Work Text:
In his lifetime, Erik had visited twenty-seven different planets, sixteen moons, and a countless number of off-world habitation bases. He had traveled through all six known galactic quadrants, a feat few others could boast of. He had spent two years living in the streets of Kabu’kai, widely derided as the sewer of the galaxy. And yet, for all that, he didn’t think he’d ever come across a moon quite as irredeemably ugly as Prioria.
“You only hate it because it’s rich,” Emma remarked as they slowed into orbit. “It’s not nearly as much of an eyesore as Tantula is.”
“This place is a hundred times worse than Tantula,” Erik growled, but he didn’t bother arguing with her first point. She was right: he did hate Prioria because it was rich. Though it was a relatively small moon, House Prior had plastered luxury settlements all across its surface, scarcely leaving even a square mile of it untouched. It glittered with glass-walled hotels, crystalline cabanas, gaudy golden condos, huge entertainment domes. The splashes of blue and green here and there — artificial pools and gardens — were sad attempts at introducing color and spontaneity. Even knowing it was a resort world, Erik found its garishness revolting. The engineers could have exercised some restraint.
“What did you expect?” Emma asked. “This is where the rich go to feel even more self-important than they already are.”
“You would know.”
“Oh please, sugar, I left that life behind long ago.”
Looking at her now, dressed as she was in sensible gray trousers, a white tunic, and a black synth-leather jacket, it was difficult to imagine her as some frilly noble. Erik had never known her as anything other than a fellow bounty hunter, so he could never quite picture her in the complicated, ostentatious outfits that passed for high fashion in wealthy circles. It was no wonder she’d run away — the bloated, performative lifestyle of the Court had probably bored her to death.
The console chirped with an incoming message. Erik keyed it up, and the golden crest of House Prior flashed briefly on screen before the face of a harried-looking docking official appeared, her large, blue-striped ears twitching in agitation. “Hello,” she chirped, barely sparing them a glance. “Welcome to Prioria. Your landing permit please?”
Swiping at her console display, Emma transmitted the codes, which were, for once, authentic, not forged. On their last visit to Hurion, Emma had happened upon a stunningly cheap package of landing permits and snatched them all up. Permits to wealthier worlds were rare; the Court kept it that way to avoid overpopulation. Permits to resort worlds were rarer still. Supposedly the waitlist for the waitlist for a permit to Prioria was three years long.
“You’ve been approved for landing,” said the docking official, once the codes cleared. “Please proceed to Bay Six, platform eighteen.”
She cut the transmission without waiting for a reply. Understandable — she and all the other docking staff were probably frantically overworked, what with the start of the Summer Season when nobles tended to take their holidays. As much as Erik usually hated traffic, he was glad for it now. It made it easier to blend in.
Once they’d docked cleanly, Erik unbuckled his seatbelt and stood. “You can handle the docking paperwork?”
Emma didn’t roll her eyes, but she came close. “What am I, a brainless dock-duster? Of course I can handle the docking paperwork.”
“Good. The gala starts in half an hour. I’d rather not be late.”
“Go, go.” Emma waved a careless hand. “I know how eager you are to see your boyfriend.”
Erik’s lip curled. “Please. Don’t be insulting.”
“Oh come now, Erik, let’s not pretend you aren’t fond of the boy.”
“Have you ever known me to be fond of anybody?”
“That’s exactly the point.” As he headed off the bridge, Emma rose and followed, raising her voice to be heard over the clatter of their bootsteps on the metal grate walkway. “You sure you don’t want me along this time?”
Erik ducked into his cabin, not bothering to signal the door shut. He knew she’d only open it again anyway. “I’ll get him.”
“Yes, just like got him last time,” Emma said dryly. “And the time before that.” She leaned against the doorway, watching dispassionately as he stripped off his shirt. “You know, Erik, I’m beginning to believe you don’t want to catch X after all.”
Erik snorted. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Oh, I’m being ridiculous? Need I remind you that you’ve let Xavier slip through our fingers five times now? Six, if we’re counting that med station incident.”
“I wasn’t aware we were counting at all,” Erik replied coolly. “And I haven’t let Xavier slip. We just haven’t gotten convincing proof yet that Xavier is X. Imagine the uproar if we bagged a Lord of the Court without any hard evidence and tried to turn him over as X. We’d be laughed out of the system! Not to mention probably arrested.”
Emma arched a pale eyebrow. “Between you and me, sugar, we’d never be arrested. It’s what makes us so damn good. And as for having no hard evidence, you’re lying to yourself. We’ve brought people in on less.”
“I don’t want to bring him in unless we’re sure,” Erik insisted. “Unless you want to potentially fuck up this bounty?”
“Erik,” Emma said flatly, “don’t kid yourself. Charles Xavier is X. We figured it out, and I doubt it’ll take long for others to. So if we want to cash in on this, we have to do it soon. Otherwise, we’ve got to move on. Do you have any idea how much money and time we’ve already wasted chasing after him?”
Erik didn’t answer her, though he had a general idea. They hadn’t taken another bounty in nearly three months, and they were close to running on fumes, financially speaking. They’d been in worse situations before, but still, this was a low point for them. Capturing the notorious, interplanetary art thief known as X would net them a truly astounding twenty million credits, one of the largest bounty they’d ever scored. The ship could finally get the makeover it needed. He and Emma might finally be able to take a vacation. Hell, they might even be able to spring for one of these eyesores of a resort world, one of the cheaper ones reserved for the upper middle class — Luvo IV, maybe, or Zhuvi. It didn’t sound too bad.
And yet…
“What was that you told me when we were chasing down that Komina girl?” Emma pretended to think for a moment, tapping her lip. “Oh yes. You told me not to let my emotions get in the way. So tell me, how does it feel to be a hypocrite?”
“You have no emotions,” Erik shot back.
“Oh, sugar, you wound me.” Emma fluttered her hand over her heart. She didn’t avert her gaze as Erik stripped out of his pants as well; they’d seen each other naked half a dozen times before, so this was nothing new to her. “You forget that I can read your mind.”
Erik stiffened. “You forget that I don’t like when you do that,” he growled, turning away from her as he shoved on the pair of dress slacks he almost never wore. They were slightly wrinkled from being stuffed so long in the back of his closet, but they were serviceable.
“Fine,” Emma sniffed. “Keep lying to yourself if you’d like. Just promise me you won’t ruin us in the process.”
Erik rolled his eyes. “I promise. Happy?”
