luckily, tonight isn’t one of those nights. Erik thrusts one finger a few times, slips a second in alongside to hook unerringly inside her, making her blush at the wet squelch her body makes before he's pulling out.

It’s all right, Charles sends, my darling, don’t be embarrassed. You’re just ready for him, aren’t you? Ready for his great big cock…

And Magda knows she’s just blushing all the worse now. Charles has no business being so pornographic with that posh accent of his, there’s no way what he just said should be so stupidly hot.

But it is. Groaning, Magda spreads her thighs even wider, and she doesn’t know if Erik heard the same words or not but he’s so clumsy positioning, his hands fumbling on her hips. He ruts against her once, twice—missing his mark or getting his cock slicked up, Magda’s not sure which—before he lets go of her with one hand to circle the base of his dick, guiding himself.

Even after all this time, it still always is a shock at first. The fat head of Erik’s cock, pressing against her cunt. The half-second her body resists him. The way it pops in suddenly, how she can’t stop clenching around him, over and over like her body’s trying to take him all at once now that he’s in her—

For a disorienting moment, there are no barriers between any of them. Magda’s at once hearing herself moan and moaning, penetrating and watching and being penetrated. Like this is the best thing she’s ever felt/seen, the two people she loves the most, loving each other, and then Charles collects himself, reins his powers in.

“I’m sorry,” he manages, still panting beside her. “I didn’t… That’s never happened before.”

Still catching her own breath, it’s all Magda can do not to laugh. Erik’s face is tucked against her neck, his lean body all tense where she can feel him against her chest and stomach and between her thighs, but she knows he’s smiling.

She lets go of Charles’s hand to grab at him, to tug him closer against her side.

“Of course it hasn’t,” she says, “and it’s okay. Don’t be sorry.”

Erik breathes out slowly, grounding himself before he moves to look over at Charles. He lets go of Magda’s right hip, and reaches out for Charles as well, petting whatever skin he can.

“You shouldn’t ever need to apologize,” he says, dramatic as ever. “But you really don’t have to, around us.”

At least the last part is a little sweet, Magda thinks, hugging one-armed at Charles’s shoulders. Charles turns his head against Erik’s touch, nuzzles closer against her, and just seems to soak up their affection. Then, after a moment, he pulls back.

“Thank you. Both of you, you’re so lovely. But enough focusing on me,” he says, pointedly taking Magda’s hand and guiding it to rest on Erik’s shoulder.

“I really would like to watch you both.” He trails his hand down Erik’s back, resting it low on the slope of his waist. Magda grunts as Erik’s hips jerk a little in response, shifting the weight of his cock inside her. “Very much.”

Well, when he asks so nicely… Magda gives him a last lingering glance, and looks back up at Erik.

By now, he’s also focused back on her. Magda scratches her fingers up over his shoulder to cup the nape of his neck, and pulls him in for a kiss. His hips jerk once more, another abbreviated thrust, and Magda wraps her legs around him.

Between her thighs, his waist feels too-narrow, delicate. She crosses her ankles behind his back, urging him forward.

“Come on, baby,” she says, “You heard Charles, he wants you to fuck me.”

"Well, if that's what Charles wants," Erik says, "who am I to protest?"

There are plenty of things Magda could say in response to that, given Erik's usual stubbornness, but she lets it go this time.

Erik kisses her again as he begins to move, rocking into her with long, even thrusts. Slow and steady, establishing an easy rhythm. Erik's already come twice tonight, so Magda's settled in for a long, leisurely fuck. It seems appropriate, in this early morning in-between time, no longer quite night but not day yet either.

She feels sleepy and lazy and incredibly turned on, all at once; not the urgency of earlier, but a lovely familiar pleasure that spreads through her entire body.

Erik inside her and filling her up, Erik surrounding her, skin against skin everywhere—and there in the very corner of her mind, that awareness still of Charles with them and beside them.

"Mmm," Magda sighs, running her nails lightly down Erik's back. Not enough to scratch, really, but enough for Erik to feel it. She stares up at his face: Erik's eyes are closed, eyelashes dark against his cheek. "Hey, hey, look at me, baby."

Erik blinks his eyes open. His irises are only a thin ring around his pupils, changed again into that pale shade she's never been able to decide on a name for. He looks down at her, mouth hanging open a little as he pants.

"You good?" Erik says breathlessly. "Do you need it faster, a different angle?"

She squeezes her thighs tighter around his waist. "No, no, this is good, just like this."

"Good." He leans forward and kisses her again, messier now than before, less controlled. His hard chest rubs against her nipples, making her cry out into his mouth. "I love you," Erik breathes when he pulls away a little.

"Love you," Magda echoes. She's straining up against him, like her body thinks it's possible for them to get closer, for him to be deeper.

Erik slides his hands down, cupping her ass to help keep her tilted up to him, quietly responding to her body’s demands. His cock sinks just a little deeper on each long stroke, now; as deep as he can get, and she tightens her arms around his shoulders to keep him close. The smell of his sweat, the steady panting of his breath, the warm brush of his skin between her thighs, that odd faraway almost-worried expression he gets—it’s all so familiar, and so wonderful.

So… Beloved, she thinks, the word coming abruptly to her mind. She kisses him over his stubbly jaw, his sharp cheekbones, over the crow’s feet he already seems to be getting at all of twenty-five.

There had been a moment where Magda worried, when Charles told them just to focus on each other. How could she possibly concentrate on Erik alone, with Charles here beside them? Erik grunts as she clenches around him, and he keeps thrusting in his steady rhythm. Stroking the nape of his neck, over the knobs of his spine, Magda realizes there’s not much that could distract her from this. From the constant familiar presence of Erik, of his love.

“Erik,” she sighs, rocking her hips. While Erik still has plenty endurance left, she’s abruptly on-edge, shivery with arousal.

Murmuring something indecipherable, he brushes a few kisses over her neck, and slides one hand from her ass. He trails his fingers up, pressing his nails just hard enough so it doesn’t tickle when he runs over her side.

“I…” she starts, her breath hitching. Erik keeps fucking her, and the sound of his cock thrusting into her cunt just keeps getting wetter and louder in the early-morning air. “I…”

“You need to come,” Erik says, gravelly and breathless. His fingers at her chest, now, he doesn’t hesitate or draw it out. He keeps fucking into her at his same sure pace, and starts thumbing at her nipples, starts pinching with that exact pressure that he knows will get her off. “Come. Come for me, baby.”

She tries to keep her eyes open, to keep looking up at Erik, at the strange mix of concentration and vulnerability in his expression. But she can’t. When she finally throws her head back and comes, the last thing she sees is Erik, his pale eyes still watching her.

There's a soft sound beside her—Charles, yes, of course, wonderful Charles. Tagging along in their heads, keeping them company. Does he feel all of it, all the pleasure and love Magda feels right now? She hopes so. She gropes out blindly beside her until she finds his hand, twining their fingers together.

Erik's gone still, a fixed point in the world for her to fall apart around. Once she can manage it, Magda opens her eyes again, smiles up at him.

"Come on," she says, "what are you waiting for?"

It's the signal he needs to start again. He moves his hands so he can brace himself over her, moving faster now, breaths coming harsher. She strokes his back with her free hand. He feels hot to the touch, slick with sweat.

Erik is so hard everywhere, bony and sharp and angular, and right now Magda feels so soft and relaxed and weightless, like there's nothing holding her down except the feel of Erik's cock in her cunt, Erik's heaviness pressing her against the mattress, and Charles's hand tight in hers.

"Don't fall asleep on me," Erik manages.

