A/N: OH GOD, THEONIONISTHEONEWHOCIRES. WHAT SORT OF PROMPT DID YOU GIVE ME?
"And that is how he found himself creeping around in the middle of the night trying to catch a glimpse of Erik. He couldn't believe he subjected himself to becoming a peeping Tom."
...Crap, now I'm writing this with an almost hunger. dfjkakjfhfdkj
It's a peculiar curiosity that has developed.
Throughout the past few days while they have been on their mission to collect follow mutants for the CIA's little group of special G-men, Charles has had this steadily increasing desire to see Erik with less clothes on.
Yes, he is well aware of how this sounds; believe him, he knows. But how can he not think it? Erik is unlike anyone Charles has ever known; tall, lithe, athletic, strong, toned, and with such a small waist and sharp hips. And his pectorals, the way they pucker just beneath Erik's turtlenecks and shirts; and then his bum, which, frankly, might be the best one Charles has ever dared take a gander at for longer than the brief, man-code second for strictly comparison.
And so, this is how he lands himself in the position of being an utter stalker of the slightly older man, winding around the CIA base in the middle of the night for hopes of getting a glimpse of Erik without a shirt, or without pants, or without anything at all.
He can't believe he's been reduced to this, though: subjecting himself to be a classic Peeing Tom on another man? It's sheer ludicrousness. And yet he can't seem to stop himself.
He lingers outside of Erik's room, torn between going outside and chancing the blinds being drawn or not. But wait, hold on; he hears the shower running.
Charles stills, one arm braced on the wood of the door, the other on the frame. He blinks, pulling his ear back from it, causing the sounds of running water to disappear.
I can slip into his mind right now and see him naked through his eyes.
The thought is jarring and vulgar and violates all sorts of privacies all at once, and yet Charles is licking his lips at the idea. He shivers, something a bit foreign to feel for another man coursing down his veins.
He swallows dryly and closes his eyes, his hand from the door touching his temple while the one on the frame keeps him balanced.
He prays Erik doesn't notice nor feel him enter his mind.
He prays that he doesn't get caught by some guard or employee or another; he keeps part of his mind open for that, to scan the hallways, particular ones leading to this one.
And he prays that this can satisfy (rather than feed) his peculiar curiosity.
Inside Erik's mind, at first, it's charcoal and orangey-red. His eyes are closed, Charles realizes. And Erik's mind is oddly free of thought when he's in the shower. But then, slowly, Charles can feel the warmth of the water on Erik's back — nearly scorching; how does he take it? — and, finally, Erik opens his eyes, glancing down to avoid the water's flow into the exposed organs as he rinses his hair of shampoo.
Charles gasps, his own eyes opening for a moment, connection dropped, as he replays that image in his mind. He had seen it: All down Erik's front, dusting of wet chest hair, perfect muscles, trail of pubic hair, perfect manhood, and long, strong legs.
The telepath can feel his face growing pink, his ears burning. He momentarily curses his pale, English complexion for revealing so much; if someone did walk by, and they new his ability and whose room this was… well, it would be that hard to figure out, what with this massive blush on his face.
The college professor takes a moment to debate with himself. He wants to see more. He wants to watch Erik soap up his own body, wants to see if Erik thinks of him at all, wants to know if Erik touches himself that way in the shower on occasion, or would do it now, and blood hell, Charles really wants to see that flawless torso again.
So he indulges one final time, sliding into Erik's mind easily, his eyes closed. He finds Erik is finishing rinsing off and is turning off the water. He towels down his body — Charles feeling vaguely the brush of fluffy towel on skin, and seeing crisply each body part as Erik zones in on it to dry it off — and, suddenly, Charles notices that Erik is wrapping the towel around his waist and leaving the bathroom.
And coming into the bedroom.
And turning toward the front door.
And opening the door—
Charles makes an unmanly yelp as he jerks backward from the door, and finds Erik standing before him.
"I'm flattered, Charles, but you really should learn to not put yourself so deeply in my head, because then I can feel you there, a tingling invasion, and I can hear your thoughts. And to answer your inquiry: Yes, I do think of you sometimes in that way." He grins, his sharky smile full of shiny teeth. "Now then, are you coming in or returning to your bedroom?"
Charles is speechless for a moment, tremors subtly going through him. His pants feel uncomfortable, and his stomach is flipping with mortification of the highest degree.
But he nods. "Ah… I'll be coming inside, if you don't mind."
Erik chuckles and opens the door fully, taking a few steps back inside to go into the steamy bathroom again to apply lotion. "Make yourself at home, and lock the door behind you."
The telepath is ashamed for being caught, yes, but at the same time, he's incredibly grateful for his own slip-up, because it's somehow earned him not rejection or anger, but instead the opportunity to touch the body he's been lusting after for the past few days.