“Ecstatic.” She watched him shrug on a dress shirt and a rumpled dinner jacket in silence. When he reached for his tie though, she heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Purple, Erik? Really?”
“It’s the only tie I’ve got.” And besides, he kind of liked it, much as he usually abhorred formalwear.
Emma waved a dismissive hand. “Just go without.”
Erik thought his open collar looked far too casual for a gala of this size, but then again, he wasn’t the one who’d been brought up in high society. Tossing the tie back into the closet, he adjusted his cuffs, took a quick glance at himself in the bedside mirror, and combed at his hair with his fingers. “I’ll be back in three hours.”
“Make it four. I have plans.”
“Dare I ask?”
Emma grinned sharply. “Probably better if you didn’t know. Now go on, don’t want to keep your boyfriend waiting.”
Eyes narrowed, Erik sent her a blast of exasperated disdain. Pushing past her into the hall, he said, “Don’t forget the docking paperwork,” before heading down to the cargo hold.
If there was anything he loved more than his ship, it was his hovercycle. Sleek, trimmed with magenta and silver, and modified to fit his tastes exactly, it was his pride and joy. Erik had had it for nearly ten years now, and it still ran better than most of the mass-produced shit that came off assembly lines. Sliding on his helmet, he climbed on, activated the engine with a flick of his powers, and gestured the cargo door open.
The weather outside was cool and tranquil. Given that this was a resort world, Erik suspected that it was climate-controlled, so there was no chance of bad weather. Prioria’s sun glimmered over the horizon, tinted slightly blue. Despite the encroaching nighttime hours, it wouldn’t completely disappear. The sun never fully set this far north on Prioria, which was supposedly some of the appeal. The party ends when the sun sets, was one of the moon’s unofficial taglines. Erik supposed some marketing official had thought that was extremely clever.
Taking the expressway zipped him into the heart of the city within fifteen minutes. Traffic thickened as he neared downtown, where most of the grand opera houses, entertainment centers, and the flashiest hotels clustered together. Erik bypassed the crowded general expressway, which was crawling by at a snail’s pace. Instead, he took the ramp up onto the narrow upper hoverlane reserved for hovercycles and sped over most of the congestion.
The map he’d preloaded onto the hovercycle’s nav system eventually guided him off the high-speed hoverlane and down onto the main streets of the city. Tourists packed the sidewalks, chattering and laughing and snapping pictures on holorecorders. It was evening hours so almost everyone he spotted was dressed for dinner or other nighttime activities, like clubbing or theater-watching or golfing off rooftops, or whatever-the-fuck-else filthy rich people did for entertainment. Erik’s eyes flicked over the gaudiest tourists, assessing their wealth, guessing at their weaknesses, their vices. It had been years since he’d been a petty thief picking marks out on the street, but old habits died hard.
At last, he pulled up to the Danusia, an immense, golden, spiraling hotel that loomed over the rest of the cityscape. The valets out front stared at him for a moment, clearly at a loss. Erik figured they were probably used to dealing with cars and fancy limos, not two-wheelers.
When he climbed off and pulled off his helmet, one of the valets stepped forward, eyebrows raised. “Nice ride, sir,” she said, running her eyes admiringly over the body of his cycle.
At least she looked more capable of handling it than any of the other hesitant valets. He waved her over. “Don’t put a scratch on her.”
The valet — Angel, her nametag read — shot him a cool look. “I’ve been riding cycles since I was a kid. I’ll take care of her.”
“Good.”
It took only a few moments to program the cycle to accept Angel as a valid rider, and then she was gone, handling his cycle almost as easily as he did. Another time, he might have waited for her to return, intrigued and a little interested, but someone far more interesting awaited him inside. After straightening his windswept attire as best as he could, he swept up the red-carpet stairs to the enormous, golden front doors.
A door attendant was busy checking invitations and credentials. When it was Erik’s turn, he tapped the band at his wrist, calling up a projection of a gilded invitation, which the attendant scanned quickly before waving him through with a perfunctory “Welcome, Mr. Letrano.”
The real Mr. Letrano was probably agonizing somewhere about losing his precious invitation code, but Erik couldn’t really bring himself to care. The man had a reputation for being lascivious, cruelly indifferent to his employees, and generally smarmy. That had worked in their favor, of course — Emma had had no issues seducing him, gaining access to his apartment, stealing the invitation code, and leaving him snoring alone on his bed, memories of the evening wiped. Erik had no doubt there’d be people here secretly relieved when Letrano failed to show up.
He went in. Despite the fact that he was five minutes early, the ballroom was already almost packed full. Never too early for the party to start, Erik thought dryly as he plucked a glass of green liquid from the nearby refreshments table. A sniff revealed it to be Gonrey brandy, or something very like it. Whatever it was, it was potent — a few lords standing near Erik seemed intoxicated already.
He took a sip and started to wander around the room, paying particularly close attention to where the crowd seemed to cluster around one person. Charles was always the center of attention wherever he went, which usually made locating him a simple task. But tonight, after making two circuits around the room, Erik didn’t see him anywhere.
Perhaps he was late? Usually unheard of — Charles was very punctual — but it was a possibility. Perhaps he’d gotten lost on the way from Kwanen to Prioria? Unlikely, but Erik thought that might be a good jab to lead with once he did find Charles. The Kwanen robbery was still being kept under wraps and hadn’t hit the mainstream newsfeeds yet, but Erik knew that Charles had been there. Once he mentioned Kwanen in casual conversation, Charles would know Erik knew. And then the careful dance around the truth would begin.
Erik’s whole body tingled with anticipation. It wasn’t the sort of anticipation that rose up as he closed in on an unsuspecting target, the sort of anticipation that preceded a blood-pumping chase. No, this was a different kind of anticipation, a deeper kind. The thought of seeing Charles made him shiver with excitement.
He lingered on the edge of the room, watching the doors. Ten minutes passed, then twenty. Still there was no sign of Charles. Erik finished his drink, scowled at a young man who gave him interested looks, and checked the time.
Charles wouldn’t have skipped. No, he adored these sorts of functions, and besides, he was expected to give a speech tonight, something about his generous donation to some charity or another. Erik had checked the schedule ahead of time. And yet, there was no sign of him. Curious.
Emma’s going to be insufferable if he doesn’t show up, Erik thought acidly. Waste of resources indeed.
Another ten minutes passed. He downed another glass of brandy, hoping the alcohol would settle some of the annoyance beginning to churn in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if he was annoyed at Charles for not showing, or at himself for expecting…what? What exactly had he been expecting?