Magda laughs, a breathless little sound, and runs her hand down the slope of his back.

“Well, don’t drag it out then,” she says, pressing lazily at his ass, encouraging him. She’s drifting a little already, even if his every thrust sends another frisson of pleasure through her.

“Hmph,” Erik grumbles. Beside them, Charles laughs quietly, and squeezes her fingers as if to help her stay awake.

Don’t worry, he’s used to it, Magda thinks, her mind fuzzy enough that she can’t be sure she’s projecting correctly. After a second, wondering if Charles is worried about it, she adds, it’s no big deal if he keeps going. She feels a brush of assent in her mind, Charles making sure she knows she’s been heard. Emboldened, she gives his hand a tight squeeze in return. I kind of like it, thinking about that, she admits, and Charles makes a soft, almost surprised sound.

Even talking to Charles like this, it’s a struggle to keep her eyes open. Magda focuses on the tension in Erik’s body, in the loud panting of his breath, in the desperate rhythm of his hips. She lets herself float in the hazy warm glow of Charles’s mind, his powers still winding them all together. The moment stretches out, at once endless and over all too soon, before Erik cries out and goes still above her.

It’s all Magda can do to focus on that, on the sensation of his cock twitching inside her. She pets Erik’s back, murmuring endearments as beside them Charles rides the feeling of Erik’s orgasm, of Erik coming inside her. It’s too soon for her to get off again, but as Charles comes—his grip almost bruising now on her hand—it’s a close thing.

Aftershocks of pleasure wash over her for a long while, as Erik shivers above her, as Charles catches his breath beside her. Utterly content, she gives up on keeping her eyes open, and nuzzles her face against Erik’s sweaty shoulder. She drifts off like that, Erik heavy on top of her, his cock still inside her. With Charles’s fingers still twined between hers.

---

The sun is fully up when Magda wakes, its bright light battering against her eyelids. She keeps them closed, smiling to herself as she reflects on last night (and this morning), and just how amazing sex with Charles was, how it surpassed all her and Erik’s wildest expectations. She can feel Erik pressed up against her side, his arm over her waist, and her smile widens as she blinks her eyes open and turns her head to her other side to see—

Rumpled sheets, but an otherwise empty bed. Magda blinks again, trying to clear the sleep from her eyes, and sits up slightly, taking care not to jostle Erik, who is still dead to the world, snoring lightly (which he will of course deny, later)—and no, no Charles on that side of the bed, either. As her eyes adjust to the light and the room comes into focus, she notes that Charles’s clothes and chair are gone. The door to the bathroom is open, revealing that it, too, is empty.

Just as Magda is about to work herself up into a panic, she hears running water and a clinking noise coming from the vicinity of the kitchen. She exhales and, for once, blesses the apartment’s comically thin walls as she relaxes back into the bed. She stays there for all of two minutes before she sighs and carefully slides out from under Erik’s arm and gets out of bed; even beyond the fact that she needs to use the bathroom sooner rather than later, she's never been much for staying in bed for ages after waking up. (It's a different matter if Erik’s awake in there with her, of course; lazy morning sex is one of their favorite things.) And she still feels a little on edge from waking up to find Charles out of bed when he's the one who tends to sleep in the latest out of the three of them, especially after a late night involving drinking and sex.

Charles still hasn't come back to bed by the time she gets out of the bathroom, so she grabs Erik’s discarded shirt from last night and throws it on, walking out of their room into the rest of the apartment.

Charles is parked at the kitchen table, a mug sitting in front of him, his brow furrowed as he scrolls through his phone. He looks freshly showered, his hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. He's fully dressed, but the vee of his t-shirt isn't quite high enough to hide the—Magda blushes slightly—numerous hickeys on his chest and neck.

“Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” he replies, looking up with a smile. He almost seems surprised to see her, as if he hadn't sensed her coming out here, but she's probably just imagining it.

Magda has no clue what to say next, for a second completely at a loss. She and Erik were basically married (read: definitely married if you’re asking their families, they 100% waited) by the time they first slept together. She’s only ever read about the whole morning-after awkwardness thing.

But is it really so awkward? Shaking herself, Magda goes to open the cupboard above her coffeemaker. This is Charles, she reminds herself as she sets up the filter, as she scoops in the grounds. How is this so different than any other time Charles has woken up in her apartment? Nothing could have changed too much from the last time he sat at the kitchen table with her, laughing about their night out over breakfast.

“Coffee?” she asks, filling up the carafe. She’s got her back to Charles, but she can tell he’s rolling his eyes.

“I made tea, but thank you.” He keeps his voice mild, as if he’s not still horrified at the quality of coffee she buys (cafeteria-grade), the state of her coffeemaker (an ancient drip model he may or may not have seen her use for cooking ramen during college) or the concentration at which she brews her coffee (engineer-grade). Possibly, the only thing Charles finds more disturbing is the way Erik will drink this stuff despite being a coffee snob elsewhere: with half a mug worth of sugar to cut the taste.

Magda grins, turning on the pot. It clunks along as she turns back to Charles.

“Suit yourself.” She finds herself just taking him in again, his startling pale eyes and his softly curling hair. It’s no surprise it takes her a moment to notice the notepad and pen he has in front of him, alongside his half-finished tea. There’s already some writing on it, in Charles’s usual scratchy hand. “You’re up early,” she continues. It comes out almost like a question.

Charles shrugs, one shouldered, still holding his phone.

“Meeting Raven for brunch,” he says, nodding at the screen. “Should she reach a decision between bottomless mimosas and a bloody mary buffet.”

Oh. That’s right.

Magda relaxes all at once, flopping to sit by Charles while she waits for her coffee. She’d forgot Charles had mentioned he’d be going out with his sister this Sunday.

“If it’s Blue Star, definitely the mimosas.” The rest of their brunch happy hour was pretty good last she was there, a memory she presses toward Charles.

He makes a considering hum, and types something on his phone. “Thank you, my dear,” he says, sounding absent-minded.

Magda watches him fondly, just enjoying the smell of coffee filling the kitchen as he texts Raven. It’s not long before she’s getting up and pulling a mug out of the cupboard, and that’s about when she notices the hickies again.

It almost makes her wince. It’s like he was mauled. She didn’t think she was marking him up so much last night, but even his right ear has a big purple mark.

And he’s about to hang out with family! And he’d told her he was going to brunch beforehand! Magda could kick herself. Even worse that it’s Raven, who Magda has always found a little intimidating, to be honest. Sure, Raven’s younger than her. But where Magda’s college activism has pretty much faded into an at-times frustrating life as a social worker, Raven is still out there, fighting the good fight. (And, though Magda would never say so to any of them, Raven just is cool in a way that Erik and Charles are… kind of not.)

She sips her coffee, considering.

“I think she’s finally made up her mind,” Charles says. He sets his phone down on the table for a moment, picking up his mug and swallowing down the remains of his tea. “I’ll have to be heading out, I’m afraid.”

Magda nods. “Although, um,” she starts, “before you go—I do have some concealer you could use?” If it was twenty degrees cooler out, she’d offer up one of Erik’s turtlenecks, but on a day like today that would be just as awkward and obvious.

Charles winces slightly. “That bad?”

Magda scrunches up her nose and tilts her hand side to side.

Charles’s mouth quirks into a half-smile as he says, “Perhaps I will take you up on that offer, in that case.”

He heads back to the bathroom, and Magda rises from the table to top up her coffee and begin rummaging through the fridge. It feels like it’s been a thousand years since the shakshuka last night, and she’s caffeinated enough now to trust herself to gather some breakfast. Erik might be the cook of the family, but Magda’s not completely helpless in the kitchen. She’s halfway through frying an egg and mashing some avocado for toast when Charles appears again.

