Archive of Our Own

"I want you to choke me," Charles says one day, when Erik is inside of him. He's underneath Erik, legs splayed open, looking up at him with beseeching blue eyes, vibrant against his flushed face.

"What?" Erik says, barely pausing his thrusts. Charles plants an image of his head—the column of his pale, elegant throat and Erik's hand around it, strong and flexed, the callous of his thumb pressed into the soft, vulnerable skin. It's a sexy picture, but they've never done that before, and it's quite—sudden.

"Or slap me," Charles says, "I just—I want you to take me." His breathing shudders, like just the words are enough to get him off. "Be rough."

His arousal feeds into Erik's, and it's enough for Erik to want that, too. He pushes Charles' legs to his chest and bends him in half, fucking into him hard enough to shake the bed. Erik's hands squeeze the back of Charles' thighs hard enough to bruise—god, he loves Charles' thighs. They're thick and lightly dusted with hair and he'd like to fuck them again—they'd done that once, had used enough lube to get them wet and slippery and then he'd fucked them from behind, pressed against Charles' back, close enough for Charles to turn his head and kiss him when he came, surprised by how good Charles' thighs felt squeezing around his cock, how he brushed against Charles' balls with every thrust.

Charles moans loudly below him, no doubt reliving the memory with him. His eyes flutter the way they do when he's close, and Erik expects him to come any moment, to squeeze around his cock and paint himself messily.

"Come for me," he pants, eyes trained on Charles' gorgeous pink cock, untouched except for the way it rubs against his own stomach with each jerk of his body. Erik doesn't know how much longer he can hold out. Charles is hot and tight around him. Every time they fuck feels mind-meltingly good. He's never gotten used to it. He doubts he ever will.

Erik watches when Charles starts to fall apart, when his perfect, pink lips fall open and his eyes squeeze shut and he projects waves of pleasure that inevitably take Erik, too. Erik comes with a groan, fucking his come deeper and deeper into Charles until he's spent.

Charles makes a soft noise of discomfort when Erik pulls out. Erik presses a kiss to Charles' knee and goes to the bathroom to grab a washcloth. He cleans them up quickly and then crawls back into bed, pulling Charles into his arms.

Erik pushes Charles' hair off his forehead, where it'd been stuck with sweat. He leans in for a kiss, but Charles stiffens and pulls away.

"Erik," Charles says irritably.

Right. They don't really kiss outside of sex, anymore. Erik sighs and flops to his back, and Charles pushes himself off the bed and leaves the room. He returns with a tumbler, generously filled with whiskey. He takes a sip and offers it to Erik.

Erik declines, and Charles shrugs and drinks more. He'd tasted like whiskey when Erik first got here, too. But it's not Erik's place to say anything anymore, though if you ask Charles, it was never his place to say anything. He's probably tired of hearing Erik think about it, too, which makes it for the best that Erik keeps his shields up most of the time these days.

"I do want you to choke me sometime, though," Charles says, settling back on the bed and pulling the blankets over his lap.

"Do you," intones Erik dryly. Or slap me, Charles had said.

Charles shrugs, "We might as well."

Erik doesn't say anything. He doesn't know what Charles means by that, but every time he asks Charles for clarification on things these days, he usually ends up regretting it.

"I just mean," Charles goes on anyway, "it's sort of nice, isn't it? To have sex without all the," he waves a hand, "emotional rubbish in the way."

Evidently, Charles doesn't wait for Erik to ask now. "Right," Erik says flatly. He gets up and starts pulling his clothes back on.

Charles pouts, "Oh, don't be like that. I'm just saying, we might as well use the opportunity to try new things with someone we're comfortable with."

The opportunity, Erik thinks bitterly. The opportunity of Charles breaking up with him, only to then show up at his apartment a few days later, drunk and claiming he missed Erik, wanted to feel him again. Erik had been under the assumption they were getting back together until Charles slipped out of his arms afterwards and said, Breakup sex really is its own thing, isn't it?

Erik told himself that was the end of it, even if he had to agree—there had been something hot and raw and desperate about the sex that Erik had mistakenly attributed to making up. But he'd never get over Charles like this, and even though it hurt unimaginably to truly consider getting over him, Charles had made it clear that he didn't want to be with Erik anymore. Erik was a proud man. He wouldn't stay where he was unwanted.

But then a week and a half later, Charles called him, sounding so sad and pleading that Erik didn't hesitate before driving to his apartment to check on him, only to be jumped within thirty seconds of walking in the door. When Charles didn't kick him out after, he'd curled up around Charles, kissed the back of his neck and had the best sleep he'd had since they broke up, convinced that this was the reconciliation he'd been hoping for.

In the morning, Erik made them breakfast and Charles' tea the way he likes it, with too much milk and sugar. Then he'd gone to kiss Charles goodbye, and Charles stiffened and said, "Erik," in that reproachful tone that Erik has become far too familiar with now. It's the voice he uses when Erik gets too sweet, too loving, when Erik tries to take care of him, when his thoughts are too warm and fond. Charles doesn't want that from Erik anymore. But he will take sex. Enthusiastically and regularly.

Erik's not complaining exactly; he is very much a willing participant in the sex, too. There is definitely some appeal to fucking Charles with a careless abandon, all too aware that it could be the last time he gets to do so. But he certainly wouldn't say that it was for a lack of emotional rubbish.

"Are you staying tonight?" Charles asks. He sips his whiskey and waits for Erik to answer, eyes wide and beautiful.

Erik stares at him, trying to figure out what the right answer is. They've been doing this fucked up dance for months. He wants to stay, but he shouldn't. Charles doesn't always ask him to, either. Sometimes he practically kicks Erik out afterwards. Sometimes he begrudgingly lets Erik stay the night, and he's gone when Erik wakes up. Other times still, he curls up in Erik's arms and stays there until after they wake up, and they have soft, sweet morning sex, still rumpled with sleep.

"I don't know," Erik says honestly. He's already dressed. He could be out of the door and on his way home in thirty seconds. He should leave, he thinks.

"Stay," Charles says, smiling over his tumbler. His eyes are glassy. "I sleep better when you're here."

Erik's decision is made for him already, he knows. He can never say no to Charles. Erik undresses and slips into bed again. Charles sets his drink aside and kisses Erik apologetically. "I'm sorry I didn't let you kiss me before," he says sweetly.

Erik wakes up alone.

-

"You know I love you, right?" Raven says to Erik a few days later.

Erik raises his eyebrows at her. "Feeling sentimental, are we?" They're setting up the student conference room they'd reserved for their Brotherhood meeting. It's just the two of them currently.

"Erik. I'm serious," Raven says.

"Yes, Raven," Erik says. "I know. I'm quite fond of you as well."

"So, I'm saying this with love, is my point. I'm not trying to be a dick, even though it might sound like I am."

"Spit it out," Erik says impatiently, though he thinks he might know where this is going.

"I think… you should stop letting Charles jerk you around," Raven says quietly.

When he and Charles first got together last year, she'd sworn to stay out of their relationship. She loved both of them, she'd said, and she didn't want her relationship with either of them to be compromised because of their messy, romantic drama. At the time, Erik and Charles had laughed at her and called her ridiculous—they weren't messy, they were perfect.

It turns out, they are a little messy.

And shockingly, this is the first time Raven's gone back on her word.

"He's my brother, and I love him, you know I do. But he treats you like shit. And you just take it. It's… kind of pathetic, Erik."

"Did you say you weren't trying to be a dick?" Erik says dryly, though his chest aches at her words. He knows she's right. He's stopped hoping that he could fuck Charles into wanting to be with him again a while ago. Now, caving and going to Charles' apartment feels a lot like ripping open a wound over and over.

"Sorry," Raven says. Erik really must be pathetic, because she sounds properly apologetic.

"What am I supposed to do?" he says dully.

"I don't know," Raven says heavily. "I think you should move on, I guess."

There's no moving on from Charles, Erik thinks. He's never met anyone like him before. No one's ever made him feel the way Charles makes him feel—for better and for worse.

Erik wants to pump Raven for information. Does Charles talk about him? Does Charles ever regret breaking up with him? Is Charles seeing other people? If he's not, does he want to? Does he ever call Raven, drunk and crying, saying he misses Erik?

But Raven wouldn't tell him, he knows. And even if she would—he's not entirely sure he wants to hear the answers. She wouldn't sugarcoat them to spare his feelings. She's brutally honest, which is how Erik knows that she's serious about what she's saying right now.

"Okay," Erik says. "I'll try." He doesn't know if he's telling the truth. He wants to try. Or, he wants to want to try.

"Excuse me," someone says from the doorway. Erik looks over to see a pretty girl with a lot of red, curly hair. "Is this the Brotherhood of Mutants meeting?"

"It is," he says. He walks over to her. "Can I help you?"

She looks nervous. "I was wondering… is this group only for mutants?"

"No, it's not. We have a few human members. Do you have a mutant family member?" Erik asks, because that's typically the only reason humans join.