Irritated, he scanned the room again, running his powers over belt buckles and tie clips, watches and holorecorders, hairpins and comms units. Everything in here felt sleek, new, shiny. Only to be expected from an establishment like this, he supposed. Perhaps the night wouldn’t be a total loss. It’d be easy enough to liberate a few credit chips from their owners. Given that they had the resources to blow on a gala like this, they wouldn’t miss a few thousand credits going missing here and there. Erik would be long gone before they ever noticed.
He had just selected an easy target and was starting to move into the crowd when a familiar voice caught his attention.
“ — at all,” said Charles genially from somewhere to Erik’s left. “I’m so sorry I’m late, Duchess, I had some business to attend to.”
Erik immediately switched course, moving slowly so as not to draw unnecessary attention to himself. He slipped past a woman in a hideously elaborate headpiece, ducked under a Tantulan waving its oral tentacles expressively, and finally laid eyes on the man he had come to see.
Charles was, as always, dressed impeccably. He’d chosen an old-fashioned tuxedo tonight, jacket long at the back, short around his waist, with a blindingly white dress shirt and a matching white bowtie that pinned his high collar in place. Unlike most of the other gala attendants, his outfit had no extravagant flashes of color, no expensive accessories. It was simple, elegant, and Erik couldn’t help but admire it.
His mood soured slightly when he spotted Charles’s companion. It was rare that Charles went anywhere without a date on his arm, and tonight was no exception. Tonight’s plus one was an older gentleman Erik didn’t recognize, tall, thickly-built, and ruddy, his beard streaked with silver, his eyes dark and warm. Like Charles, he was dressed simply in black and white, though he’d chosen to add a bright purple sash that cut down across his chest and then wrapped around his waist. He looked ridiculous, Erik thought, lip curling. Like a pompous clown.
“Shall I get us drinks?” Charles’s date murmured, glancing around. His accent wasn’t as strong as Charles’s, but it was still obviously aristocratic.
“Just juice, if they have it,” Charles replied, patting his arm. “I’ve got a little headache and I don’t want to risk any alcohol.”
“All right.” His companion squeezed his forearm lightly before stepping off to find refreshments.
Erik drifted closer. Now the duchess Charles was speaking to — Reza, or Freza, or something like that; she was something of a minor celebrity, big enough that Erik had seen her face on some tabloid — moved closer to Charles, laying her hand on his arm. “Darling, the last time we were at a party together, you promised me at least two dances. Then you vanished for the night and left me waiting. Now you owe me three — no, four dances!”
“Four!”
“One more to make up for your being late.”
Charles smiled. Still hidden behind a couple of people, Erik frowned. Charles’s smile looked a little…odd. Strained at the corners.
“I’m afraid I may have to beg off tonight,” Charles said, taking the duchess’s hand and pressing a brief kiss to it. “I’m not feeling terribly well, my dear, and I’m afraid I’d be a poor dancing partner.”
Immediately the duchess leaned in to look more closely at him. “Are you ill? Shall I call for my physician? I brought him planet-side with me — as you know, I have a delicate disposition — ”
“No, no,” Charles demurred, “that’s quite unnecessary. I think it was something I ate, actually. Nothing to worry about.”
The duchess patted his arm fondly. “If you’re sure, darling. Perhaps some brandy would settle your stomach.” She twisted around, searching the crowd. “Where has your companion got to? I’ll go find him.”
Her departure gave Erik the perfect opportunity to slide up alongside Charles, hands in his pockets. Keeping his eyes forward, he said casually, “I must say, you’re not quite as tanned as I’d expected.”
Charles turned. Surprise flickered briefly across his face before it disappeared behind a seamless mask of polite interest. “Erik! I was wondering when you’d show up.”
Surprise? Erik’s frown deepened. He had never managed to surprise Charles before — his telepathy made him nearly impossible to sneak up on. Even the first time they’d met, Charles had detected Erik long before Erik had ever approached him, which had given him time to ready his charming smiles and innocent looks. Neither of those had fooled Erik, of course. Before he’d met Charles, he’d been ninety percent certain that notorious playboy Lord Charles Xavier and infamous art thief X were one and the same. After meeting him, he’d been one hundred percent certain, despite Charles’s attempts to convince him otherwise.
But he hadn’t snatched Charles away from that banquet, though he’d had ample opportunity to. No, something had held him back. (“Dear god,” Emma had said when Erik had come back emptyhanded. “You’re smitten with him.” At which Erik had scowled and told her to fuck off, she had no idea what she was talking about.)
Since then, he’d tracked Charles down on six separate occasions, and each time, Charles had almost seemed to be expecting him. Perks of his mutation, Erik figured. It was hard to catch a telepath off-guard.
But there was something different tonight. Erik’s gut didn’t like it.
“I thought about not coming,” Erik replied slowly. “I was in another quadrant when I heard you’d be here.”
Charles smiled. “I’m flattered.”
Erik waited, expecting him to say something more, perhaps to ask about Erik’s comment on his tan, or lack thereof. That was how this worked: he would make an insinuation about Charles’s extracurricular activities, Charles would respond slyly, teasingly, and they would spend the rest of the evening conducting a delicate back-and-forth in which both of them tried to give nothing away. But Charles said nothing, only stared off into the crowd, and the uneasy feeling in Erik’s gut deepened.
“What have you been up to since we last met?” he tried, keeping his tone light. “Anything interesting?”
“Oh yes,” Charles said. “Several things.”
When he didn’t elaborate, Erik said nonchalantly, “A friend of mine recommended that I make a couple of stops before leaving the quadrant. Must-see planets, she told me. One of them was…” He pretended to think for a moment. “Now, what was it again? Kwano? Kwamun?”
“Kwanen,” Charles corrected. His eyes flashed to Erik, then away.
He was sweating, Erik realized. The ballroom was cool, almost cold. It had to be, with so many bodies moving about, generating and sharing heat. But Charles’s hairline was damp, his face slightly flushed. Perhaps he hadn’t been lying to the duchess earlier — he did look a bit unsteady on his feet.
Charles paled. “Excuse me,” he murmured, backing away.
Erik took a step after him. “Charles?”
That only made Charles pale further. “I’ve got to — ” he said, waving vaguely at a side door. “Dinner’s not agreeing with me, I’m afraid.”
He turned and darted away. Confused, Erik stared after him. This was entirely off-script. What the hell was going on?
For a moment, he remained where he was, torn between going after Charles and retreating to assess his options. But what if Charles slipped out a side door and disappeared? What if he were making his escape at this very moment?