He looks significantly less ravaged, Magda decides. The make-up is kind of obvious if you’re looking for it, but it’s a definite improvement from before.

She has a sudden jolt of memories from college, all the times over the years she had to cover up the hickeys Erik had given her. Erik was terrible about it, although Magda supposed she was equally at fault in a way, because it always felt so good at the time she never remembered the consequences until after. By the time they graduated, she was highly proficient with both concealer and various cute ways of pulling off a scarf.

Charles always knew, though. Naturally.

“I must be going, darling,” Charles says.

“Right, of course,” Magda says. She wipes her hands off on a nearby dish towel and walks over to him. “It won't do to leave Raven waiting,” she adds, with a grin.

“No, it won't,” he says, smiling back.

There's a pause, each of them looking at the other a little awkwardly as they try to decide what to say about last night, if anything, and then Magda decides to throw caution to the winds and bends over and kisses him. Charles kisses her back, his hand coming up to her face, but then pulls back after a few seconds.

“I really do have to leave,” he says, a little breathless. The faint flush on his cheeks is pretty gratifying.

“I know,” she replies, a little short of breath herself. “Say hi to Raven for us.”

“I will,” he promises. His hand cups her cheek for a moment before he lets it fall back to grip the wheel of his chair. Magda takes the cue, straightening up and moving back a little to give him more room to maneuver.

She walks back over to the stove—thankfully, the eggs haven't turned to rubber—but keeps half an eye on Charles as he gathers his things, puts his shoes back on. When he reaches the door, she can't help herself from calling out, “Talk later?”

“Of course,” he says. There's an absent press of affection into her head as he leaves, lingering for just a moment after the door closes behind him.

If Magda had Erik’s powers, she would probably use them to follow along with Charles to the elevator, down to the lobby of the building, and out to his car. Instead, she simply contents herself with replaying the better moments of last night (i.e., pretty much all of them) as she finishes making breakfast, humming to herself. At some point, she realizes she's humming “S&M,” and she laughs a little to herself. She's keeping that playlist forever.

As she plates the eggs, she contemplates waking Erik. He’ll grumble forever about wasting the day if she lets him sleep in too late, but it’s still relatively early, especially considering how little they slept last night, and a tired Erik is just as cranky. And, to be honest, she's kind of enjoying the quiet this morning. She’ll wake him if he's not up by the time she's done eating, she decides.

She refills her coffee before settling in at the table. She briefly entertains the idea of retrieving her phone from the living room, where it's still in her purse, or the book she’s been reading, but at the moment, that feels like effort she doesn't want to expend. Besides, her thoughts are providing her enough entertainment as it is.

Magda’s halfway through her breakfast when her eye falls on the notepad, sitting where Charles left it. She pulls it over toward her, laughing to herself as she tries to decipher Charles’s terrible handwriting.

Erik and Magda, it reads, Off to meet Raven for brunch, didn't want to wake you. Thank you for last night. -Charles

She blinks and reads it again to make sure she didn't miss anything, but a second pass reveals nothing else. It's overall pretty straightforward, but it's...a little terse, by Charles’s standards. Then again, it was decently early when he wrote the note, even more so if he'd written it before having his tea. She's not even sure what she’d have expected him to write; it's not like she knows what a morning-after letter should look like, or what Charles’s look like in particular (overall, mornings-after are the aspect of his sex life they haven't discussed in detail, clearly a massive oversight on all their parts). And anyway, aside from that initial awkwardness when Magda woke up, this morning was otherwise fine, including that kiss, which Charles didn't hesitate to return.

...She is (almost) definitely overthinking this. She can just see Erik rolling his eyes at her, telling her she's reading way too much into a note that isn't even twenty words long. The caffeine is probably putting her on edge; she pushes her half-full mug away, and then, after a moment, moves the notepad to join it. She resumes her breakfast, resolutely not thinking about anything besides Charles’s o-face.

She's just finishing her last bite of toast when Erik emerges from their bedroom. Magda can't help smiling at the picture he makes: he's wearing a pair of boxers and nothing else, his hair is thoroughly disheveled, and he's limping just a bit as he stumbles, bleary-eyed, over to the coffee maker. He raises his hand slightly, and a mug floats over to him from the cabinet, along with the sugar and a spoon, impressively steady.

“Morning,” she says, picking up her plate and utensils and carrying them over to the sink.

“Morning,” he half-mumbles, turning to look at her as he takes a sip of his coffee. She stands on her tiptoes and kisses him; it takes him a second to respond, and she smiles against his mouth.

“Shut up,” he says quietly against her lips.

“I didn't say anything,” she replies, just as soft, though her smile widens.

“Didn't have to,” he grumbles, before kissing her again. “I hate you.”

“Right back at you,” she laughs, lowering her heels back to the ground.

He snorts and takes a long draught of his coffee, then looks around, his gaze slightly more alert.

“Where’s Charles?” he asks, the edge of concern barely perceptible.

“He’s having brunch with Raven this morning, remember?”

Erik blinks, has more coffee, frowns, and then nods. Magda suppresses the urge to laugh; she doesn't often see Erik this tired, but she loves it when she does.

“He left a note,” she continues, nodding at the table. “I managed to catch him before he left, though, made sure he was presentable.” At Erik’s questioning look, she grins, and says, “We, uh, may have been a little enthusiastic with our vampire impressions last night.”

Erik snorts. “You can just say ‘he had a bunch of hickeys,’ you know.”

“Yes, but it's so much more fun the other way.”

Erik rolls his eyes and sets his coffee down, heading over to the fridge. “You've already eaten?”

“As you can see,” Magda says, indicating the frying pan. She turns back to the sink to wash her dishes, watching out of the corner of her eye as Erik puts on another pot of coffee and then starts to prepare an omelette. Show-off.

It's...strange, almost, how normal this feels, the two of them moving silently around the kitchen the morning after a late night out, “accidentally” brushing up against each other every so often. On the one hand, it feels like everything is so different now, like there's a Before Sex With Charles and an After Sex With Charles, like there's been a shift in their center of gravity—but on the other hand, it's not like that much has changed, at least not in the fundamentals. They're still MagdaandErikandCharles, and that's what counts.

Magda finishes with the dishes fairly quickly, and then goes to grab her book and settles at the kitchen table, occasionally looking up to enjoy the view as Erik makes his breakfast. He joins her soon enough, and snorts when he sees what she's reading.

“I thought you finished your ‘trashy chick-lit’ phase,” he says.

“Don't be an ass,” she replies calmly, not looking up at him. “I don't make fun of your sci-fi tie-in novels.”

“That,” he says, and she doesn't need to look up to know he's pointing his fork at her, “is a blatant lie.”

She looks up, raising an eyebrow at him (and yep, he's doing the fork thing), and then returns to her book, making a show of turning the page even though she hasn't finished reading it. It's fine, it's not like she’ll miss crucial plot details. Erik wisely says nothing (though she's pretty sure he's rolling his eyes).

They're quiet for a little while, the only sounds the clink of cutlery and the rustle of turning pages, and then:

“Is this the note Charles wrote?” Erik says. Magda looks up to see him frowning down at the notepad.

“Yes,” she says.

“Hmm.” Erik’s frown deepens slightly. “It's...short.”

“That's what I thought,” she says. “But he wasn't... acting weird, or anything, this morning, so I think he must have just been tired.”