"No. I just… feel strongly about mutant rights, I guess," she says, looking embarrassed.

"Oh," Erik says, surprised. "Well, come on in. You're a little early. I'm Erik, and that's Raven over there."

She gives him a wide, pleasing smile. "I'm Magda."

"Oh fuck, do that again," Charles gasps. He's on all fours, bracing himself on his forearms while Erik fucks into him. He arches his back the way he knows Erik likes and looks back at him. Erik's staring at his cock going in and out of Charles with a single-minded focus, eyes dark. "Erik," Charles says, "do that—"

Smack. Erik slaps his ass, hard enough to jolt Charles forward and he moans, skin stinging from the impact. He slips into Erik's mind, just enough to see himself, hole wet and shiny and stretched around Erik's cock.

It's a familiar sight, but no less appealing for it. Clearly, Erik agrees, because he palms Charles' ass where he'd just struck it, the skin pink and hot to the touch. Erik squeezes hard enough that it almost hurts, and Charles groans. Erik is so deep inside him, filling him up so good, like only he does—

"Again," Charles demands breathlessly. He likes when it hurts, when his skin is raised and sensitive and he can feel the imprint of Erik's hand for hours after. Erik grabs the back of Charles' neck and pushes until Charles' arms fold beneath him and he's pressed against the pillow, open-mouthed and panting.

He fucks into Charles harder, breathing harshly with every thrust. Charles pushes back onto Erik's cock greedily. "Do that aga—"

"Shut up," Erik snaps, and grabs Charles' hair and pushes him into the pillow harder, hips snapping hard and unforgivingly. Charles' thighs shake with the effort to hold himself up against the onslaught, and Erik feels it—he makes a noise like it's torn out of him and thrusts harder, hips losing their rhythm as he chases his own pleasure. Charles moans and drools into the pillow, spurred on, as he always is, by the way Erik fucks into him mindlessly when he's about to come, like it feels so good that he can't be arsed if Charles actually comes too.

Come in me, Charles says, and Erik obeys so quickly that Charles wonders for a moment if he actually made Erik come. The thought certainly isn't unappealing, Charles thinks, and he must have thought the notion loudly, because Erik groans appreciatively and wraps a hand around Charles' cock. He strokes with no finesse, but the way his hips push against Charles' is more than enough, and Charles comes with a sob.

Erik pulls out of Charles and drops to the bed beside him. He brushes a kiss against Charles' shoulder, absentminded and so faint it could have been an accident.

"God," Charles mumbles against the pillow. "That was quite good." It always is. He lingers in Erik's mind for a moment, until Erik's shields make themselves known again and Charles pulls away. It always feels strange, extracting himself from Erik's mind after they have sex. He's just not used to having to strain to hear Erik's thoughts, like he's underwater, or a far away stranger.

Erik grunts in agreement and rolls onto his back, giving Charles the freedom to stretch out comfortably on the bed. Charles will get up and take a shower in a bit.

Beside him, Erik is quiet except for his breathing.

"Do you want to order Chinese? Or you could go pick us up Mexican while I shower," Charles offers. When Erik doesn't answer, Charles pushes himself up to his forearms and looks at him. Erik's on his phone.

"Erik," Charles says, irritated.

Erik looks at him finally, "I have dinner plans, actually. Sorry."

"Oh," Charles says, wrongfooted. "What are you doing?"

"Eating," Erik says, wryly. "Is that okay?"

"Yes," Charles says.

"Great," Erik says distractedly, typing on his phone again.

Charles sits up and stretches with his arms over his head. Erik doesn't look at him. "Okay, well. I'm going to take a shower," he says. "You can see yourself out."

"'Kay," Erik says.

Charles huffs. "That's it? Not even a thanks for the sex?"

Erik looks up again, bemused. "Thanks for the sex," he says.

Charles glowers. "You're not going to—to ask if you can join me in the shower, or come over again later?"

Erik shrugs, "I have plans. I might be busy later. I'm not sure."

"What do you mean you're not sure?" Charles says, frowning. "What are your plans?"

Finally, Erik puts his phone away, face-down on the nightstand. He stands up and walks out of the room, unabashed in his nakedness. He returns a moment later with a glass of water. He drinks some and then passes it to Charles.

Charles takes a drink, eyes tracking Erik's stupid, perfect body as he walks around the room, collecting his clothes. "Well?" Charles demands.

"Jesus," Erik says, sounding irritated. "I'm getting dinner with someone. I already told you."

"You're the one being all cryptic," Charles says. "Is it a date?"

"I don't know. Maybe," Erik says. He busies himself getting dressed.

"What do you mean maybe?" Charles says.

"I mean," Erik says, all traces of patience gone from his voice, "yes, it's a date. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

A spike of something dark and painful lances through Charles. "Well, you should have just said so. You were acting like it was some big secret. If you want to come over and have great sex with me, and then go have a boring date with someone else, by all means."

Erik doesn't reply, just shoots him a look.

"I mean, your come is literally still leaking out of me," Charles goes on, and the words are acid on his tongue but he can't stop. "But if some poor soul wants to be my followup act, more power to him." He stands up and starts stripping the sheets off the bed. He can feel Erik's eyes on him, interested despite himself. "Or her, I suppose. In that case, though, she should know you like to get fucked once in a while. Maybe she can use a strap-on. It won't be as good as the real thing, of course, but—"

"This is why I didn't tell you," Erik says flatly.

"What? I'm just offering some advice," Charles says. "If you're going to be seeing someone, they should know your preferences. Not everyone is a telepath who can read your every whim, you know."

"Right," Erik says. He says it like he's agreeing with Charles. He says it like he's sad.

It's enough to deflate Charles' anger, leaving something much worse in its place. He holds the sheets against himself, feeling abruptly vulnerable. "I just… didn't know you were seeing someone."

Erik comes to stand in front of Charles. He softens. "I'm not, Charles. It's just one date."

"But it might turn into more," Charles says. "Right?"

Erik shrugs helplessly. "I don't know. Maybe. I'm just… tired of feeling alone." He gives Charles a searching, almost pleading look.

Me too, Charles thinks. He wants to tell Erik to cancel his date and to stay here with him. They could order Chinese and eat it in the bath together. Last time they'd done that, Charles had accidentally dropped half of his noodles in the tub, and instead of fishing them out, he'd simply let them slip down the drain, despite Erik's strong warning against it. Erik had laughed himself silly when Charles had to call the plumber and awkwardly admit that yes, he'd knowingly dumped half an order of lo mein down the drain and no, he hadn't thought it would be a problem.

But Charles is making Erik feel alone, and the realization makes his chest ache. It's for the best, that they're not together—they're so intense. It's not sustainable. He was trying to nip it in the bud, to break things off while they could still salvage—something. Anything. Charles can't breathe when he thinks about a life without Erik. Better to have him around as a friend than not at all.

"Okay," Charles says quietly.

Erik looks disappointed. He presses a kiss to Charles' forehead and leaves.

"Can I ask you something?" Magda says, poking at her lo mein with her chopsticks. When she'd suggested Chinese food, part of Erik had wanted to go elsewhere, because Charles had just suggested that, and Erik had told him no. It makes him feel guilty, to decline Charles something just to have it with someone else. But then it pissed him off to feel guilty, when Charles is the one doing all of this—so here they are.

"Sure," Erik shrugs.

"I don't want to like, offend you," she says, biting down a smile. "But why did you name your club the Brotherhood of Mutants? It's a bit… much, isn't it?"

Erik groans. "It's ironic. No one ever gets that. It's a play on fraternities." Charles thinks it's hilarious.

Magda laughs, "I see. That's pretty clever, actually. Have you considered changing the name to be more inclusive to humans?"

Erik and Charles have had this very conversation before, too. "No," Erik says shortly. He takes a dumpling from the plate between them.

She hums thoughtfully. "I suppose we aren't exactly hurting for inclusive spaces. It's gotta be more important to make mutants feel like they have a place they belong, completely." She takes a large bite out of her eggroll.

Erik stares at her. She covers her mouth with her hand, blushing. "Am I off-base?" she says, when she's swallowed her food.

"No," Erik says. "You're right. I mean, I agree with you. That was my intention when starting the club. I wanted mutants—particularly those with visible mutations—to have somewhere they felt comfortable." He shrugs, "It's not that human allies aren't welcome—they are. But ultimately, my focus isn't on integration. It's on building a community, by mutants, for mutants. Humans aren't really part of the equation."

"Wow," Magda says, impressed. Her eyes are a deep, warm brown. "That's very admirable."

Erik has a full arsenal of arguments, of course. Statistics about human-inflicted violence, specific examples of anti-mutant legislature, stories about vulnerable mutants who have gushed their appreciation for the Brotherhood, who have begged him to consider continuing his work past university. But Magda doesn't need any of that, because she already agrees with him.

It's nice, he tells himself.