Erik pushed his way through the crowd, nudging people aside using whatever metal they had on their person. Several of them shot him dirty looks, but he paid them no attention — all his focus had narrowed down to the familiar signature of Charles’s holowatch, now traveling down a side hallway toward what was probably a lavatory, given the pipes and sinks feeding into it.
Erik left the ballroom and followed, his pulse starting to pick up. He didn’t sense any imminent danger, but he still felt warily around with his powers, searching for hidden assailants or weapons.
Nothing. He and Charles were the only ones in the vicinity.
Within the minute, he reached the lavatory door, which was made of heavy, polished wood, designed to muffle noise. But even it couldn’t completely mute the bitten-off cry that came from within the lavatory, a sound that raised the hairs on the back of Erik’s neck. He was intimately familiar with such noises, in the worst of ways.
Heart racing, he shoved the door open.
Charles was standing by the sink — leaning over it, really, as if his legs wouldn’t quite support his weight. His jacket was open, and underneath it, a red stain was slowly spreading across his crisp, white dress shirt.
Erik swore. “What the hell happened?”
Charles didn’t seem surprised to see him, only resigned. “An accident,” he said, attempting a smile.
“Let me see,” Erik demanded, closing the distance between them in an instant.
It was a testament to Charles’s trust in him — or perhaps a testament to his exhaustion — that he didn’t protest as Erik tore open his shirt, expensive silk and cotton be damned. There was a sealant slapped over his ribs, sloppily done. Blood oozed around the edges of the bandage. Whoever had put it on hadn’t set the vacuum seal properly. Hadn’t cleaned the wound properly either, given the pus seeping out along with the blood.
Charles hissed out a breath when Erik probed the edge of the sealant, trying to feel out the extent of the wound. “That stings.”
“What the hell happened?”
“Fell down a flight of stairs. Terribly clumsy of me, really.”
“And then you tripped over a plasma phaser, did you?” Erik asked acridly. He knew a phaser burn when he saw one. The sealant wasn’t large enough to cover the singes at the border of the injury.
Charles winced but said nothing. After a moment, Erik growled, “Why didn’t you go to a fucking hospital? Or call your royal physician, or whatever the hell you nobles have got on speed-dial?”
Charles sighed. “They’d ask questions.”
“You think I won’t?”
That drew out a weak, wry smile. “You already know all my secrets,” Charles said, his eyes bright and earnest — or, more likely, bright with oncoming fever. “What have I got to be afraid of?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Erik snapped, annoyed at how Charles’s words sent a ridiculous shiver of warmth through him. “You think you can trust me?”
Charles raised an eyebrow. “I think it’s far too late to be asking that.”
Erik had no idea how to respond to that. Instead, he distracted himself by peeling away a corner of the sealant. “I’m hardly a medical professional,” he growled. “Rather the opposite, in fact.”
“Yes, I can tell,” Charles managed through gritted teeth. He was sweating more profusely now, jaw tightening in pain. He gripped the sink tightly with both hands, knuckles white.
Erik stopped peeling before the vacuum seal broke. He’d seen enough to know that this wouldn’t be a quick fix. Pulling Charles’s shirt closed again, he said, “I’ll need a medkit.”
Charles smiled wanly. “I’m afraid I’m not in the habit of carrying those around.”
“You should be,” Erik told him balefully. He glanced around the lavatory and snatched up one of the gold-ruffled hand towels. Pressing it to Charles’s side to soak up the leakage around the sealant, he said, “I assume you have a room in the hotel?”
Charles nodded. “The Scorwin Suite.” He dipped a hand into his pocket and fumbled for a moment before coming up with a keycard. A flick of his wrist caused the small holo display to come to life with details: 389th floor, North Tower, Blue Elevator. Underneath that line of text was a red call button to summon one of the hotel on-call bots to guide you to your room in case you got lost.
“Can you walk?” Erik asked, pressing the button.
Charles took a couple of deep breaths, then straightened. “I managed well enough in the ballroom, didn’t I?”
“How exactly were you planning on getting through the night with a phaser burn oozing through your shirt?”
“Well, I was going to leave after I’d given my speech,” Charles said, a bit defensively. “I only had to hold out for about an hour or so.”
“Yes, that seems to have worked out,” Erik said dryly.
“I would have been fine even if you hadn’t shown up.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes.” Charles hesitated, then muttered, “Probably.”
“You’re an idiot,” Erik informed him.
Charles had the good sense not to argue with that.
After a couple of minutes, a soft beep came at the door. A quick brush of Erik’s powers confirmed that one of the hotel bots had arrived to escort them.
“Put your jacket on,” he told Charles. Half of Charles’s dress shirt was stained bright red by now. If one of the media cams zooming around the gala caught a glimpse of that, the tabloids would have an absolute field day.
Grimacing, Charles slipped his jacket back on, buttoned it, and combed a hand through his damp hair. At a glance, he looked mostly normal, except for the deep flush in his cheeks. At least that could be attributed to any number of things. No one could guess that he’d been shot just from looking at him.
When Erik opened the door, the bot beeped gently in greeting. It was a spherical machine that came up to about Erik’s knee, sensor lights flashing across its gold-painted exterior. As far as bots went, its design was fairly simple, economical. It was designed only to act as a hotel guide and to answer general questions.
“Lord Charles Xavier?” it chirped in a pleasant, mechanical voice.
“Do you have medkits in the hotel?” Erik asked.
There was a pause and a whirr. Then: “Yes, standard medical kits are located in the hotel infirmary. Do you require medical assistance?”
“No, just — can you fetch one of those medkits and bring it up to Lord Xavier’s room?”
“I’m sorry, sir, I cannot carry items. However, I can ask one of the porters to help you if you would like.”
“Yes, yes, do that,” Erik said impatiently.
“Do you understand and acknowledge that such a request will be billed to your room? The cost of a medkit for personal use is fifty-seven — ”
“Just do it,” Erik snapped. “He’s paying anyway.”
The bot beeped cheerfully. “Certainly, sir. Have a nice evening.”
As it rolled off, Erik waved to Charles. “Come on, let’s get you up to your room. You need to lie down.”
“That sounds lovely.” Charles pushed off the sink and wobbled there for a moment, his face pale.
“You can’t walk, can you,” Erik said flatly.
“Just give me a minute.”
“We don’t have time for you to catch your breath,” Erik growled. “Someone could walk in at any moment. Here.” He went back over to Charles and ducked underneath his arm on his good side. “Lean on me.”