Erik nods, once, still looking at the notepad. “Makes enough sense.” He sighs, sets it down, and then looks across the table, reaching out a hand to her. “Last night was...good, wasn't it?”

Magda gives him an are you fucking kidding me look as she slips her hand into his. “More than good, I'd say,” she says. “And we felt what Charles was feeling, he definitely felt the same way.”

Erik smiles and squeezes her hand. “Yeah.”

“And you'd do it again,” she says, not quite a question.

Erik huffs a laugh. “Obviously.” He shifts slightly in his chair, wincing a little, and adds, “I may need a little bit of a break before repeating everything from last night, but of course I'd do it again. Repeatedly.”

“Me, too,” she says, smiling at him. She's pretty sure she deserves a medal for the self-restraint that keeps her from making Erik give her credit for having this idea in the first place, but then again, maybe it's better to hold onto it for future reference, to pull out whenever she needs to remind Erik that she's the one who has the good ideas.

They stay like that for a little while, just smiling at each other across their rickety wooden table. Eventually, though, Erik releases Magda’s hand and returns to his breakfast as she picks up her book.

The rest of the day follows in the same vein, a nice, calm lazy Sunday after all the excitement of the past week. It's a little different from their usual routine given that Sundays are usually a chore day for them, but thanks to yesterday’s cleaning and laundry frenzy, the only things that need attention are the sheets and their groceries, the latter of which they mutually agree to push to during the week when it's clear neither of them has the energy to deal with Sunday shoppers.

They don't explicitly talk much about last night aside from Erik complaining about how sore his ass is, but the afterglow persists through the day. It's most evident in the way they smile at each other throughout the day when they catch each other’s eyes (especially when they're changing the sheets on the bed).

It almost feels like Charles is in the apartment with them, the way he's clearly dominating both their thoughts—and that feeling is probably why they don't notice that they haven't actually communicated with him since he left the apartment until they're going to bed. They haven't really been on their phones all day, and it's only when they're plugging them in and setting their alarms for the next day that they realize Charles hasn't texted or called. To be fair, though, they didn't text or call him, either, and while it's relatively unusual for them to go an entire day without some sort of Charles texting, it's not entirely unheard-of.

But then Monday passes without any communication from Charles, despite Erik texting, and then Tuesday is similarly silent, both Magda and Erik’s texts going unanswered, along with the e-mail Erik sends, just in case Charles has fallen into a book-writing hole and forgot to charge his phone.

On Wednesday, Charles finally texts back—but it's a brief one-line text to Magda, cancelling their Thursday lunch with the vague excuse of “too much work” (and Charles always says what it is, always too wrapped up in what he's doing to remember that maybe not everyone wants to hear all the details of what paper or exam he's grading and just how many students have made him want to tear out his hair)—and they can't pretend any longer.

Charles is avoiding them. More than that, he's actively not talking to them, which has never happened before, not once in their seven-plus years of best friendship, not even when they had that fight about how no, Charles was not allowed to give them an all-expenses-paid honeymoon to Paris, was not allowed to buy them First-Class tickets to Paris, was not even allowed to send them to Paris, Texas.

Charles isn't talking to them, and they don't know what to do.

---

Erik’s lying on his back on the couch, holding Magda’s phone in his hands and squinting up at it like it holds some sort of deep secrets if he could only unlock them, when Magda comes back into the living room. She’s just finished doing the dishes—which, since Erik normally cooks, really is her chore. Saturday and their seduction plan were special circumstances.

It’s the first night they’ve managed to eat together since Sunday. Erik had late nights at work Monday and Tuesday, doing extra hours on the new project, and Magda’s days were so busy she had just enough energy to come home and eat cereal before falling asleep. They’ve really only had time to discuss the Charles situation in passing, checking in as they’re rushing around getting ready in the mornings, and occasionally texts between the two of them during the day.

“Scoot over,” Magda says as she nears the couch. Erik sits up halfway, leaving just enough room for her to slip into the corner. As soon as she’s seated, he lies back down, resting his head in her lap.

He’s still staring at the phone, that serious scowl locked in place on his face. Magda strokes his hair gently and holds back a sigh.

“You know that message isn’t going to change no matter how many times you read it,” she points out.

Erik’s gaze shifts off the phone, his eyes meeting hers. “The last time I went this long without talking to Charles was—” He pauses. “Never. Literally never. I haven’t gone two days without talking to Charles since I was eighteen. This isn’t… I don’t understand what’s happening.”

He sounds somewhere between plaintive and angry.

This time Magda doesn’t hold back the sigh. “I know, baby.”

She takes the phone out of his hands, taking another glance at the text herself. The same words are on the screen, still just as vague and terse as the first time she read it, and she sets the phone down on the end table next to her.

Erik rolls onto his side, head still in Magda’s lap, and looks up at her. “Magda,” he says slowly. “I think we’ve fucked up bad.”

“Yeah,” she agrees softly. She's honestly not sure what else to say.

Erik doesn't seem to need her to say anything else, though, continuing, “I just—I don't know how, exactly. I've been racking my brains for what we could do that would make Charles stop talking to us, and I...don't know.” He exhales, frustrated. “None of the usual reasons why he doesn't talk to people fits—we’re not his family, we weren't dicks about his telepathy or the wheelchair, we aren't mutant- or homophobic, we didn't even fight about politics. And anyway, fighting about politics would mean he wouldn’t stop texting, not the other way around.”

Magda can't help laughing a little; it's true. Whenever Charles and Erik argue about politics, it always spills over into constant impassioned texting that lasts for days—and, one particularly memorable (terrible and supremely annoying) occasion, weeks.

“Do you really think he's angry, though?” she asks uncertainly. She didn't think so, but Erik’s the one who knows Charles best, and she mostly trusts his instincts over hers.

Erik sighs and sits up, running his hand through his hair. “I don't know what other reason he could have for shutting us out so completely.”

“Baby, we’re not talking about you,” Magda points out. “Charles isn't the grudge-holding type the way you are.”

Erik frowns, but doesn't argue her point—which is almost as concerning as the rest of this situation. “So what do you think it is, then?”

“I don't know,” she says heavily. She slumps into the cushions. “Maybe he's hurt, or confused?”

“But what did we do that would have hurt him?” Erik points out. “We took him out, we told him we wanted him, we paid attention to him; the only time we weren't entirely focused on him was when we were having sex—which he asked us to do for him.”

Magda shrugs. “Just because we can't think of anything doesn't mean we didn't do something.” She pauses, thinking. “Did...anything happen, while I was asleep?”

“Which time?” Erik says, but he doesn’t wait for an answer, scrunching up his face in concentration as he thinks back. “Not...really? He was pretty quiet, but I figured that was just all of us being wiped out. I was mostly concentrating on not falling asleep on top of you. I did—” Color rises in Erik’s cheeks, ever so slightly. “I, uh, I asked if I could do anything for him, and he turned me down because he’d come, too, riding along with us. And then we just fell asleep.”

He shrugs.

“Maybe…” Magda says slowly. “Maybe he wasn’t as into it as we were?”

“It sure seemed like he was into it,” Erik says. “The thoughts he was sharing, that’s not something you can fake. Or, well, I guess Charles could, he’s powerful enough, but he wouldn’t.”

Magda has to agree. Every time she goes over Saturday night in her mind, she can still see Charles in their bed, looking eager and pleased to be there.

“Maybe it just wasn’t good,” she says helplessly. It seems as likely as anything else they can come up with. “Maybe that was terrible for him compared to all the sexy people he’s been with, and we just, I don’t know. Don’t know any better.”