"If you're not going to choke me, I'll find someone who will," Charles hisses, managing to sound impressively pissed off for someone who's bouncing up and down on Erik's cock and enjoying it quite a lot, actually. He grabs Erik's hand and holds it to his throat. "Do it." He can tell Erik isn't opposed to the idea—he's not particularly interested in it, either, but he likes to please Charles. It's certainly not the first thing he's tried for Charles. It won't be the last.

Charles stops bouncing and his thighs start to burn immediately. He grinds on Erik's dick in a way that sends jolts of pleasure up his spine. He starts wanking himself off. "Maybe I should just get myself off," he says. He arches his back and moans, putting on a show. He knows Erik likes to watch. He knows that Erik gets off on this just as much—at least in theory. In practice, Erik wants to be the one getting Charles off.

Like clockwork, Erik smacks his hand away and wraps his own around Charles' weeping prick. "You're fucking insufferable," Erik snarls. He sounds like he means it. Charles shudders.

Erik sits up and puts his other hand around Charles' neck, finally. He fucks his hips up into Charles. "You want me to choke you, Charles? You want me to hurt you?" he says, voice low and dangerous.

Charles moans and starts moving his hips again, raising them and dropping them in tandem with Erik. Erik's only a few inches away from Charles' face, and finally, he looks more furious than besotted. He looks like he hates Charles.

Charles comes with Erik's hand around his neck, squeezing hard enough to hurt, just a little.

It's not good. In fact, Charles has to close his eyes and delve into Erik's mind to come. He has to find the part of Erik that he's pushed aside for now—the part that loves him, and thinks he's beautiful, and wants to make Charles feel good, emotionally and physically. Charles reaches into that part, cleverly enough that he knows Erik can't feel it, and he comes.

Erik doesn't. He pushes Charles off of him and goes to the bathroom. When he returns, he tosses a damp washcloth at Charles and sits on the edge of the bed, facing away.

"I don't want to do that again," he says.

"Do what?" Charles grumbles, though he knows.

"Choke you. Hurt you."

Charles doesn't either. But he reaches over to grab the vodka he'd left on the nightstand and scoffs, "Does it offend your delicate sensibilities? You want to make love to me, looking into my eyes while I'm on my back like a girl, all sweet and submissive?"

Erik's quiet.

Charles feels bad—he's gone too far this time, he thinks. Maybe it's for the best. He should ride it out. He should let Erik leave, hurt and upset. He might not even come back.

Instead, Charles presses himself against Erik's back and kisses his ear. "You didn't like it?"

Erik shrugs miserably. "I don't want to be like… the people who've hurt you." He looks at Charles, desperate to understand. "Is that what it is? You want to—to reclaim the violence as a sex thing?"

It's the opposite, Charles thinks. He wants to reclaim sex as a violent thing. He doesn't want to feel Erik's affection in every touch, every kiss, every errant thought. But he's pushed Erik too far, clearly. He's made Erik feel like he's just like the people who tormented his childhood—his sadistic stepdad and stepbrother. People that Erik loathes. It's unforgivable.

"No," Charles says. "That's not it. I just… wanted to try it." He kisses Erik, trying to apologize.

"I like the other stuff," Erik says. "Just not that."

They're no strangers to rough, passionate sex. Charles knows that Erik's always wanted to own Charles, to consume him. He knows that Erik's ashamed of it, and tries to push it down everywhere but in the bedroom, where it's cathartic for them both.

Charles wants to belong to someone perhaps even more than Erik wants to own him.

"I didn't care for it either," Charles says, and he wraps his arms around Erik's neck and pushes him back to the bed, laying on top of him. He lets himself get lost a little, kissing Erik. He always does. It's so easy to fall into him, when Erik feels like an extension of his own soul. Charles doesn't need telepathy to know him.

He moves down Erik's body, sucking marks into his neck, his chest, his thighs. Erik's cock is hard and eager when Charles gets there. "Let me make it up to you?" Charles says, and swallows him down.

"Who's that woman?" Charles asks Raven, nodding toward where Erik stands across the courtyard, talking to a redhead.

Raven glances up from her phone for a split second, then returns to it immediately. "I'm not answering that."

That's enough of an answer in itself, Charles thinks. He stares at them. Erik looks… friendly, like he's making an effort to make her comfortable. He's smiling—not his big, face-cracking smile, but a small one. It's handsome.

"Is she a mutant?" he asks. Maybe her mutation is getting Erik to soften like that. He certainly doesn't do that for many people.

Raven pauses. "No," she says finally.

This should fill Charles with relief—Erik's told him before that he couldn't see himself with someone without a mutation, someone who couldn't understand what their kind goes through. But he looks at Erik and this woman, and they're walking toward a coffee stand now. She's talking, making big gestures with her arms, miming something, perhaps.

Erik's laughing.

Charles is filled with dread. Erik's fought with him for hours about how humans and mutants can never truly peacefully coexist, and it just takes a beautiful girl with a big, cheerful smile to change his mind.

"Honestly Charles, what do you care, anyway?" Raven says, exasperated.

"I don't," Charles says automatically.

"You two drive me fucking insane," Raven snaps. "I told you I don't want to get involved in your drama."

"I'm not involving you," Charles says, not taking his eyes off Erik.

Raven gives him a long-suffering look. "You. Drive. Me. Fucking. Insane," she says. She rubs at the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Fine. I'll bite. Why did you break up with him if you don't want to actually be broken up?"

"I do want to be broken up," Charles says. "We're not—we're not good together, you know that. Didn't you just say you've known all along we'd be terrible together?"

"No, that's not what I said," Raven says. "I just knew you'd be dramatic and annoying. Which you are. But you're not terrible together."

"We fought all the time," Charles mumbles.

"Yeah, but that's like, your thing," Raven says. She huffs in frustration. "You know what? Nevermind. If you say you're terrible together, I'm not going to argue with you. All I know is that you're making Erik fucking miserable. He's trying to move on. You have to let him."

"So kind of you to finally involve yourself," Charles snaps. "You were really fooling me with the impartial act, before." He stands up, slings his bag over his shoulder, and stalks away. Behind him, he hears Raven halfheartedly call his name.

He's skipping the rest of today's classes. He's feeling a bit peaky, anyway.

"What did you think of the movie?" Magda asks. They're walking back to the dorms, because Magda lives on campus. She peers into the popcorn bucket, carefully selecting a piece, as if they all taste different.

Erik watches her, amused. "It was fine. I'm not a huge romance fan."

Magda tilts her head, "Wait, if you don't like romances, why did we watch that? I don't like them either."

Erik freezes, caught. Truthfully, it's because Charles loves them. Erik's used to watching movies he doesn't like with Charles—it's fun to rip them apart afterward, while Charles clutches his hands together and says But Erik, it's so romantic! After all that, they get their happy ending. Isn't it wonderful?

"Did you assume I'd like them just because I'm a woman?" Magda gasps. "Erik Lehnsherr! How completely primitive of you."

"I'm just a man," Erik shrugs. She laughs and throws a couple pieces of popcorn at him. He catches them and shoves them in his mouth.

"Wow," Magda stops in her tracks. "That was impressive."

"What I lack in progressivism, I make up for in other ways," he says sagely.

"Who knew you were so good with your hands," she says coyly.

Erik's smile drops. He doesn't mean to. It's not like she said anything inappropriate. He just… doesn't know how to handle people that aren't Charles blatantly flirting with him, evidently. It's an unfortunate time to discover this. When Erik doesn't answer right away, she covers her face. "I'm sorry, that was—"

"No," he says, "it was fine. I'm just… I haven't dated in a while," he grimaces awkwardly. What is he even doing? He feels like a piece of shit.

"Hey, that's okay," Magda says kindly. "I don't have any—grand expectations, or anything. We can take it slow."

Erik exhales in relief. This is still unfair to her, he knows, but if she's not invested either, it makes him feel better. And honestly… she's reminding him that there are nice, smart, enjoyable people out there other than Charles.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, so he checks it. It's just Raven, texting about an upcoming meeting, but he sees he also has a missed call from an hour ago from Charles. And twenty minutes ago, a text from him that says Come over?

"Do you want to come back to my room? We could watch a movie we actually like, maybe," Magda says.

Erik stares down at his phone, then pockets it. He should stop being at Charles' beck and call. He should go inside with Magda. She's kind, and funny, and understanding even when Erik acts awkward and unsociable.

"I um, I can't, actually. I have some homework to do," he says guiltily. He doesn't try very hard to make it sound convincing.

Her smile falters slightly, but then she says brightly, "No problem! I'll see you at the next Brotherhood meeting, right?" She leans in and kisses him on the cheek. "Dibs on the popcorn, though."

"All yours," Erik says with a smile. "See you later."

-

"Charles?" Erik calls out. There aren't any lights on in the apartment. Erik uses his sense of metal to make his way to the bedroom in the dark. "Where are you?" The bed is empty. Charles' watch is on the nightstand.