“Why, darling,” Charles murmured, pressing close to him, “I thought you’d never ask.”
A sudden, sharp longing bloomed in Erik’s chest and washed through his body like a wave of heat. He was abruptly, keenly aware of how close they were, pressed together at the shoulders and sides and hips. He had never touched Charles like this. Had only dreamed of it in the most private corners of his mind.
Swallowing hard, he shoved the feeling back down. Now was not the time for that. Besides, Charles called nearly everyone darling. Erik wasn’t special. Not by any means.
Charles’s grip around his waist tightened. “Erik…”
“Let’s go,” Erik said brusquely, pulling him out of the lavatory and into the hall beyond.
The hotel was sensibly laid out, so it wasn’t difficult to locate the appropriate elevator hall. They passed several partygoers, most of whom were thankfully too tipsy or distracted to do more than give them passing waves and hellos. Even so, Erik stared warily at them, wondering if they could tell something was off, wondering what they’d do if they noticed.
“Don’t worry,” Charles murmured against his shoulder. “They think we’re a couple. Hardly noteworthy.”
Erik’s heart lurched. He ignored it. “Hardly noteworthy?” he muttered, keeping his head down. “The tabloids fucking love you. The last thing I need is my face plastered across tomorrow’s gossip holos.”
“It’s a shame really,” Charles sighed. “You’ve got a face the cams would love.”
Erik had heard him use that very same line on at least half a dozen people in the past and yet, it still sent warmth coursing down his spine. Damn Charles. Damn the way he could make even hackneyed compliments sound sincere.
“Come on,” Erik said roughly, picking up the pace. They rounded to corner and came to a set of gleaming blue elevators. Almost as soon as Erik pressed the keycard against the wall scanner, the elevator nearest to them opened, and Erik ushered Charles in.
“You know,” Charles said, leaning against one of walls, “I meant it.”
“Please scan your keycard,” said the elevator. A blinking console next to the doors showed Erik where to wave the keycard. Once he did, the doors sealed and a chime sounded. “Thank you. We will arrive at the Scorwin Suite in approximately three minutes.”
“I meant it,” Charles repeated.
Erik snorted. “I’m too rough for the cams.” He had scars and callouses and wrinkles. The cams loved smooth skin, bright eyes, ageless faces. It was no wonder they loved Charles.
“No, I mean, I meant it when I called you darling,” Charles said. “I don’t always mean it, you know, but I do, with you.”
Erik breathed out very slowly through his nose. Don’t react, he told himself. Don’t say something you’ll regret.
“Say something,” Charles said softly.
“What do you want from me?” Erik’s voice came out more harshly than he’d intended, but he was glad for it. This was a line they’d never crossed, a line Charles looked like he was edging over, and Erik wanted him to back off. Needed him to. Because if Charles crossed it, and if Erik crossed it…
“I want…” Charles swallowed and looked up, his expression earnest in a way Erik had never seen it before. “I want us to stop playing games. That’s what I want.”
Some part of Erik had been afraid of such an answer. Some part of him — perhaps even a greater part — had been desperately hoping for it. He stared at Charles, torn between the fierce desire to touch him and the sobering knowledge that doing so would change everything.
Emma was right. He had let his emotions get the better of him. God, he was a fucking idiot.
“We can’t,” Erik forced out.
“Erik — ”
“Don’t,” Erik snapped. Then, a bit despairingly, he added, “Don’t you know who I am?”
“I’ve always known,” Charles said softly. “Just as you’ve always known who I was.”
It was as close to a confession as Erik had ever wrung from him, but he felt no satisfaction, no flush of victory. He was only filled with confusion and anger and a painful yearning that had been building and building in him since the first time he had ever laid eyes on Charles, since the first time Charles had smiled at him and said hello.
The elevator chimed gently. “We have arrived at Floor 389. The Scorwin Suite is straight ahead and to your left. Have a pleasant evening.”
Relieved to escape the confined quarters of the elevator, Erik stepped out. He’d already gone a couple of steps ahead when he realized Charles was still inside, hanging onto the wall railing like he was afraid his knees might buckle if he let go.
“I think I’m going to need a little help,” he said faintly.
Instantly, Erik returned to his side and took a hold of him. He was alarmed to feel how hot Charles was, even through his clothes. He was radiating heat. “You’ve got a fever.”
“Feel a little dizzy,” Charles murmured, leaning into Erik’s chest.
He had to lay Charles down somewhere so he could examine the wound properly. All other thoughts and concerns fell to the wayside. Erik half-helped, half-carried Charles to the door of his suite, waved the keycard at the scanner by the doorframe, and barely waited for the door to slide open before pushing in.
Lights flickered on at their arrival. “Welcome to the Scorwin Suite,” proclaimed a pleasant, feminine voice overhead. “Would you like a tour of the facilities?”
“No,” Erik growled. “Lock the door.”
“Certainly.”
“And don’t let anyone disturb us!”
“Of course, sir.”
Erik hauled Charles over to the nearest flat surface, a long, white, synthetic leather couch arranged next to an enormous hearth. As they neared, the fireplace computer asked, “Would you like to adjust the fire, sir?”
“Mute,” Erik snapped. Carefully, he lowered Charles down onto the couch, then straightened and glanced around. There — a medkit sat waiting on the breakfast bar. Crossing the room, he snatched it up and brought it back over to Charles, who was starting to breathe a little more shallowly.
“I think the painkiller I took before the gala is starting to wear off,” Charles said, wincing.
“Hang on.” Erik popped the medkit open and examined the contents. A helpful holodisplay appeared on the lid of the case, detailing the inventory for him. Using the guide, he located the analgesic tablets and popped one out of the container. “Here, put this under your tongue.”
Charles opened his mouth obediently and accepted it. “Morphenex?”
“Fentanox. Stronger.”
“More addictive, too,” Charles murmured, but he kept the tablet under his tongue, sighing softly as it began to kick in.
Erik rummaged through the kit. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”
“No. Well, a few bruises here and there, but nothing serious.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” Erik came up with an autoprobe and turned to kneel beside Charles. He pressed the probe up to Charles’s neck, just at his pulse point, held it there until it beeped twice, and then pulled it back to glance through the readings.
“Well?” Charles joked. “Am I dying?”
“You’ve got a fever,” Erik said, annoyed at his flippancy, “and your blood pressure’s high.” The autoprobe flipped to a new screen with suggested remedies: rest, sleep, a list of antibiotics, antihypertensives. Erik ignored it — he wasn’t skilled enough to try to mess with Charles’s blood pressure, but he could dress a phaser burn. He’d done it before, more times than he could count.