All through college, Magda used to bite her nails. It was a nasty habit, and she mostly weaned herself off of it before the wedding. She gets manicures now every month or so—sometimes Charles even goes with her, though his hands are still sort of a mess—and it helps to keep her from being tempted to start again.

Right now she really wants nothing more than to nibble at her thumbnail. She clasps her hands tightly together in her lap.

“That doesn’t make sense,” Erik says, still frowning. “None of this makes any sense. It was good, it was amazing, and I thought—I felt—”

He trails off into a groan, dropping his face into his hands.

“I know,” Magda says. She reaches out, patting small soothing circles on Erik’s back. “Me too.”

It was one of the best nights of Magda’s entire life, and yet at this moment she wishes she could turn time back a week and undo the entire thing. No matter how great it was, it’s not worth it, not if this is the outcome. Charles is too important. Too central. Charles is…

He’s…

They’re…

Oh, fuck. Magda feels a little faint as the realization hits her.

She turns to Erik, kneeling up on the couch beside him so she can clutch at his shoulder, demonstrate the sudden urgency she feels. “Erik. Erik, we love him.”

“Of course we love him,” Erik says, looking at her oddly. “It’s Charles.”

Magda shakes her head. “No, it's—we’re in love with him. Like, be together forever, marry him and have his babies kind of love.”

Erik frowns at her, clearly turning this over in his head. She can see the moment he realizes she's right, the change that comes over his face as he understands.

“Shit,” he says with feeling. “We love him.”

Magda laughs, a little unevenly, and nods. “Yeah.”

“I don’t—what do we, how do we—” He breaks off, looking lost and uncertain.

“I don't know!” She laughs again, feeling just as off-kilter. She feels so stupid for not seeing it before, for not understanding why Charles always meant so much—to Erik, to her, to both of them—but then again, it's not like she'd had any reason to think much about it, before now.

“What does this mean, for us?” Erik says, his brow furrowed as he thinks through this.

“It won't mean anything, if Charles doesn't feel the same,” Magda points out. Then it dawns on her. “Although—do you think—”

Erik's frown deepens. “Maybe? I don't know. It...makes more sense than anything else we've come up with.”

“If he does feel the same way,” and he could, Magda thinks, paging through all the memories of Saturday again in the light of this new revelation, “then he must think… that we’re not serious about it.”

“He should know better,” Erik says. “He should know that we wouldn’t, I don’t know. Trifle with his affections. That oblivious telepathic idiot.” The last sentence comes out with equal amounts affection and frustration.

“We only just figured this out ourselves,” Magda points out. “There’s enough blame to go around.”

Erik concedes the point with a sigh and a shrug. He rubs his hand over his face again. “That still leaves the question of what comes next.”

“Well…” Magda hesitates just for a moment. If the butterflies in her stomach were bad when they were planning their seduction, she thinks they must be a hundred times worse now. She hadn’t really ever stopped to think what an advantage being with the same guy since forever was, when it came to avoiding this sort of anxiety. “We have to talk to him, don’t we?” She smiles at Erik weakly. “Though I suppose that’s easier said than done at this point.”

Erik shakes his head. “If he won’t come to us, we’ll just go to him. We’ll invite him over on Saturday and give him another chance, and if he says he’s too busy working, we can bring dinner to him.”

It’s a good idea, Magda thinks, turning it over in her mind. It makes sense.

Erik takes her hand, squeezing hard. Magda curls up against him, settling against the cushion and resting her head against Erik’s shoulder. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself.

“We’re really going to do this,” she says wonderingly.

Erik’s silent for long enough that Magda gets suspicious. She has to pull herself away again, just far enough so she can see Erik’s face and the conflict written on it.

“Hey,” she says, patting his thigh. “What is it?”

Erik blows out a long breath. “If you’re not sure…”

Magda almost protests—what is it, exactly, that makes Erik think she’s having second thoughts about something they just thought up to begin with?—but she’s been with Erik more than long enough to know how stubborn he can be. Stubborn enough, sometimes, that he can’t seem to own his worries and his doubts; that he winds up pretending he can’t have second thoughts, himself.

“I’m pretty sure, but it’s not just up to me,” she says, instead. “It’s up to Charles. And it’s up to you.” She pets his thigh again, like it’ll ease out some of the tension she can feel in his body. “Do you think I shouldn’t be sure?”

Erik looks at her a long moment, like he’s searching her face, before he looks down at her hand on his thigh.

“I don’t know,” he admits. “This will change everything, and I just… I just don’t want to hurt you, Magda. You’ll always come first.”

Smiling a little to herself, Magda thinks again of how much she loves Erik… But also how this is so like him, to make such hyperbolic statements about something that hasn’t even come to pass yet, anyway.

“I love you, too,” she says, reaching now to take one of his hands. Maybe, come Saturday, they’ll find out Charles really is just ignoring them because they’re comically bad at sex (Magda still can’t rule this out as an option). But even if she’s just realized exactly how much they both love Charles, even if it’s entirely possible nothing will come of it, Magda knows it’s critical to go into this the right way. As distant as Charles might be right now, if they really fumbled something like this… Magda doesn’t even want to think about it, about how bad they could hurt someone they love so very much.

“But it can’t be like that,” she continues. “It can’t be about who got here first, or who loves who more.” She pauses a second, considering her words. Erik squeezes at her hand, as if to encourage her. “We’ve all known each other for pretty much the same amount of time, right? As long as I had you, I had Charles, too. Maybe it’s different, the way I love him, but you two are pretty different as people.” Magda isn’t sure she’s ever made more of an understatement, but she soldiers on. “That doesn’t make how I love you better or more important. And it’s the same for you. I’m not going to be upset, or hurt. You have room enough for both of us.” Magda squeezes Erik’s hand back, and gives him a little smile when he looks over at her. “You can love us both. You always have, right?”

“I have,” Erik says, and the surprise and wonder of it is still evident in his tone. “Fuck, I really have. All this time, all these years, and I never put it together…”

“Well, none of us did. I think we all get to feel equally dumb here.”

Erik is quiet, digesting this. “Still,” he says after a moment, “it probably would have been nice to know before we stood up in front of everyone and said ‘one and only,’ don’t you think?”

“Vows can be updated, you know,” Magda says. “Maybe not legally, but we could always have a private ceremony, a handfasting or something, all three of us together, committing to each other—although,” she pauses, considering her own words, “maybe we shouldn’t lead with that when we talk with Charles.”

“He might as well know we’re serious about this,” Erik says stubbornly.

“Hello, Charles, we’re in love with you, let’s get married. You don’t think that’s a little heavy to unload all at once?” Magda raises her eyebrow.

“Hmm,” Erik says. “We’ll see how the conversation goes.”

Erik raises their linked hands up and presses a kiss to her knuckles.

Magda’s stomach still feels overcome with nerves, but at the same time, she feels a thousand times better than she did a half hour ago. She and Erik know what they want now, and they have a plan. Just like so many times before. The stakes might be higher this time, but at least that much is comforting.

---

Come Saturday, to the surprise of no one, Erik finally gets the text.

Sorry, it reads, Afraid I’ve still too much work.

If anything, it’s only more terse than the lunch-cancelling text Magda got on Wednesday, and seems all the worse for the fact that Charles apparently couldn’t be bothered to text either of them until Saturday afternoon to cancel the plans they tried to set up days beforehand.

It’s nearly enough to make Magda reconsider their plan, when Erik shows her the text. Like, maybe they’re just being naive, or projecting their own feelings onto Charles? Maybe they really did offend him somehow, after all?

But while she can’t be sure Erik isn’t just playing it up for her sake… Where she’s nervous and unsure, Erik by now is 100% certain their plan is absolutely brilliant.