Erik doubles back to the living room to look again. The balcony door is slightly ajar, he realizes. He grabs a blanket and steps onto the balcony, where Charles is sitting cross-legged, looking out into the night. He's wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of joggers that Erik's pretty sure belonged to him at some point.

"It's freezing," Erik says. "Aren't you cold?"

Charles looks up at him finally. His eyes are glassy. "No," he holds up a half-drank bottle of whiskey. "I'm fine."

Erik sighs. "You're not," he mutters. He sits down next to him and wraps the blanket around Charles. "Sorry I missed your call earlier. What's going on? Are you okay?" He hadn't been too surprised to see Charles' text, but he'd been under the impression that it was for sex, not for… whatever this is.

Charles takes a drink and then offers it out to Erik. Erik doesn't really want to drink, but he figures it's less for Charles if he does. He takes a healthy swig and sets the bottle aside, out of reach.

They sit in silence for a few minutes. Erik's eyes adjust to the dark, until he can clearly see the pond across from Charles' apartment. He shivers.

"Here," Charles says softly. He holds one corner of the blanket out, in invitation.

Erik takes it and wraps it around his shoulders, too. "Thanks."

"I'm sorry," Charles whispers. Close like this, Erik can smell the alcohol on his breath. Erik doesn't know exactly what he's apologizing for, but he forgives him all the same.

"It's okay," Erik says. He grabs Charles' hand and intertwines their fingers.

"It's not." Charles sounds so sad. "Were you on another date with that redhead?"

"How do you know about her?" Erik says, surprised.

"Maybe I read your mind," Charles teases.

Erik snorts. Charles didn't, because if he had, he wouldn't have heard anything about Magda.

"I saw you with her a few days ago," Charles admits. "At the courtyard. You looked happy."

Erik sighs. "What is this, Charles?"

Charles is quiet for a long time. Then he says, "Raven said I make you miserable."

"So much for staying out of our business," Erik mutters. He turns to face Charles, unlaces their hands to cup his face. "I'm miserable because you're miserable. You're so—so sad lately, and… drunk, all the time. I worry about you so much, Schatz."

He leans in and brushes their noses together. Charles' skin is icy to the touch. "Can we go inside?" Erik asks him. "I'll make you some tea, draw you a bath." He kisses Charles, and is pleasantly surprised when Charles doesn't pull away. It's wonderful, though his mouth tastes like liquor.

"Could we go to bed?" Charles asks, voice dipping with suggestion.

Erik smiles, "Anything you like. I'll even—tie you up and hit you with a riding crop, or something."

It's the wrong thing to say.

Charles stiffens and abruptly pulls away. "Maybe you can fuck me all romantic the way you want to, and close your eyes and think about that girl," he says coldly. "Raven also told me you want to move on."

Erik's going to kill Raven, though he knows this isn't actually her fault. "I don't, Charles."

"And yet you—you're dating someone," Charles says angrily. He tosses the blanket off his shoulders and stands up unsteadily. He gets the bottle of whiskey Erik had set aside earlier. "She must be really wonderful, if you're dating her even though she's a human."

Erik rubs a hand down his face in frustration. "I'm just trying to be a little less pathetic, chasing after someone who doesn't want to be with me."

"Then don't chase me!" Charles says. "Who even asked you to?" He unscrews the cap from the liquor and takes a drink with shaking hands.

"Are you kidding?" Erik stands up, outraged. "You asked me to. You ask me to come over, or you show up at mine, and you want to have sex—"

"Exactly!" Charles shouts. "I want sex, not whatever clingy bullshit this is," he says, gesturing at Erik with disgust.

"Get your story straight," Erik snarls. "Are you mad at me for seeing someone else, or do you just want sex from me and that's it?"

"Neither! I want—I want nothing from you," Charles says, voice raw. He swallows. "I knew you'd be impossible to break up with, so I just thought I'd—let you down easy. Give you something to hold on to for a few months until you got over it."

"You're so full of shit," Erik says. He knows Charles is just lashing out, trying to hurt him, but the words sear into his heart. His eyes burn. "You're a fucking asshole."

"Well, I guess it's good that you've got someone else to cling to, now," Charles says. He takes another drink.

"Yeah," Erik scoffs. "I guess so. Have a good time being drunk and alone. Sharon must be real fucking proud."

He feels guilty the moment he says it, but he feels too raw, too ripped open to do anything about it. It's all he can do to get out of there before he breaks down into tears.

Charles sleeps through his classes the next morning. He's pretty sure he'd be failing his courses without the considerable advantages his telepathy offers. He used to pride himself on not leaning on his powers in school, but that'd gone out the window once he started skipping regularly. He'll be better next semester, he tells himself.

He drowses in and out of a wretched, fitful sleep, and every time he wakes up he thinks about what he'd said to Erik last night, the way Erik's heart had felt, flayed open and weeping. The way Charles has had it in his hands this whole time, only to crush it, slowly and painstakingly. Cruelly. Charles would eviscerate anyone else who put that look of devastation on Erik's face.

He reaches for the nearest bottle of—whatever, really. He's not picky.

At some point in the day, he wakes up to a beautiful, blue blur standing above him. He hadn't realized he was on the floor until now.

"Raven," he mumbles. Her face swims into focus.

She doesn't look happy to see him. "What the fuck is wrong with you?" she says.

"So many things," Charles manages. He feels around for his bottle.

Raven steps on his hand, not gently. Charles whimpers in pain. "You're a fucking mess, Charles. What is going on with you? This can't all be about Erik." She sighs heavily and sits down next to him. "Who am I kidding? Of course this is all about Erik."

Charles curls up against her, puts his head in her lap. "He's the love of my life," he says pitifully.

Raven groans. "Then what the fuck are you doing? Why are you—god, I saw him today and he looks like he'd been hit by a truck."

Charles tears up. "I was so awful to him last night."

Raven starts running her fingers through his hair. It feels nice. "You've been so awful to him for months," she says. Charles can always trust her to tell him the truth, even when it hurts.

"I don't mean to be. It's just… been really hard to be without him. I miss him all the time," Charles says mournfully.

"If you miss him, then why—"

"Just because I miss him doesn't mean we're good together," Charles says. "I've just been selfish, not letting him go."

Raven sighs. "If you really don't want to be with him, then I think you know what you have to do."

"Yeah," Charles whispers.

"My mom would be thrilled to meet you," Magda says, then she blushes and laughs. "I'm sorry, I don't know why I said that. I know it's not—we're not—she just wants me to date someone Jewish really badly." Magda's cheeks are bright red. She waves her glass around, "Wow, this went to my head quick. Sorry. I don't really drink."

Erik laughs, "It's fine. I completely understand. My mom's the same way. Or, she used to be, anyway."

"What changed?" Magda says, sipping her drink.

His mom had met Charles, is what changed. She'd spent one evening with them and had hugged Erik tightly before they left, and whispered, I'm so happy for you, mein boychik.

"I don't know," Erik says lamely. He takes a sip of his beer. They're at a loud, trendy nightclub-esque bar. It's not the type of place Erik would pick for himself, but he'd suggested it to Magda because he thought she might like it. Now that they're here, he's willing to bet that he'd been off-base once again. It's too crowded and the music is too loud, and Magda is looking around with polite interest, like she's learning about a new ecosystem.

Magda smiles blandly at him. "I've been meaning to talk to you about something," she says. She looks nervous.

Erik's stomach sinks. He can't deal with her asking to be—exclusive, or something. He likes her more than he likes essentially anyone other than Charles, Raven, and Emma—and that's impressive in its own right, but he's just not sure how… romantically inclined he is toward her. Maybe in a few months' time, he thinks, though the concept of genuinely being ready to date someone else is very unappealing, because that means that he and Charles are truly over.

He hasn't heard from Charles in a couple weeks, which is the longest they've gone without talking in… ever, since they met and jumped immediately into each other's pockets. He keeps waiting for Charles to text him a glorified you up? text, or to just show up at his place, but it's just been awful, dragging, lonely silence.

Erik had thought he was tired of being used for sex, had thought it hurt too much, but now he knows the alternative is much, much worse.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" Erik says, realizing he's just been lost in thought for some amount of time. Magda had been starting a conversation about something. Hopefully, not the Will you be my boyfriend talk—though he doesn't know if that's something people their age even do. It feels awfully juvenile. He and Charles had never had that conversation. They just… were.

Magda downs the rest of her drink in one last big drink, then makes a face at the taste. It's cute. She takes a deep breath, "I wanted to talk to you about—"

"I'm not ready for a relationship," Erik blurts out. She blinks. He continues, "I'm sorry. I know I've been—leading you on, I guess. Honestly, I'm kind of a wreck about my ex, and I don't—I don't know when I won't be."

Magda huffs in disbelief, "Erik, I—"

"I think you're great," Erik says. "I really do. This isn't—because you're not a mutant, or anything. And honestly, my mom would love you, too. I just—"

"Erik, shut up," Magda says. "I know. That's what I'm trying to say."