“First let’s get the sealant off you,” he said, chucking the probe to the side. Grabbing a pair of scissors from the medkit, he cut open Charles’s shirt to reveal the bloody bandage on his ribs.
“This was my favorite shirt,” Charles moaned softly.
“Perhaps you should have thought of that before getting shot.”
Charles laughed weakly. “You’re right, of course. I’ll have to consider my wardrobe more carefully the next time I plan on taking phaser fire.”
Pulling on a pair of gloves, Erik shot him a dark look. “There had better not be a next time.”
“Yes, of course.” Charles waved dismissively at him. “There won’t be.” He let out a low whimper when Erik probed around the edges of the sealant. “Haven’t you got any anesthetic in that kit? Something to numb me up before you operate?”
Erik rolled his eyes. “If you need surgery, we’re lost. I’ll numb you up once I get the sealant off.”
Charles braced himself. “Go on then.”
Using the sharp tip of the scissors, Erik punctured the vacuum seal, careful not to cut into the wound underneath. Once the pressure was gone, the sealant peeled off easily — or it was supposed to. Instead, the dried blood and pus kept it stubbornly glued to Charles’s skin, and after attempts to pry it off only resulted in Charles’s eyes watering with pain, Erik finally grabbed some local anesthetic from the medkit and sprayed it liberally all around the bandage.
Almost instantly, Charles relaxed, releasing a relieved breath. “About bloody time.”
“I didn’t want to contaminate the wound,” Erik replied, eyes narrowed. “But since you’re so squeamish about pain — ”
“Well I’m sorry I’ve got pain receptors — we can’t all be as stoic as you.”
“Believe it or not,” Erik said dryly, “I bleed just like you do.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it.” Charles paused, then added more softly, “Though I hope I never do.”
Damn him. Why did he have to go and say things like that, things that made Erik’s heart race like a horse startled into a gallop?
Turning away, he grabbed gauze from the kit, took a few seconds to compose himself, and then returned his attention to the sealant. This time, without Charles flinching, it took only moments to pull it off. Once it was gone, Erik got his first good look at the phaser burn.
It wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, honestly, and for that he was immensely relieved. The shot had grazed Charles’s ribs, cut into skin and a little bit into the muscle, but it hadn’t touched bone. The injury was maybe the size of Erik’s fist, no larger. It oozed blood and pus, but Erik saw no signs of deep infection. They could probably get away with cleaning it, disinfecting it, and bandaging it back up.
“How does it look?” Charles asked, his eyes on the ceiling. His face was slightly green.
“It looks okay.”
“Don’t lie to me, Erik.”
“I’m not lying. You’ll be fine.”
“I feel like shit,” Charles muttered.
“That’s because you got yourself shot and then decided not to get any medical attention, like an idiot.” Erik fetched the antibiotic spray from the medkit and took a minute to read the instructions printed on the side of the bottle. Pushing Charles’s arm up out of the way, he said, “Hold still.”
“You’re right, I should’ve gone to a hospital,” Charles said sardonically. With the anesthetic still numbing him up, he didn’t so much as flinch as Erik started to apply the antibiotic. “That wouldn’t have raised any questions, I’m sure.”
“Don’t be stupid. You have more than enough credits to pay off some private doctor. Isn’t that what rich people do when they’ve injured themselves doing something embarrassing?”
“This is a little beyond embarrassing.”
“Still. Same principle.”
Charles heaved a sigh. “Are you going to lecture me all night long?”
“No.” Erik finished applying a thin coat of antibiotic spray and then reached for a fresh sealant. “I’ll just finish up here and then go.”
Charles went still. “Go?” he echoed after a moment. “No, you can’t go.”
Truth was, Erik didn’t want to go either. He hadn’t gotten what he wanted yet, not even close. Never mind the fact that he wasn’t even sure what the hell he wanted — he was still reluctant to leave.
But what reason did he have to stay?
Encouraged by his silence, Charles said, “Stay, at least for a while.”
“Stay and do what?” Erik asked, eyebrow raised.
“Anything. We can raid the bar, call up for some food. We can put on some music, too, if you’d like. Have our own little gala up here.” Charles flashed him a charming smile. “I’m missing the one downstairs, after all.”
Just the two of them. A thrill shot down Erik’s spine, but he fought away the yes that rose automatically to his lips. This was dangerous. If he were smart, he’d leave before this went any further. Before he fell even deeper into whatever this was.
“Speaking of the gala,” he said instead, “you should call down there and let them know you’re not going to be giving your speech after all. Otherwise someone might come looking for you.”
Charles sighed. “Yes, I suppose so.”
“And you should probably mention something to your date as well,” Erik muttered, managing to say date without gritting his teeth.
“My date?” Charles stared at him in confusion for a moment before realization dawned. “Oh! Mr. Draxlen. He’s not really my date, per se, he’s only a friend. But yes, you’re right, I should let him know I’m indisposed so he doesn’t worry.” He patted his pockets until he located his comm and proceeded to make the appropriate calls.
As he did that, Erik carefully positioned the sealant over the burn, made sure the wound’s borders were properly covered, and then smoothed down the adhesive on the edges of the bandage. A few moments later, it began to hiss, applying the vacuum seal that would protect the wound from outside contaminants and prevent infection. Within thirty seconds, it lay flat against Charles’s ribs, taut with tension and snug around the injury. Erik checked to make sure there was no leakage and then stripped off his gloves and set about packing up the medkit.
“There,” Charles said, tossing his comm link aside. “I’ve made my excuses. Now no one will bother us, at least until morning.”
“Good. You need rest.”
“Yes, some rest sounds good.” He pushed himself upright. “You’ll stay, won’t you?”
Erik could hear Emma’s voice in his head: Don’t be an idiot. If you stay, if something happens, it will be the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. And he knew it was true. If he allowed something to happen between them, it would endanger him. It would endanger Charles. Hell, it’d endanger Emma, too, which would royally piss her off, and Erik shuddered to think of what happened to people who pissed Emma off. He’d been a bounty hunter for nearly ten years now; he knew better than to get involved with a target.
And yet.
“Stay,” Charles said softly.
Erik was helpless to resist him. Slowly, he nodded, and was rewarded by a bright, adoring smile. “Come here,” Charles said, patting the spacious length of the couch beside him. “Come sit with me.”
Well, Erik thought, the decision was made. He might as well go all in.
