Charles Xavier is a pretty handsome guy, with that classic English-boy look; a guy who can wear scarves, who opens doors for people and probably had a dog growing up that he loved. He's earnest-looking, but just enough.
Raven doesn't think that Charles utilises these good-looks enough. She has no such qualms. What she's doing is not exactly ethical, but Raven's powers do not inspire strict moral guidelines. It's already a lie when she tumbles into bed a man who thinks that she's an All-American apple-pie beauty. How much worse can it really be that sometimes she goes out looking like Charles in order to pull women?
Raven advocates fluidity. Even her relationship with her name is tenuous; she's been flirting with a new name, Mystique, but hasn't committed yet. Of course, her body is fluid, and so are her sexual preferences. Bi seems to be the word, though pan works too. It just seems crazy to say that she can't kiss girls, when half the time she's actually presenting as a dude anyway. It's hard to get women to kiss you when you are a woman though - they'll flirt and take the drink, but finding the girl who will actually kiss a girl is harder than it seems.
One time, completely inadvertently, she'd found the solution. She'd forgotten her ID card for the library, and threw on Charles' appearance like other people slip into a coat. They librarians loved him- like everyone who met Charles did - and they let her in. What she hadn't expected was a pretty Hispanic girl to slip her number into Raven's back pocket. She'd been flattered, until she remembered that she wasn't blue, she wasn't even blonde, which would have been something. It was Charles' earnest face the girl liked, and Raven realised she could use that.
The bar she chose was lightly packed, just loud enough. Better than that, there was barely any guys there, just a dude in a turtleneck who catches her gaze when she walks in, but Raven's not in the mood for men tonight, and walks past.
The night goes okay, nothing major. She does shots with a dark-skinned chick who's name she just can't recall, but the girl wanders off again. Raven herself isn't on her game. The guy in the turtleneck is watching her. He's hot, she'll grant him that much; the other girls here see it too. They brush past him, and touch his arm when they talk to him. He could be made of stone for all attention he gives them. He stares at Raven, and she is not a blusher but Charles' body is, and she can feel the heat in her cheeks. She stands to go that black girl again, and the man's cold eyes follow her.
"Janae," the girl tells her, and Raven doesn't bother thinking of a fake male name that she wouldn't remember, but just wraps her arms around Janae's waist. She tries to lose herself in the music, lose herself in the girl in her arms. They dance, or more Janae dances and Raven sways. Charles' body is not rhythmically inclined. Janae laughs, deep-throated that makes her afro bounce, and then Raven is kissing that throat, and then kissing the girl herself. Janae is soft and pretty and she laughs as they break apart and come back together, and Raven tries to ignore the guy at the bar.
"Wanna come back to mine?" Janae asks, a whole while later, and Raven has to remember again that the girl doesn't like her, it's Charles she wants to sleep with. "Excuse me," she says, and leaves her on the dance floor to get a drink, her gut twisting.
"Charles," the guy says venomously as Raven knocks back a vodka, coming up behind her.
Raven would say hey, but she's Charles, and Charles says hello. The stranger looks at the vodka in her hands, which Raven knows Charles doesn't drink. So what? How well can this guy know Charles if she's never met him?
"You've had your fun Charles, and proved your point. We're leaving now."
"Sorry?" Raven asks, pushing back from him.
He frowns. "What's the matter with you? I said we're leaving."
"Okay," she says, "I'll just go get my jacket-"
"Here," the guy says, shoving it under her arms and slamming a note down on the bar for her drink.
She has no option but to follow him outside. It's bitterly cold out, and Raven wishes she was alone so she could transform into someone wearing some more clothes. A parka would be nice, or at least a scarf. He's still watching her, and she meets his gaze, apprehensive about what's going to happen.
"Look Charles," the guy says, "While I didn't appreciate seeing you stick your tongue down that girl's throat, it did serve some purpose." He swallows hard and steps closer to her, so she can smell his cologne and something cool and metallic. "I don't want you with anyone else. I want you Charles." He watches Raven, and she doesn't move or shake her head and he smiles- looking like a different person when he does- and then leans in and kisses her. Her belt buckle is pulls her towards him even as his lips slam down on her mouth, his hand in her hair like it's urgent. They tangle, twist and end up slamming against a wall, the man kissing her like this is all he's ever wanted, and Raven kisses back because he's gorgeous and because it feels good to be wanted and because there's no way out. His hands are warm as they slide up her back, and she feels her zipper go down of its own accord. This is further than is dignified, in an alleyway at least. Raven braces herself, pulls out of the kiss, and says, "Stop."
He freezes, as still as the statue of David, with just as many muscles, but all wrapped around her. "Charles?" he asks, his voice urgent. "Are you alright?"
"No," she says, "No, I can't, I have to go-"
She's said something wrong, because his eyes narrow and he grabs her jaw, forcing her to look at him. "Charles."
"Let me go," she says, squirming, but not resorting to violence, because she might be able to talk her way out yet.
"You're not Charles," he says curiously, but there's a dangerous lilt to his voice. "Who are you?"
"Don't be silly, let me go-"
"Say my name," he commands, eyes glaciers, nails digging into her jaw. "You haven't said my name once tonight. Say it." His hand slipped down to her neck, an iron fist choking her. "Say it, you fucker."
"I don't know," she gasps, and he squeezes tighter. It's gone past the point of her simply talking her way out, so Raven slams her knee up into his crotch and he collapses down, folding in on himself like a collapsing star. She bolts for the street, grateful not to be wearing stilettos, but Charles' sensible loafers, when a force begins to drag her backwards. Her belt buckle and the silver buttons on her shirt are straining, unwilling to let her move forward. She shoots a glances back to the guy. He's still bent over, grimacing like mad but his hand outstretched, and she knows this is his doing. Raven fumbles at the shirt, willing to pull it off if she can get away, but the buttons surge from side to side so she can't grab a hold of them.
"Charles will find you," the man vows from his undignified position on the floor, and Raven realises that if he even offhandedly mentions this to Charles that she's be in massive trouble. How many other shape-shifters do they know? She turns, still struggling with the stupid, stupid buttons.
"If you tell Charles about this, I'll tell him you're in love with him," she says. It's caustic, it's cruel, but so is she. Raven never claimed to be ethical.
"So?" the man asks, calling her bluff.
She stares him down. "He's not gay. I don't know what you think you have with him, but it's all in your head. If I tell him, he'll never be comfortable around you again. He'll say it's fine, but it won't be."
"You're lying."
"Go ahead and risk it."
Those cold eyes watch her, and then he relaxes his hand and the invisible force that had its grip on her is gone. She tenses, but he doesn't move except to straighten up, tuck his shirt back in, and turn away.
"Wait," she calls after him. "What's your name?"
"Erik Lehnsherr," he says without turning. "And yours?"
She decides, then and there. "Mystique," she says.