Erik pauses. "…That you're hung up on your ex?"

"Um, no," Magda says. "I'm saying we shouldn't see each other anymore—romantically, at least. I'd love to keep spending time with you as a friend. But it's been obvious that you're hung up on someone else."

Erik feels like a massive weight has been lifted off his chest. "Oh."

"Yeah, oh," Magda says, rolling her eyes goodnaturedly.

"You knew?"

"Of course I knew," she says. "You act guilty every time you touch me. At first I thought you were just shy, but then the singular time we kissed, you looked like you were waiting to be struck down by a higher power. I actually thought you might be married or something, so I asked Raven. Finally, she just told me you're still in love with your ex—who is apparently her brother? Which made me feel like a real idiot."

Oh. Erik feels bad. "You're not an idiot," he says.

"No shit. You're kind of an idiot," Magda says, not unkindly.

Erik frowns. "Feels a bit harsh, but okay. I'm sorry, Magda. You deserve better than this."

She smiles, "I do. But it's okay. I'm happy to have a new friend, too." She reaches over and squeezes his hand. She's right, he realizes, about how guilty he'd felt whenever they touched. Because now that there's absolutely no romantic implication to the touch, the difference is stark. He smiles at her.

"You're fucking unbelievable," a familiar voice slurs angrily. Erik turns to see Charles staring at him with an absolutely gutted expression on his face. Then he whirls around and disappears into the considerable crowd of dancing bodies.

"Shit," Erik says.

"Let me guess: the ex," Magda says dryly.

"What gave it away," Erik mutters.

She snorts and pats his hand. "Go on, then." She nods her head in the general direction Charles had gone.

"Oh, I don't…" Erik sighs, "I don't think that's a good idea. He doesn't want anything to do with me."

Magda's eyebrows draw together. "You're kidding, right? He just did all that because we were holding hands."

"That's just how he is," Erik explains. "I know. It's confusing."

"No, I don't think it is," Magda says. "It seems pretty straightforward. He wants you to chase after him."

"He's actually explicitly told me he doesn't want that, which was a real low point for me, honestly," Erik says, as if he's doing any better now.

"He's the one who likes romance movies, right? Isn't that a thing—the heroine pushing the guy away, until he proves how much he loves her? You're right—it is confusing, and it's why I don't really like those movies, but…"

It dawns on Erik that Magda might very well be correct. Which would make Charles the most infuriating, stubborn, ridiculous pain in the ass of all time. And well, that actually tracks.

"I think I love you," Erik says, standing up.

"Don't say that too loudly," Magda teases.

He pulls his wallet out and drops some bills onto the table. "Here's some extra if you want to get anything else. I have to go. And um, I'm sorry again, about all of this."

"Hey, I tried breaking things off with you first. Let's not forget that," Magda says. She winks, "Go get 'em, tiger. Or whatever."

Erik grins and knocks once on the table, then leaves to find Charles.

It's not difficult to track him down, even in a decently-sized crowd, when Erik can just seek out the weight of his watch. More than that, he's memorized Charles' pulse, the way it beats against the metal.

What's more difficult is what Erik sees when he finds him. Charles is dancing with a tall, muscular man, pressed back-to-front, grinding back into him and twisting his head up to kiss him. The man's got his hands all over Charles, and he looks like he's doing his best to swallow Charles' tongue. The image is nauseating, a punch to the gut, even though Erik is reasonably sure this is a direct response to what Charles thought he saw.

Erik stalks forward and grabs Charles' wrist, "What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he snaps.

Charles stumbles forward, looking dazed. His eyes take a second to focus, and then he scowls at Erik. "What's it to you? Your girlfriend is waiting for you, I'm sure."

"She's not my—"

"Hey man, not cool," the man Charles had been dancing—using the loosest definition of the word—with says, stepping forward threateningly. "We were in the middle of something."

"You weren't, actually," Erik says, resisting the urge to punch him.

"Oh, I think we were," Charles says snidely. He turns around.

"Charles, please," Erik says, unable to keep the desperation from his voice, "I need to talk to you."

"He said he's not interested, dude," the man says. "There's tons of plastered sluts around here. Go find one of them. This one's mine." He grabs Charles by the arm.

Erik does punch him, then.

-

"I can't believe you punched that man. He was huge!" Charles crows, as they walk to the train station from the club.

Erik just shoots him a dark look. Charles had frozen the man in his tracks before he hit Erik back, but then they were hastily escorted off the property by an even bigger security guard.

"You punched someone to defend my honor," Charles says, leaning against Erik and fluttering his eyelashes. When Erik doesn't reply, he pouts. "Come on, Erik. You were on a date, too."

Erik's jaw tightens. "Right. A date that ended after I told her I was too hung up on my ex to see anyone."

"Oh."

"And then, said ex made a dramatic entrance and ran away to find the nearest tree to climb."

"Oh, whatever, Erik. We're broken up. I'm not your property, however much you'd like that to be the case," Charles says meanly.

"Just—just stop it, Charles!" Erik snaps. "Can you just quit saying whatever you think will hurt me the most in every situation? What are you trying to prove? That you know me well enough to fuck me up with a few choice words? Because if that's it—well done."

Erik sees Charles trying to catch his eye guiltily, but he keeps his eyes straight ahead. He doesn't know what he's even doing here. Going after Charles had made a lot more sense when he was talking to Magda about it. Now, it just feels futile and masochistic.

They make it to the train in silence. It's crowded, and Charles stumbles when the train starts moving. Erik puts his arm around him to steady him. Charles wraps his arms around Erik and nuzzles into his chest. Sorry, Charles says in his head. Erik doesn't reply, but he does squeeze his shoulder and kiss the top of his head. He smells like a distillery.

The walk to Charles' apartment is more somber than it is tense. "Are you coming up?" Charles asks him. His words are carefully and perfectly enunciated, the way he does when he's trying not to appear as drunk as he is. Erik nods and follows him to his door. He unlocks the door for them without waiting for Charles to fumble with his keys.

"Such a lovely mutation," Charles says fondly, like he's said so many times before. He beelines to his bar cart, "Do you want anything to drink?"

"No," Erik says. "Can you—not, tonight? Or… wait until I'm gone, at least."

Charles pauses, then scoffs. He opens his mouth to say something, and then he must think better of it, because he snaps his mouth shut and just nods.

"Thanks," Erik says quietly.

"I'm guessing this isn't the fun kind of visit, then," Charles says.

None of this has been fun, Erik wants to shout. But Charles is clearly trying to be more civil now, so Erik will, too. "I just wanted to talk to you."

Charles walks to his couch and sits down, bringing his knees to his chest. He looks so small. "Talk, then."

Except Erik needs a little more time, and Charles probably needs to eat. "Actually, I'm kind of hungry. Do you mind if I make something?" he says, gesturing toward the fridge.

Charles knows this routine, has played his part many times. He nods.

Erik rifles through the kitchen, looking for something to cook. But Charles' kitchen is woefully stocked—all he can come up with is grilled cheese on slightly stale bread. The act of cooking steadies him a little, helps him gather his thoughts. He makes one for himself, too, even though he's not remotely hungry.

When he's done cooking, he hands Charles a big glass of water and his food, and takes a seat next to him on the couch. They eat in silence for a few minutes. The sandwich tastes rubbery and flavorless. Charles, at least, finishes it quickly, which Erik appreciates. When he's done, he turns to face Erik and waits patiently.

Erik sets his plate on the coffee table and tries to build the nerve to start. He decides he'll never be ready, if that's what he's waiting for, so he just starts talking. "Someone told me I should go after you, tonight. Chase you down and shout my feelings, like one of those stupid romance movies."

"Is that what this is?" Charles says, despondent.

"It's what it was supposed to be, maybe," Erik says. "But then I saw you, and you were…" he thinks about Charles, drunk off his ass and writhing against a stranger in a club. Charles' expression goes dark with shame. "It's not—wrong of you to hook up with someone," Erik says, though the words feel foul in his mouth. "You didn't do anything wrong. Honestly, I shouldn't have grabbed you like that. That was wrong of me. You're not my property, like you said. I know that."

Charles closes his eyes, a pained expression flickering across his features. Erik goes on, "It's just that—it made me realize that we're more than just a dramatic gesture away from fixing things. I should have known that before, really, when I starting going on dates with someone else. I'm sorry for—for acting like this was all on you, when I've been seeing someone else. Even if I thought about you the whole time."

Charles looks at him, eyes softening. His eyes are wet with tears. And no matter how often and how easily Charles cries, it never fails to make Erik's heart ache. He never stops wanting to fix whatever's hurting him. He doesn't think he can, this time.

He takes a deep breath. "The truth is, I did want to move on. Or… I do, I mean. I don't want to want to, Charles, but I—" his voice cracks. His cheeks are wet, he realizes. He swallows, tries to compose himself. "I can't keep feeling like this. For months, I rushed to your side every time you wanted anything from me, even though it was just sex. I kept waiting for you to want more, but you never did. Still, I thought if I could be… good enough, I guess, then you'd want to get back together. And then… I fucked up a couple of weeks ago, and you stopped reaching out at all. I've spent every minute waiting for you to call me, even if it was just for sex."