“Just read this,” he insists that afternoon, brandishing his phone at Magda as if Charles had just texted his undying affection for the two of them, “Forcing me to take all this to him. Typical.”

Magda sighs, trying to let go of her tension, and keeps peeling potatoes. For once, she’s almost glad for the prep cook duty. At least it gives her something to do, to keep her mind off the coming evening.

In what can only be considered an all-out attack on Charles’s defenses, Erik started making the chicken dish last night and has now conscripted Magda to start working on those disturbingly addictive (and time-intensive) scalloped potatoes that Erik only makes for truly special occasions.

(Magda once asked Edie about it, certain it had to be a family recipe, only to learn about Erik’s middle-school obsession with old cookbooks. It’s probably a good thing they didn’t meet til college, she thinks often; she was pretty nerdy herself, but she absolutely wasn’t in the way Erik apparently was.)

Despite how hard she’s trying to concentrate on potatoes, she can feel Erik looking at her. Magda shrugs, trying to pretend she’s half as confident as Erik with this whole plan.

“I just hope he doesn’t mind us breaking in his house,” she says. What if he really is busy?

Erik huffs dismissively, putting his phone aside as he goes to dig the ice cream maker out of the back of the cabinet.

“He won’t mind,” Erik says, his voice sure and confident.

Magda doesn’t argue the point. Erik’s probably right: with the amount of food they’re bringing, Charles can’t possibly be that upset. And besides, she thinks… If Erik loses his nerve, where will they be?

She finds out approximately two and a half hours later, when there’s absolutely nothing left in the house for Erik to cook and he’s down to the task of finding something to wear.

“Don’t think too hard about it,” Magda yells at him from the bathroom, as she debates putting her hair up or not. For her part, she tried not to plan her outfit own too much. This isn’t a seduction plot, not anymore, and she’s trying to just look as normal as she can manage. If Charles does love her, he probably loves the boring normal Magda she’s always been, she thinks. And if she’s just now noticing that this outfit is the exact same one she wore last time she went out with him—just the two of them, to a book signing Erik had deemed “a waste of his valuable time”—well, that can’t hurt, either.

Through the walls, she can hear the opening and closing of drawers and the clanking of metal on metal as Erik pages through the closet and their dresser at the same time. Magda doesn’t remind him that just because he can move several things with his mind doesn’t mean he can actually look at them all at once, too.

“You aren’t helping,” Erik complains. The sound of rummaging continues. Magda decides on leaving her hair down and taking pity on her poor husband, and heads into the bedroom.

It’s less a mess than she anticipated, but all the same, Erik looks no closer to finding an outfit.

“I still say what you’re wearing totally works,” she offers. It’s a time-honored tactic that she knows Charles definitely uses, too—when all else fails, you can often at least exasperate Erik out of a funk.

Erik glares at her. He’s managed to get as far as his boxers, but that’s it.

Magda smiles at him. “Maybe you’re right. It is a little overdressed…”

Stalking to the dresser, Erik opens a drawer at random. “This is serious,” he insists.

“I know it is,” Magda says. She crosses the room to stand beside him and look down at the clothes. It’s a pile of old t-shirts that he mainly wears around the house or to go running in. She picks up a faded blue shirt and pushes it at Erik’s chest. “Here, wear this one.”

Erik shakes it out in front of him and eyes it. I’m a mutant and I VOTE, the front says in iron-on lettering.

“This was a present from Charles junior year,” Erik says.

“I know,” Magda repeats. That’s why she picked that one.

“It’s a little grubby,” Erik says, frowning.

“It’s fine,” Magda says, impatience starting to bubble up in her. “It’s comfortable, it’s you, it’s normal. Let’s just get dressed so we can go already.”

Erik’s been studying the shirt with a ridiculous intensity, but his gaze shifts to her now, looking at her with the same concentration.

“Magda,” he says quietly, calmly, and Magda huffs out a helpless breath. “Hey. Are you losing your nerve?”

“No,” Magda says. He doesn’t look like he quite believes her, so she adds, “I’m not. I’m just...nervous. I want to go and do this and finally get it all out in the open, so we don’t have to keep thinking about it and wondering and worrying.”

“Yeah.” Erik glances down at the t-shirt again. “Okay. You can go start packing the food into the truck if you want. I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Okay,” Magda agrees. At once, she’s relieved and more anxious. Yeah, they’re finally going to get this all out in the open but—well, they’re going to get this all out in the open.

She leaves Erik to getting ready, and heads back out to the kitchen. Everything is already packed up in the old burnt orange Tupperware Magda’s aunt gave them as a wedding gift. There’s not much left to do but load it up the truck and wait for Erik, and by the time she’s done with the truck, Erik’s ready, too.

He steps into the kitchen, looking for all the world like this is any other Saturday, dressed as he is in jeans and that threadbare t-shirt. The worn material shows off his shoulders nicely, though, and Magda knows how flattered Charles always was, seeing Erik wear the gift. (Handmade presents, it seems, weren’t terribly common in the Xavier household.) Erik takes a cursory glance around the kitchen, as if checking to see everything’s been packed up, before he turns back to her.

“I guess we’re doing this,” he says.

Magda gives him a little smile. They’ve come this far, what’s the sense in giving up now?

“We are,” she says, and pulls the keys back out of her pocket. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

She leans up and kisses him on the cheek, and they head out.

Erik turns on the radio as Magda pulls out onto the road. It’s some kind of bland 70s rock, but Erik leaves it on instead of using his powers to flip back and forth between stations constantly, which is his normal trick to drive her crazy when she’s the one driving. The music’s good to have, though, because it keeps them from having to talk when they’ve both said everything already.

Charles’s condo is on the other side of town, out past the university and into the quieter neighborhoods where everything’s green and landscaped and taking up lots of room. It’s a familiar drive; Magda wouldn’t know how to start counting how many times she’s made it these last few years. Charles comes out to them more often than they come out to him, but they’re still frequent guests. Hell, she thinks of his guest bedroom as her and Erik’s room most of the time, and she’s sure Erik does too.

Erik waits until she’s parked before pulling out his phone. Magda wonders suddenly if Charles is even going to answer, or if he’s going to let it go to voicemail and just send another vague text later—but no, Charles picks up after only a few rings.

“Hello, Erik.” Charles’s voice is loud enough for Magda to hear it clearly from her side of the cab. “I’m afraid as I mentioned earlier, I’m rather swamped with grading at the moment—”

“We know, we know,” Erik interrupts him. “But I don’t care how many papers you have there, you still need to eat, and Magda and I don’t trust you to remember to do it yourself. We brought you dinner.”

There’s a long pause. “You’re here now?”

“Reach out and see,” Erik says. He makes a gesture up towards his forehead, even though obviously Charles can’t see him through the phone.

There’s a pause. If Charles is looking in her mind, too, he isn’t making himself known; and Erik’s expression doesn’t betray much. Magda finds herself holding her breath.

“I see,” she can hear Charles say, after a time. “But I’m not sure now is really a good time—”

Erik’s jaw tightens. “I’m not sure why you’re being such a stubborn—”

Magda reaches over and pulls the phone away, ignoring Erik’s protest.

“What he means to say is, we’ll just come in and drop off the food.”

It’s quiet on the line. Maybe they’ll have to just break into Charles’s place, after all.

“Come on,” she says, softly. “The ice cream’s starting to melt.”

Charles sighs. “Alright, I suppose a few minutes won’t hurt.” The tone of his voice, though, is telling another story. Magda wonders if they’re doing the right thing, with Charles sounding almost… sad.