He sank down onto the cushion beside Charles and was only a little startled when Charles turned to press up against his side. From the moment he’d entered the suite, he’d known, deep down, what Charles wanted. And he’d wanted it, too, as much as he’d tried to deny it.
Still, he didn’t unfreeze until Charles ordered, “Put your arm around me.”
“Bossy,” Erik muttered as he settled his arm around Charles’s shoulders.
“It’s part of my charm,” Charles replied, snuggling against Erik’s side. He leaned his head against Erik’s shoulder and sighed. “Do you know how often I’ve dreamed of this?”
“What?” Erik asked dryly. “Getting shot?”
“No, don’t be dense. This. Cuddling. Snuggling. Whatever you want to call it.” He sighed happily and burrowed closer. “You know, from the first time I laid eyes on you, I wanted you.”
Erik’s chest, which was already tight and warm, grew tighter and warmer. “No, you didn’t. You must have known who I was.”
“Yes, I figured it out, but I still wanted you.”
“Even knowing I was there to drag you off to collect a bounty?”
“Oh, you weren’t there to drag me off,” Charles said, utterly unconcerned. “You were there to drag X off, and God only knows who that is.”
So he was back to playing innocent, was he? Erik harrumphed. “How long do you think it’ll take for someone else to make the connection I did?”
“Quite a long time, I imagine. This X, he’s very careful.” Charles paused, then added conscientiously, “Or she. X could very well be a she, of course. Or non-binary, or fluid, or any number of genders. The authorities don’t even know if they’re human, honestly.”
“You know what I think?” Erik said.
Charles grinned. “Yes, do tell me what you think, darling.”
There it was again: darling. Erik tried not to let the flare of warmth in his chest distract him. “I think X is arrogant,” he said. “I think the success he’s had in the past has made him overconfident. I think it’s only a matter of time before he gets himself arrested, seriously hurt, or killed.” He ran his hand down Charles’s side, fingers pressing down very lightly over the sealant. “I think he’s already had a few close calls and deep down, he knows his game’s nearly up.”
That sobered Charles up. His grin fading, he glanced down, smoothing his hand down the wrinkles in his expensive slacks. After a moment, he said quietly, “Do you really think that?”
“I do.” Erik hesitated, then pressed a quick, firm kiss to Charles’s hair. “I don’t want to see him get himself killed.”
“He’s too smart for that.”
“Oh, so intelligence makes you invincible now?”
Charles huffed and nuzzled up against Erik’s shoulder. “Well, not that, but he’s gone this long without being caught, hasn’t he?”
“He’s gotten lucky. I don’t think he has any idea how many times he’s nearly met with disaster.”
Erik certainly knew. More than once, he’d headed off other bounty hunter teams hot on Charles’s trail, driving them away with snarled threats and with the sheer force of his reputation. He’d been well within his rights to do so — after all, he and Emma had snagged bounty first, and the Code gave them permission to defend their claim. And who wouldn’t defend a claim on a bounty of twenty million credits?
At least, that had been his excuse. Emma had seen right through him, of course, and chided him for it, but he’d gone on protecting Charles regardless. If Charles only knew how many times Erik had steered danger away from him, perhaps he’d be less flippant now.
“Oh,” Charles said, very quietly. Tilting his head up, he gave Erik a wondering look. “You did that for me?”
Stiffening, Erik checked his mental shields — still intact, supposedly impenetrable. Supposedly. “You’re reading my mind?”
Charles’s smile turned slightly uncertain. “Someone taught you to shield very well, but I’m…well, I’m quite powerful, as you must know. With physical contact, I can overhear your thoughts, especially if they’re pointed in my direction.” After a second, he added hurriedly, “I don’t usually read your mind. Your shields have always held up very well.”
“Could you break them?” Erik asked. “Even if we weren’t touching?”
“Well…” Charles hesitated, searching his face. It was obvious that he wasn’t sure what the right answer was. But his silence was answer enough.
“Please don’t be upset,” Charles said quickly, earnestly. “I would never do that. It would be unpleasant for us both, and I respect you too much to invade your privacy.”
Erik shook his head. “I’m not upset. More…amazed than anything, I suppose. Emma — she’s the one who taught me to shield — she told me that only a handful of telepaths in the galaxy could get past my shields.”
Charles grinned and lifted his chin. It took Erik a moment to realize that he was preening. “She’s right. And I happen to be one of them.” He peered at Erik closely. “That doesn’t bother you?”
“What, that you’re one of the most powerful telepaths in the galaxy?” Erik shook his head. “Why should it?” He’d never bought into anti-psionic hysteria, which had waxed and waned ever since the dawn of mutantkind. It was nonsense as far as he was concerned. Mutant and proud, no exceptions. That was the way the world should be.
Charles smiled, and a foreign warmth bloomed across the surface of Erik’s mind, gentle and delighted. Charles’s mental touch was much more careful than Emma’s, much less impersonal. He didn’t shunt aside Erik’s shields like Emma did whenever she felt the need to contact him mind-to-mind. No, Erik could feel Charles easing his mental protections aside, asking politely to be granted entry.
“You don’t have to,” Charles said softly. “I’d like to, but you don’t have to say yes.”
In lieu of replying aloud, Erik dropped his shields. Instantly, Charles’s mental touch grew stronger, warmer, and more tangible. Erik felt a little like he’d just stepped into sunlight, delicious heat coursing over him, thawing him out from head to toe. It felt nothing like having Emma in his head — she was always cool, prickly, and a little uncomfortable. But Charles was different. Better.
I won’t go deep, Charles said, radiating satisfaction. I just wanted to touch your mind, see it for myself.
Like what you see? Erik asked.
Oh yes, Charles said happily. It’s even more beautiful than I’d imagined.
Erik shivered, pleased. Good.
For a long while, they simply sat quietly together, savoring each other’s presence. They’d never spent time together like this, just existing in the same space. Before, they had always filled the silence with bantering, arguing, even coy flirting (not that Erik would admit to such a thing). Before, they’d always been surrounded by others who had made it impossible to be candid. But now they were alone. Now there was no pressure to play the roles they’d adopted over the last few months. He was simply Erik, not a bounty hunter, and Charles was simply Charles, not X. Erik found himself wishing that things could always be this simple.
“Me too,” Charles murmured. He sounded drowsy. He felt drowsy, in Erik’s head.
Erik shifted slightly to rouse him. “Come on. If you’re going to sleep, you should do it in bed. You’re going to get a crick in your neck like this.”
Charles grinned sleepily up at him. “Was that a subtle way of asking me to bed?”