Charles looks devastated. Erik has to look away, or he'll never be able to get this out. "So I guess I'm saying… I'm going to accept your decision now. I'm not saying this in anger, or as some last ditch effort to get you to change your mind." His eyes fill with tears again. He wipes at them, feeling horribly vulnerable. "I shouldn't have gone along with all of the breakup sex when the whole time I was just hoping you'd—" he shakes his head. "Anyway, I… I'm sorry." I love you, he thinks, on the off-chance that Charles is listening. He just wants to tell him one more time.

He feels like his heart is being torn out of his chest, but he knows it's for the best. He can't look at Charles, because he knows he's only a heartbeat away from taking it all back and taking Charles to bed. Charles would be sweet and soft tonight, he knows. He'd let Erik sleep over and cook breakfast in the morning.

"I'm going to go," Erik says.

He tells himself he doesn't hear a sob when he closes the door behind him.

Some time the following morning, Raven lets herself in and lays on the bed with Charles. He's been awake for a while now, just wallowing in the pain of his headache. It feels good, to have some physical affliction to tie in with his emotional one.

Raven hugs him, and doesn't say anything for a good while. They just lay there, while Charles leaks tears steadily onto his pillow.

Eventually, Raven says, "I think I gave you some bad advice." When Charles doesn't reply for a few minutes, she goes on. "I gave Erik some bad advice too. See, this is why I wasn't going to get involved," she laughs self-deprecatingly. "I have no fucking clue how to handle whatever you two have going on. No one does. I should have just stayed out of it. It's just been hard to see the both of you in so much pain, so I was hoping if you just… got over each other, you might be happy again. I should have known better."

Charles finally looks at her. He pulls himself into a sitting position and winces at the stream of sunlight coming in from the window. "Can you get me some water and painkillers, please?"

"Sure thing," Raven says right away. She jumps out of bed and returns with the requested items, then sits cross-legged on the bed across from him.

"Thank you," he says gratefully. "And I don't think you gave bad advice. I know you were just trying to help. I'm sorry we're like this." He means it as a joke but it falls flat because he really is sorry they're like this. And Raven loves them anyway, because she's the best. She squeezes his knee through the blankets affectionately.

He drinks his water carefully, waiting for the waves of nausea to pass before he takes the pills. He wants to make sure he can keep them down. He'd probably be much sicker right now if not for the sandwich Erik had made him last night. Erik's always taking care of him, even when he doesn't deserve it.

"He's going to keep seeing other people," Charles says.

Raven winces. "I'm sorry, Charles. I feel partially responsible for that."

He shrugs. "Erik's a grown man. He doesn't do anything he doesn't want to."

"Unless it's for you," Raven says.

They lapse into silence again. Charles takes the medicine and finishes his water. "He said he's done trying to change my mind."

"Isn't that what you wanted?"

"Yes," Charles says miserably. "Or not, I guess. I don't know. I've been so awful to him. He should be done with me. He'll be better off."

Raven sighs. "Is that true, do you think? Is it better to be with the person you love, even if things are messed up, or is it better to be without them? I really don't know. I've never felt the way you two do about each other."

"We'd only be together until we start hating each other and break up in a year, anyway. Or two years. Or five years," Charles shrugs. "It would happen eventually, regardless of how long it takes. It would hurt so much more, then."

Raven flops on her back and looks up at the ceiling. "What if you don't break up, but he dies in three years? Gets hit by a bus, or something."

Charles frowns. "He would never get hit by a bus. He can control metal, Raven."

She groans, "Ugh, whatever. Maybe he'll get brain cancer, then."

"What's wrong with you? Why would you say something like that?" Charles says, appalled. He can't bear to think of Erik not being in this world.

"My point," Raven says, shooting him a look, "is that you can't control how things are going to happen, anyway. If he had died sometime last year, when you two were together, would you have regretted being with him?"

"Of course not," Charles says right away. He waits for her to continue, but when she doesn't, he thinks about what he'd just said.

He huffs, "But it's not about one of us tragically dying, it's about me fucking everything up and making him so miserable that he regrets ever meeting me. I know he thought he wanted to be with me before, but… he doesn't know what it's like to be with someone like Sharon."

"Oh, Charles," Raven says, sounding incredibly sad. "You're nothing like Sharon, even if you've been doing your best impression lately. And I know in your fucked-up mind you think this is what's best for the both of you, but I really don't see how that can be true."

Erik had looked so crushed last night, so utterly defeated. He's been letting Charles break his heart again and again, tirelessly, for months. He's been more patient than anyone deserves, let alone Charles. Of course he's had enough. "It's too late now, anyway," Charles says. "He wants to move on."

Raven pushes herself to her elbows and stares at him skeptically. "You don't really believe that, do you?"

"He literally said that, and that he's done trying to change my mind," Charles says. "So yes, I believe it."

"Remember when I said that you're the only one in the world who can get Erik to do something he doesn't want to do?" she says pointedly.

Charles shakes his head. "I don't know how to—how to be someone else. I don't know how to have a relationship and trust myself not to hurt him."

"It doesn't sound like he's the one you're worried about getting hurt." She sighs, "Look, you two are the only example of a good relationship I've got, so I need you to get your shit together. Clearly, Erik still loves you and wants to work things out, even after all this. You just have to want it, too."

Charles lets her words sink in. He thinks about the last few months again, the desolation in Erik's voice last night. The pleading in his voice all of the other nights. The unwavering love that Charles can feel all the time, regardless of his efforts to shut it out, to cover it with alcohol or bruises or cruelty.

Even after everything, Erik had tried to fix things last night, just for a moment. He'd gotten Charles home, made him food, had bared his heart to him and thought I love you. Charles lets himself hope, just a little bit, that he hasn't ruined everything beyond repair. That even though he was cowardly enough to break them, he can be brave enough to fix them.

She looks at him seriously. "I think you know what you have to do."

"I do," Charles says.

-

He's waiting in the student lounge, right outside of the conference room where he knows a Brotherhood meeting is taking place. They should be finishing up in about ten minutes, which is good, because Charles thinks he might throw up if he has to wait much longer.

He's fairly certain it's because of nerves, and not because he hasn't had a drink in two days. Although his persistent headache is likely due to the drinking thing, which fills him with no small amount of shame.

Still, it's one of the many things he's trying to fix.

He shifts from foot to foot, feeling ridiculous and anxious and nervous. He's holding a bouquet of flowers that Erik is going to find absolutely ridiculous, and he's got a stack of postcards in his pocket, and he's got a song queued up on his phone. And he's wearing a suit, because Erik likes when he's all dressed up, and also this seems like the kind of occasion he should look nice for. Hopefully. He doesn't fancy the idea of being dressed up to get rejected, even if he deserves it.

Finally, an excruciating amount of time later, the doors open and people start filing out of the conference room. Everyone stares at him, because he looks crazy, probably. He smiles awkwardly and tries to ignore the scalding blush he can feel creeping over his face. A few people clearly recognize him, like Emma Frost and a man with red skin and a tail that he's seen hanging around Raven. They stare him down coolly, and he's a little worried they're going to come berate him.

Raven, god bless her, ushers them away before they can say anything. She shoots him a thumbs-up as she goes. He appreciates the gesture immensely, because frankly, he's starting to think this is a huge mistake.

It's embarrassing, and Erik doesn't like spectacles, and—

"Oh my god," a woman says loudly. It's the redhead from the other night, who'd been holding Erik's hand. Her hair is more dark auburn than red, and she's even prettier up close, Charles thinks with despair. She stops completely in her tracks when she sees Charles, and Erik actually runs into her because he's staring down at his phone.

"Jesus, sorry," Erik says, steadying her before following her gaze to Charles. "Um," he says, staring at Charles with wide eyes. He doesn't look particularly happy to see him, but… he doesn't look particularly upset either.

The woman lets out a nervous laugh, then looks mortified for doing so. She looks back at Erik, and Charles realizes with a sudden, horrible drop in his stomach that he might be too late. Maybe they're giving it a go for real now. Still, he owes it to Erik to apologize, if nothing else.

"Erik," he starts, but his voice comes out thready and weak. He clears his throat and says it again, much louder this time. "Erik Lehnsherr—"

Erik finally unfreezes and he steps around the woman and quickly walks right up to Charles. "What are you doing?" he hisses, looking around at the people that are still loitering about, not even bothering to pretend that they're not staring. "Get out of here," he snaps loudly at them. The redheaded woman does her part to disperse the loiterers as well, shooting Erik one last look before leaving herself.

Erik turns back to him, "Charles, what are you doing? What is this?" He looks at Charles in disbelief at his suit, at the flowers in his hand, at the contrite and hopeful look on his face. At least, Charles hopes he looks contrite and hopeful. He suspects he might just look like he's about to sick up, instead.