She glances over at Erik, who nods.

“Okay,” she says, “See you in a sec,” and before she totally loses her nerve, she hangs up.

“Here we go, I guess,” she says to Erik, handing him back the phone.

“It’ll be fine,” Erik replies. He sounds determined in that way that Magda knows just means he’s as anxious as she, and he opens both doors of the truck with his powers. “Let’s just get it over with.”

There’s enough food that they both have their hands full, walking up to the condo. The lawn around the building are perfectly manicured, the pathways freshly swept.

As always, the second Erik waves open Charles’s door, the difference between the condo association’s and Charles’s standards of neatness are a bit jarring.

Sure enough, the front room is littered with the evidence of grading. Stacks of papers and red pens (why Charles can’t just hold on to one, why he needs a pen on every conceivable surface, Magda will never know) are strewn over the coffee table and end tables and couch. There’s also all the usual books and journals left open, abandoned when Charles found whatever it was he was looking up; and all the dirty teacups left balanced on the few level surfaces not covered by paper.

But it’s more than the usual chaos. The television is muted but still on, playing an episode of House Hunters, specifically the tiny house variety. Magda wouldn’t think much about it, except she knows full well Charles always winds up marathoning HGTV when he’s having a bad week. There’s empty takeout containers forgotten in the chaos, which—ever since the ant epidemic in grad school—Charles is normally good at throwing out right away. There’s a quilt crumpled in one corner of the couch, and Charles’s mobile and the tv remote lay on the cushion nearby, like Charles had just been bundled up there, not grading at all.

Charles himself, however, is nowhere to be seen. Magda would think he managed to escape through a bedroom window, but then she hears the sink running in the bathroom.

She almost heads back to the kitchen to drop off the food—no way it isn’t a mess in there, too, but there’s absolutely nowhere to set the Tupperware down in here—but right away, the water is stopped and the bathroom door creaks open, and it’s only a moment later that Charles is emerging from the hall.

His face is a little ruddy, like maybe he was just washing up, and his hair is damp and hastily brushed. Charles smiles up at both of them, but it’s a pale shadow of how he greeted them just last week.

“Long time, no see,” Erik says. His voice is still a little stubbornly sharp and Magda fights a sigh and wishes she had a hand free to pinch his arm. Not helping, Erik.

She smiles at Charles in an effort to soften the force of Erik’s tone. “We have missed you this week,” she says, in a slightly more diplomatic tone. “It’s been a little lonely without you, honestly.”

Magda thinks she sees something flicker in Charles’s eyes, though his smile doesn’t really change.

“Sorry, my darlings. It’s just been one of those weeks, I’m afraid.” Charles shrugs slightly. What can you do?, the gesture seems to say.

Charles is truly a wretched liar at times, Magda thinks. “Well, let’s set down the food and you can tell us all about it,” she says firmly around the stupid swelling of fondness that rises up in her chest at the thought.

Erik is already moving into the kitchen, and various metal-adorned objects are winding through the air as he uses his power to start to clear space on the counter. Magda follows him in, setting down her own burden on the newly available space before shoving aside more of the papers and dishes to make room.

Charles trails behind, stopping in the doorway.

“There’s your favorite chicken dish,” Erik starts, pointing at the Tupperware, “and then the scalloped potatoes. Those rolls I made last New Year’s that you liked, in this one...Magda, go ahead and put the ice cream cake in the freezer before it melts, will you? Creamed spinach. Stuffed mushrooms.”

He grabs the last one as he finishes, pulling off the lid and thrusting the container toward Charles almost aggressively.

Magda isn’t sure she can remember the last time she saw Erik this obviously nervous. Obvious, at least, to someone who knows him as well as she does. Surely it must be obvious to Charles, too, then, just how much anxiety Erik is channeling into this right now?

Maybe Charles will make this easier on them. Maybe he’ll figure it out. It’s not like they’re so subtle, is it?

When it’s clear Erik isn’t going to budge, Charles hesitantly reaches out to take one of the mushrooms.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he says, inspecting the appetizer as if it were the key to some puzzle.

“We did,” Erik says, sounding as brusque and impulsive as he did opening all the containers. As he turns to set the mushrooms back down, though, he seems to think the better of his tone.

“We wanted to,” he amends, fussing needlessly with the way the food is laid out on the counter. “It’s been a long week, hasn’t it? If we let you starve, what kind of friends would we be?”

As first admissions of love go, it’s actually a fairly good one for Erik, and Magda should know. At least he drastically improves with practice.

And she’d think Charles would realize what’s going on by now, that he must be picking up on how hopeful and anxious and absolutely in love they both are. But if anything, the words only seem to upset him, his expression falling, the appetizer sitting forgotten in his hand.

To see Charles so shaken… Magda very nearly blurts out what she and Erik came over to say, what she was hoping Charles could read from all the food alone, much less their minds.

Instead, she finds herself pulling out one of the chairs at the table.

“Maybe we should have dinner, first,” she suggests, looking between Erik and Charles.

Erik nods, and starts casting his powers out for the silverware to set the table, when Charles clears his throat.

“I don’t… I don’t think I can,” he says.

“Please,” Erik starts, “when’s the last time you ate a good meal—”

Charles shakes his head. “It’s not that. And it all looks spectacular, of course it does. All of this, it’s amazing, and I don’t deserve any of it when I can’t even....” Charles gestures with the mushroom, still in his hand, “When I can’t even eat in front of you guys.”

“Charles, we…”

“No, please,” Charles interrupts again. “Just… Let me get this out there.”

Taking a steadying breath, Charles is silent a moment before carrying on.

“Look, I do get it. You both wanted to try a threesome, and of course I made sense. We're all so close, and you know I have experience, but I just can't do this. I’m—I’m afraid of ruining what we do have.” He laughs, a sad and rueful little sound. “God, I practically already have. I just couldn’t help getting attached, I guess.”

Magda tightens her grip on the back of the chair until her fingers ache. “Attached is good,” she says helplessly. “We like you attached.”

They’re not the right words, that much is obvious, because Charles just shakes his head. “I’m sorry, Magda.” There’s a slight flare of frustration from him, the first time since they’ve arrived that she’s felt him loosen his telepathy enough for her to feel him in her head.

“You don’t get it,” Erik blurts out. When Magda tears her eyes away from Charles to look at him, she can see the way Erik’s entire face is lit up with an intense and focused sincerity. “You have it all backward, Charles. We didn’t just want a threesome and decide you would do. Fuck. We wanted you, and that made it a threesome.”

Magda’s so proud of her husband she could kiss him right now, but—no. That wouldn’t help things right now. Save that for later.

“We didn’t just come over today because we thought you needed a good meal,” Magda says. “I mean, that was part of it, but we had an ulterior motive.”

Charles’s eyes are huge and wide, that same startling vivid blue, and he looks almost frozen.

“Charles, you know—you know that we’ve never really done casual sex. Neither of us has ever gone to bed with someone we weren’t stupid crazy in love with. Ever,” Magda repeats, emphasizing the word. “That’s still true.”

She looks over to Erik for back-up or support, but instead of saying anything, Erik moves forward from the counter again and sinks to his knees by Charles’s side.

“This week has been too long. Not seeing you, not hearing from you…” Erik says. He’s rested one of his hands on Charles’s chair, as if he’s too nervous to touch Charles, even if Charles and he touch casually all the time and pretty much always have. “I miss you, Charles. We both do.”

Charles was staring at Erik’s face—and who can blame him, with Erik’s intensity?—but at the last sentence, his gaze flicks back up to Magda.