Erik snorted. “Hardly subtle. And you’re in no condition to be doing anything other than sleeping, so get that out of your head straightaway.”
Charles pouted. It was unfairly adorable and made even Erik, who had been accused of being a heartless bastard more times than he could count, wilt a little. “You’re no fun.”
“Forgive me for not wanting you to rip your sealant open and bleed everywhere,” Erik said dryly. “Come on, let’s go. Can you stand?”
“I’m not an invalid,” Charles grumbled. Still, he leaned on Erik as they made their way to the bed and grimaced as Erik helped him sit on the edge of it. Once he was settled, he asked, “Would you mind rummaging around in my suitcase for my pajamas? I’d rather not sleep in this poor shirt, if it’s all the same to you.”
Erik went over to Charles’s suitcases (he had three, which was utterly baffling to Erik, who could fit all his travel gear in a small backpack), located the one filled with clothes, and pawed around in it for a while until he found a pair of soft silk pajamas that slid pleasantly cool through his fingers. He turned around with them in his hands. “These? I — ”
He froze. At some point while he’d had his back turned, Charles had stripped off his shirt and his trousers and now sat wearing nothing but his boxers. He grinned at the startled look in Erik’s eyes and said, “Yes, those.”
Erik couldn’t help but give Charles a quick, furtive once-over. He was pale everywhere, leaner than Erik had expected, his body lightly muscled. Freckles trailed down his neck, scattering across his shoulders and back. He had the body of a cat burglar, that was for sure — compact, fit, perfect for squeezing into tight spaces. Erik stared at Charles’s strong thighs in helpless fascination, imagining them wrapped around his waist. The mental image made both of them groan.
“Are you quite sure you don’t want to have sex with me?” Charles asked plaintively.
Averting his eyes, Erik gave himself a mental shake. “Not right now. Not until you’re healed.”
“At least sometime then,” Charles said, pleased. “All right. That’s a promise. Now come here. You’ll sleep with me at least?” He smiled cheekily.
Erik harrumphed and came closer, throwing his pajamas to him. “Yes. Fine. But only for a little while. I’ve got to get back to my ship.”
“You’ve got to?”
“My partner’s expecting me back.”
Charles frowned. “I didn’t know you had a partner.”
Erik gestured at his head. “You can look if you want.” It’d be faster than trying to explain.
Charles shut his eyes, and Erik felt him flip delicately through his memories, his touch much gentler than Emma’s when she skimmed through his mind. Only seconds later, Charles opened his eyes again and smiled. “Thank you for that.”
Erik shrugged. It wasn’t much of a secret to give up. He trusted Charles with Emma’s identity. “I told her I’d be back to the ship when the gala ended. So I can’t stay.”
“It seems to me like she already suspects the nature of our relationship isn’t quite so platonic,” Charles said wryly. He shrugged on his pajama shirt, then the pants. “So there’s really no harm in giving her a comm and telling her you won’t be back till morning.” He gave Erik a beseeching look. “Please?”
Erik had no idea why he was so weak in the face of Charles’s imploring eyes, but he was. Any and all resistance in him crumbled like a wall struck by disruptor fire, and he heaved a sigh. “All right. I’ll send her a comm text.”
Five minutes later, he’d kicked off his shoes and crawled into bed beside Charles. They lay side-by-side for a minute, a good few inches separating them. Then Charles huffed and rolled closer, pressing their bodies together. Snuggling close, he murmured, “If I can’t have anything else, can I at least have a kiss?” When Erik raised an eyebrow, Charles argued, “It’ll hardly tear anything. It’s just a kiss.”
Just a kiss. Just something Erik had been dreaming of for months. Just something that would change their relationship irrevocably. Just a kiss, nothing too terribly significant.
You think too much, Charles said. He leaned up and pressed their mouths together.
Erik went still for an instant — then reached up to grab at Charles’s nape, pushing his fingers up into Charles’s thick hair to tug him closer. Charles closed his eyes, but Erik kept his open, wanting to remember every second of this, every minute flicker of expression on Charles’s face. When Erik’s grip tightened on Charles’s hair, Charles sighed softly, and Erik licked into his open mouth, warm and wet. That prompted a low, rumbling moan from Charles, who braced himself against Erik with a hand on Erik’s belly. The touch seared through Erik like fire, and he nearly said to hell with it, nearly let his hands wander down Charles’s body.
Yes, yes, Charles said, even his mental voice breathless. Do it.
Erik’s fingers twitched, and he groaned low in his throat. With a herculean effort, he pulled back, turning his face away when Charles tried to lean up to continue the kiss. “No.”
Falling back, Charles pouted. After a moment, he sighed and snuggled up to Erik’s side again, his head pillowed on Erik’s shoulder. “That was nice anyway. Thank you.”
“Just nice?”
He heard Charles’s grin more than saw it. “Spectacular. Life-changing. Utterly incomparable. There, happy?”
“Ecstatic,” Erik muttered. With a bit of shifting around, he got his arm under Charles’s neck, wrapped it around Charles’s shoulder, and tugged him close. “Now you should get some rest. I’ll check your temperature again in an hour or so, make sure your fever’s gone down.”
“Romantic,” Charles murmured. He was starting to sound drowsy again, his mind pressing somnolently against Erik’s like a lazy cat. When Erik glanced down, Charles’s eyes were closed. After a couple of minutes, his breathing began to even out, and with their thoughts tangled gently together, Erik could feel the moment Charles slipped away into sleep, his conscious mind going quiet.
God, he looked especially young like this, young and vulnerable. Erik resisted the strange urge to bundle Charles up and hide him away from the world, which was dark and greedy and didn’t deserve him at all.
He was starting to get a little sleepy himself, what with Charles snuggled close to him like a limpet. Yawning, he pressed his face against Charles’s hair and allowed himself to drift. In an hour, he’d get up and make sure Charles’s temperature wasn’t getting any worse, and maybe set out some more painkillers for him. In an hour, he’d reevaluate the situation, consider whether or not he should gather his things and quietly slip out. That would be wise. That would be safest for both of them.
Yes, he thought. That was what he would do.
*
Morning found him wrapped tightly around Charles, his face buried in the crook of Charles’s neck, his arm tucked around Charles’s middle, holding him close. He snored softly, so deeply asleep that even the inquisitive chime of the housekeeping droid at the door didn’t wake him. Charles was just as lost to the world, curled into Erik’s arms. Sunlight slanted over them both, bright and fresh and warm.
They slept on.