"Um, sorry, this is—I've forgotten my plan. Let me start over," Charles says. He hands Erik the flowers, who accepts and stares down at them dubiously. Charles pulls his phone out and hits play, and a yearning, melodic song starts playing. Erik looks visibly confused as he tries to place the song, which makes Charles laugh a little.

"It's from that 80's movie. The one romance you actually liked," he says.

Erik's face screws up. "With the creepy guy with the boombox?"

"Well, yes, I know you didn't care for that part. But Erik, it's iconic, I don't know how you don't—nevermind. Anyway," Charles sets his phone down on the floor and pulls out the postcards from his pocket, "this is from the movie that you refuse to admit is a Christmas movie, despite it very clearly taking place during Christmas, but—I digress. I didn't think you'd like everyone seeing our business on big sheets of paper, so I used the back of postcards to places I'd like to visit with you. The postcard bit is all me, I think it's quite an upgrade, honestly—"

Erik grabs the postcards and starts flipping through them. Charles watches him nervously. "Those are also more like letters, really, so they could be a reference to—well, maybe not, actually. That feels a bit like cheating," he admits. "I couldn't wait a year to write you every day, but I would, if I had to." Erik's eyes flick up to meet his before returning to the postcard he's reading. Charles goes on, "And um, I also can't exactly build you a house with my bare hands. That film sets the bar quite high, doesn't it? I could certainly buy you a house, but I think that rather misses the point…"

Erik has a remarkable poker face, Charles thinks. He's thought before that he didn't need telepathy to know what he's thinking, but… perhaps that had been contingent on not fucking up so royally that he doesn't know if Erik can honestly forgive him.

Charles worries at his lip, watching Erik go through the postcards. Most likely, he's buying himself some time while he figures out how to feel. Every moment that Erik doesn't tell him to go fuck himself and storm off is a win, he thinks.

"The thing about those types of movies is that the apology scenes are often extremely public. Like, shouting-out-everything-through-a-megaphone public, and that seems like it'd be your worst nightmare, so this is about as public as I thought you'd appreciate, and I fear it may have been too much anyway, so… I'm sorry about that. I can see why you don't like them."

Charles swallows nervously, "Um, the suit is because you like when I dress up, and it's from the night when we first said that we loved each other, and then… well, you remember. And the flowers—well, I don't really think you care about flowers at all, but that one time we passed a sunflower field, you seemed quite taken by it." Charles clears his throat. "Maybe you can give them to your mum, if you hate them." He still can't get a read on Erik, exactly. He's too scared to reach out with his telepathy. He soldiers on, "You said we were more than one dramatic gesture away from fixing things, so I thought—maybe, multiple gestures might get us closer.

"All this to say… I'm so, so sorry, Erik. For breaking up with you initially, and for the horrible way I've treated you since," Charles does his best to blink away his tears. He doesn't want Erik to feel like he has to forgive him because he feels bad. "If it were anyone else treating you that way, I'd tell you to tell them to fuck off. But it's me, and I—I'm too selfish for that. I love you, and if you'll let me, I'll make it up to you for as long as you'll have me—"

"Forever, then," Erik interrupts.

Charles can't be hearing him correctly. "I—what?"

"Forever," Erik says again, and kisses him.

Charles grasps at Erik's hands as they cradle his face. His tears spill over, "Erik, I'm so, so sorry, I—"

Erik kisses him again, crowding him against the wall like he wants to hide him from view from everyone. Charles hiccups, "Erik—"

"I know, Charles," Erik says, pressing kiss after kiss to his face. "It's okay."

"It's not," Charles sobs. Now that he's started crying he doesn't know how to stop. He doesn't know if he's crying from happiness that Erik's giving him another chance or regret from his actions. Both, most likely. He's filled with pure overwhelming relief, on an even deeper level than he'd expected. He feels right for the first time in far too long.

"Yeah—it's not," Erik agrees. "But it will be."

"Yes," Charles says right away, "I'll do anything—everything,"

"I don't need that," Erik says. "I just want you."

-

"This feels a bit—ah, backwards—"

"You think so?" Erik pulls off Charles' cock to ask. He's got three fingers in Charles' arse, and it's been a long, slow preparation process. He'd already made Charles come once, wanking him off in his lap, and that had been before Erik even began stretching him. Then Erik had finally started fingering him and sucking Charles' cock, and it hadn't taken long at all for overstimulation to tip into desperation again.

"I really do," Charles says, looking down at Erik with what he's sure is an absolutely besotted look on his face. He's not been able to school his expressions at all, now that he's allowing Erik to touch him with tenderness and adoration. It's exactly what he'd been trying to avoid, before. "I feel like I should be the one lavishing you with attention."

Erik gives him a flat look. "I haven't been allowed to touch you like this in months. You'll be lucky if we're fucking by midnight. Also, we're doing missionary for the next year." He squeezes a fourth finger into Charles and curls them, pressing relentlessly into his prostate.

"Oh my god," Charles shudders, and his cock jerks so hard that he's worried he's actually going to come before Erik gets inside him, and then Erik will have an excuse to work him back up again. "You're joking," he says, when he can breathe again.

Erik grins and removes his fingers, then slides up Charles' body and kisses him. "I am," he says.

"Please fuck me," Charles pleads, eyes greedily taking in Erik's face, now that the tension lines have smoothed out for the first time in months. Erik's so beautiful.

"I think you mean make love," Erik teases, and then he pushes himself into Charles with a wicked grin. Despite Erik's very thorough preparation—Charles has the feeling they'll be doing much more of that in the coming weeks—it's still a tight fit, and when Erik pushes all the way in, he closes his eyes and breathes through the urge to come. All that foreplay's done a lot for him too, evidently.

And Charles has missed this terribly—he prefers Erik's hands when they're soft instead of striking, he's found. Erik does, too. Charles has a feeling neither of them will last long. He kisses Erik sweetly and says, "I'm ready when you are, darling." He doesn't expect the rush of emotion that comes from Erik at the pet name, but perhaps he should have. Charles tears up and feels yet another swell of guilt hit him.

"It's fine," Erik says, though his voice is a little thick. It's fine, Charles. He leans down to kiss Charles again, and starts moving his hips in small, short thrusts. Even the small movements feel deep and divine, and the discomfort fades quickly into pleasure.

Erik starts fucking into him harder, and soon Charles is grappling at his shoulders and moaning in his ear. He kisses Erik's neck, his chest, sucking and teasing at the skin with his teeth until he's sure dark red marks will bloom there. Charles had known he'd missed belonging to Erik, but he'd missed Erik belonging to him just as much. No one can take Erik like he can. Certainly not that girl Erik had been seeing.

Erik breathes a laugh in Charles' ear, "You're fucking ridiculous. God, you feel good." He drops his head to Charles' shoulder with a groan and his thrusts go deeper and slightly unsteady. Take me so well, missed you, love you.

Charles wraps his leg around Erik and squeezes, trying to urge him in even more, as if that were possible. It's intensely good, feeling Erik inside him again, hard and swollen and perfect, claiming him. They're both moaning and gasping for it, feeding into each other telepathically. Charles feels so full, and yet he can still feel the way Erik feels pumping into him, the hot, slick way his body grips Erik, loathe to be apart for even a second.

Charles feels his orgasm coiling at the base of his spine, hot and sweeping and inevitable. When Erik pulls himself together long enough to fit his hand between them and grasp Charles' dripping cock, Charles arches up against Erik and gasps, "Yes, Erik, come for me, darling—come inside me, please, I'm yours—"

Mine, Erik thinks, and when he finally gives in to his impending release, when his hips stutter and he starts coming, Charles follows right away, striping over Erik's fist and onto his chest as Erik fucks his come deeper and deeper. Charles is swept away with the emotions of it, with the overwhelming love and relief he feels being with Erik again.

I'm so sorry, I love you, Erik, I'm— he's crying again, and maybe saying some of it aloud, he can't be sure.

Erik kisses him, I'm here, Charles, don't cry, it's okay. He makes soft shushing noises and wipes Charles' tears gently. "It's okay, love."

"It's not," Charles sobs. "I hurt you so badly, and you're so—so perfect, and lovely, and good at sex—Erik, I'm so sorry."

When Erik undoubtedly realizes that Charles is not going to stop crying anytime soon, he presses a kiss to Charles' forehead and says, "Can I go get you some water and a wash cloth? I want to take care of you."

It's so sweet, so unfairly, absurdly sweet that it sets Charles off in a fresh wave of tears. Erik stifles a laugh.

"Don't laugh at me!"

"I'm not," Erik says, even though he clearly is, but the soft, steady waves of affection coming from him make up for it.

Charles cries, "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Erik says, easily. Charles doesn't understand how it's always so easy for him. Erik holds him until he stops crying, and then says gently, "Actually, let's take a bath, okay?"