She hesitates. She doesn’t want to crowd him, or make him feel like he can’t escape, but she can’t keep just standing there, either, and so she goes to them.

“We care about you so much,” she says, getting down to sit cross-legged on the floor. “And being away from you… I think it made us both realize how much we really love you.”

Charles takes in a shaky breath. “Magda…” he starts, before shaking his head, seemingly at a loss.

“Of course we love you,” Erik says, when it’s clear Charles isn’t going to continue. “We just hadn’t realized how much we’re in love with you. But this week, and how amazing last Saturday was… They brought everything into full relief.”

Yes. Yes, Erik's doing so good, he's sounding so perfect and saying the right words—fuck, he didn't do this well when he proposed to Magda, he'd stumbled over the words then and accidentally almost thrown the ring box in her face the way his powers were jittering. Magda can't quite reach out to hold his hand from here, so she just folds her own fingers together tightly and stares up at Charles expectantly.

But Charles is… shaking his head again. “No,” he says slowly, “no, you two are being silly. You don't have to act like— you're trying to be kind, but it's cruel, and I won't have it. I know you love me, but not like this.”

“Silly?” Erik repeats, sounding astonished and offended. Magda can't even come up with that much, stunned silent.

“Last week when I saw you two—when I watched you,” Charles corrects himself. “I could sense it all then. You're perfect together. You belong together.”

“And you belong with us!” Erik exclaims immediately, almost commanding, while Magda is still processing, realizing just what exactly happened to make Charles freak out. It...makes sense, now, and knowing the trigger for Charles’s sudden change of heart means they can actually address what’s been bothering him.

“I—not that way!” Charles says, tensing up as he goes on the defensive. “I’m not...I don’t—” He huffs, clearly wanting to resort to telepathy, but also holding himself back. It hurts, that he doesn’t trust them with this, but it’s also so incredibly Charles, not wanting to burden anyone with his own feelings, that Magda can’t help but reach out and lay her hand on his.

“Charles,” she says quietly, as he looks over at her, his expression lost. “Think about it. You’ve been friends with us—with Erik, with me—for longer than Erik and I have been together. You’re as much a part of us, of our relationship, as it’s possible for anyone to be.”

“As a friend,” Charles protests, and it takes all of Magda’s strength to resist rolling her eyes, but somehow, she manages.

“You’re so much more than just a friend to us,” Magda says, and she feels rather than sees Erik nod and place his hand on Charles’s other hand, mirroring her position.

“We love you so much,” Erik says quietly. “We’re not the same without you.”

“It’s always been better when it’s the three of us together,” Magda adds. She knows she’s pushing, but she just can’t help it, not when Charles is sitting there and letting them hold onto him and looking between the two of them with a mixture of hope and fear in his eyes. He’s so close, they’re so close, and if she can just find the right words… “You know that.” She takes a deep breath, locks eyes with Charles, and projects, as hard as she can, all the things she’s been thinking about this week, all the times it’s been the three of them—at the beach, the Spring Break road trips where she and Charles shared a motel bed while Erik took the chair or floor or cot, going out to Toad’s, hanging out together at their places, all mixed up with that sense of love and comfort that she feels with her boys. She knows Charles can hear her, knows he’s seeing everything she’s sending him, watches his eyes grow wider until she thinks it must hurt, sees him bite his lip, and then he takes a sharp inhale, and—

He looks away, closing his eyes, and pulls his hands back, placing one over his eyes as the other grips the armrest of his chair.

“That’s the whole point,” Charles says quietly, not looking at them. “I could never—what we have is so important to me, I can’t risk it by...getting in the way.”

“You couldn’t,” Erik says, stubborn as always. “You aren’t in the way, you’ve never been in the way.”

“Exactly,” Charles says, lowering his hand to look at Erik, his expression serious. “And if we changed that, if... this didn’t work, if I lost you two because I was selfish and wanted more than what we have, I… that’s not what I want.”

...Oh.

“You wouldn’t lose us,” Magda says quietly. “No matter what happened.”

“You can’t know that,” Charles replies, just as soft.

“We do,” Erik says. He hesitates, then reaches out again, taking Charles’s hand in his. “Whatever we need to do to prove it to you, we’ll do it.”

Magda wars with the desires to laugh and to kiss him, her melodramatic husband and his romantic gestures. He’s trying so hard, bless his heart.

“Look,” Magda says, sitting up and placing her hand on top of Erik’s, and it’s a miracle that Charles hasn’t pulled away yet, but that also says something, doesn’t it, “we love you, we’re in love with you, and yes, we don’t know what would happen, no one can, but that...doesn’t mean it’s not worth trying.” She takes a deep breath. “We all want the same thing, and it could be so good—it’s already been so good—I don’t think any of us would forgive ourselves if we didn’t try.”

“It’s different,” Charles protests.

“Yes,” she agrees. She looks over at Erik. She can feel it, and she can tell he can, too—they’re close. “But that’s the point.”

“You haven’t thought this through,” Charles tries again. “You don’t even know what I’m like in a relationship.” This time, Erik does roll his eyes.

“Of course we do,” he says. “We’ve seen you in all of your relationships since college.” Charles winces, but Erik shrugs. “Besides, we’re basically already in one—just without the sex.” He tilts his head and grins, just shy of his usual. “And frankly, I think it would be criminal if we continued that way.”

Charles shakes his head, but Magda can see the faint quirk in the corner of his lips. “What would you tell Edie?” And really, if that’s his remaining objection, he’s clearly reaching.

“...The truth?” Erik replies, blinking at Charles. “She loves you, you’re basically a part of the family, and let’s be real, she’d probably be thrilled to actually adopt you.”

“We couldn’t—”

“Charles,” Magda cuts in. “Look, if you really don’t want to try this, then we can drop it and never bring it up again.” Beside her, she feels Erik turn and glare at her, but really, this is getting ridiculous, and sometimes Charles just needs someone to step in so he stops dithering and makes a decision. “But if you do, we’re not going to settle this in a single night, so maybe let’s just eat”—Charles’s stomach growls at the mere mention of food, and she gives him a pointed look—“and get some sleep and keep talking about this tomorrow?”

She pushes herself up to stand and then bends down to kiss Charles, and then Erik, and then walks back over to the food. “Now, someone help me reheat the food while the other one of you clears some actual space at the table.”

“I’ll reheat the food,” Erik says, kissing Charles before he stands up and joins her at the counter. “You’ll just make a mess of it anyway.”

Magda rolls her eyes at Erik, but steps out of the way regardless. “Fine. Come on, Charles, did you actually do dishes this week, or do we need to wash some?”

There’s a long pause, during which Magda studiously watches Erik bustle around the kitchen, giving Charles the time to collect himself and make a decision.

Then, ever so faintly, she feels an air of sheepishness in the back of her head, overlying a thread of affection. Erik pauses from transferring the potatoes to a more oven-safe container, and he looks up at Magda—he feels it too, then. They then turn, as one, to look at Charles, whose cheeks are pink above his tentative smile, and he says, “I’m afraid I haven’t quite managed to follow my usual routine this week; we’re going to have to wash some dishes.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know,” Magda grumbles, but she smiles and presses affection right back at Charles as she walks over to the sink.

“Well, since you asked—” Charles says, coming over and handing her a towel, nudging her firmly out of the way, and he starts talking about the papers in the latest issue of Mutation Quarterly as he grabs a sponge. Magda shares a long-suffering look with Erik for a moment before letting herself settle into the familiar routine of preparing dinner with her boys, love bubbling over in her and through Charles’s kitchen.