And Charles wouldn't have thought he could come again, but Erik proves him wrong when he coaxes another toe-curling, shivery orgasm out of him that leaves him feeling completely undone and raw. The exhaustion seems to catch up to both of them, and they drag themselves out of the tub and back into bed, finally falling into a deep, contented sleep.

Erik wakes up before Charles, and he sneaks out of bed to grab the postcards Charles had given him. He hadn't gotten a chance to read them in their entirety yesterday, though he's not sure he would have been able to process them at the time, anyway.

Charles' neat, loopy writing fills every centimeter of free space; detailed lists of things Charles loves about him, regretful rehashings of some of their more unrelenting fights, dreamy memories of days spent together in bed, fantasies about the places on the front of the card—Erik notices there's more than one of Germany and the United Kingdom, and he wonders if Charles will ever stop seeking out roots, somewhere to belong—and apologies, so many apologies.

He's overcompensating, Erik knows, but it fills him with hope all the same. He wants to believe so badly that this was all some fucked up dream, that Charles has learned some inevitable truth about the universe that changed everything, altered him into someone that won't leave Erik again.

He stares at the words I've never stopped loving you, not even for a moment, and he's sure it's meant to comfort him, but he just thinks… why, then? It might have been easier to swallow—though no less painful—if Charles had genuinely stopped loving him for a period of time. A momentary lapse in affection. But this… Erik doesn't know what to with this.

"Good morning," Charles mumbles drowsily next to him. He rolls over and shuffles close to Erik, throwing an arm around his lap. When he doesn't feel Erik's chest as he no doubt expected, he cracks an eye open, "You're up?"

Erik hastily sets the postcards aside and scooches down the bed so he can pull Charles into his arms. "Good morning."

Charles smiles and nuzzles into his chest. "I've missed waking up to you."

Erik feels a pang in his chest and he can't help but think again, Why, then?

"Why what?" Charles lifts his head up and blinks his eyes open, until the lingering sleep clears. Erik doesn't answer, he just looks at Charles. His dark hair, messy and cowlicked from sleep, the pillow crease on his cheek, the deep circles under his eyes that have only just started to improve. The unfaltering adoration in his eyes.

It's a heartbreakingly welcome sight, one that Erik had truly thought was lost to him.

"Oh," Charles says, understanding dawning, "darling."

Once again, the name rocks Erik. Charles hasn't spoken to him with such open tenderness in months. It feels good, but it hurts all the more for the intensity of the relief it brings. He doesn't want to feel the overwhelming power of his universe sliding back into place—because he doesn't want to have had it ripped away from him to begin with.

Charles' face crumples with pain, "Erik—"

"It's fine, Charles," Erik says quickly. He has to pull himself together. They're together again, and that's all that matters.

"Erik, you have to stop telling me it's fine," Charles says. "It's not your job to comfort me about this."

"It is, actually," Erik says. "I always want to comfort you." It's been tearing him apart to watch Charles suffering from afar this whole time. Now that he's allowed to take care of him again, he wants nothing more than to do that.

"I know you do," Charles says soothingly. "But I want you to feel your emotions, too, whatever they are. You can be upset with me, or mad. Or even if you've—you've changed your mind about us, that's okay. I wouldn't blame you," he adds softly.

"I haven't. I won't. I just—" Erik swallows, throat painfully tight. "I just don't understand why, Charles," he says. "At first, I thought maybe you—you stopped loving me." Charles' face grimaces with pain, and Erik palms his cheek, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye before it falls. "But then it was obvious you still had feelings for me, and you just didn't want to be together for whatever reason. So what's changed? What stops you from—from breaking up with me again? You said we fought too much before, but I—I know we'll fight again. I can't lose you every time."

"I know, darling." Charles turns his head to press a kiss to Erik's palm. "I'm so sorry. I can do my best to—to explain things, but I can't promise that it will be satisfactory, or that you'll feel at ease, afterwards. But I'll try, if you'll let me," he says.

Erik doesn't trust himself to speak, so he just nods.

"Thank you," Charles says, and he kisses Erik's hand again. He's quiet for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "This is the first remotely successful relationship I've ever been in," he says. "Actually—it's the first successful relationship I've ever been around. And that's not an excuse, of course not. What I did to you is inexcusable. But… we'd been together for just over a year, right?"

Erik nods again. He brushes his fingers through Charles' hair, combing it into a semblance of neatness. Charles smiles and tilts his head into the contact. He goes on, "I'd been waiting for the other shoe to drop for quite some time. We did fight a lot, yes, but what scared me was—the way that you only ever seemed to love me more, even when we were fighting. You had me on this—this pedestal, and you twisted all of my flaws into things you liked about me.

"You'd call me privileged, but in your head, you'd just be thinking about how proud you were that I'm challenging and expanding my world view. You'd call me naive, and you'd be thinking about how much you respect my stubborn optimism. Or—arrogant, and you'd think it was… sort of sexy."

Erik shrugs, "It is sort of sexy."

Charles huffs a laugh, "Yes, well. My point is that you seemed to think I was perfect. And I didn't think it could last. I thought… one day you'd finally realize how fucked up I am, and you'd leave me, or worse—you'd stay with me and resent me. I knew the longer I was with you the more I'd love you, and the more destroyed I'd be when it ended." He averts his eyes, but Erik can still see the tears glimmering in them, "I can see now how fucked that logic is, but… it made sense at the time."

"Charles," Erik says a little incredulously, "I love you, but I have never thought that you're perfect."

Charles laughs wetly, "Well, of course not anymore."

"No, Schatz, not ever," Erik says. "You're—you're messy, and you're terrible at taking care of yourself, and sometimes I swear you disagree with me just to be contrarian, and you never back down, even when I've proven you wrong twice over."

"You've never proven me wrong twice over," Charles frowns.

Erik loves him so much. "Right. My point is that I know you're not perfect. I'm not either. Relationships aren't about being perfect. I just think you're perfect for me. And I hope you think I'm… that for you, too."

Charles leans forward to kiss him, You are, Erik. You're perfect for me. Erik smiles into the kiss.

"I'm so sorry," Charles says again when they separate. "I should have talked to you about all of that instead of just—ending things. And after I did, I wasn't strong enough to actually let you go. I didn't want to, even though I felt like I had to. The way I treated you… God. I'm so fucked up, Erik. I don't know how to be in a long-term, healthy relationship. You should just date that pretty redhead instead." He sniffs, "She seems perfectly lovely."

"She is Jewish," Erik says.

"No," Charles wails, thunking his head onto Erik's chest. "Of course she is. Your mother must love her—Oh my god. Your mother must be furious with me." Charles looks up again, eyes wide and distraught.

"Um," Erik swallows a laugh, "well, obviously, she never met Magda. So there's that, at least."

Charles groans, "I'm going to have to learn how to cook, aren't I?"

"That would be a good start, I think," Erik says. He kisses Charles. "It's okay, Charles. It will just take some time."

"I just… don't understand how you can forgive me so easily. I put you through hell."

"Because I love you, and I know you, and I want to be with you." Erik pets Charles' hair, pushing it off his forehead. "And you put yourself through hell, too. I've been so worried about you."

"I'm fine," Charles says, with a brisk smile. "I'm giving my liver a much-needed break."

Erik smiles sadly. "I'm glad to hear that, but I know it might not be that simple. And if it's not, we'll get through it together, okay?" Charles cuts his eyes away in shame and nods.

Erik squeezes his hand. "That's how we'll get through all of it. I've never been serious about someone like this, either. We'll figure it out together. And I'll help you with my mom," he adds as an afterthought. She really is furious with Charles. He'd tried to hide the breakup from her as best as he could, but she saw through him almost immediately.

Charles tears up again and says, "I love you so much."

"I love you too." He can breathe easier every time he says it. "And I know your family history is really complicated and fucked up. Just because you grew up wealthy doesn't mean it was easy. Maybe I've made too much light of that, in the past."

Charles shakes his head, "No, that's not true. You haven't done anything wrong."

Erik shrugs, "Well, I've failed to acknowledge that I've also grown up with a lot of privilege, when it comes to having healthy relationships around me. I've always known that my parents love each other, even when they fight. I've always known that a long-lasting, wonderful love is possible."

Charles sniffs, "Like in the movies."

Erik smiles, "Yes. Like in the movies, except it's real, so it's better."

"And scarier," Charles says. "I'd be crushed if I lost you, Erik. I wouldn't survive it."

"And scarier," Erik agrees. He kisses Charles. "But we'll be scared together. And we'll be brave together. And we'll stay."

It sounds simple, even though he knows it's not. Maybe they'll be having this conversation again in a year's time. The terrifying part is that Erik knows he would do this again, if he had to. If it ended with the two of them together, he would go through this a hundred times over.

But he doesn't think he'll have to.

"We'll stay," Charles whispers.

Erik nods, "Okay."

"You believe me?" Charles says, eyes filled with tremulous, shining hope.

"I do."

He does.