Prompt: Erik is a professional masseuse (massage therapist) and guess who comes in as his customer... **;-)

It was a slow day at the spa, so Erik's manager had let everyone go except for one receptionist and Erik, who was sitting on one of the massage tables, staring at the door and bored out of his mind.

When the little bell above the door clanged, Erik sat bolt upright. Giving massages wasn't his favorite thing to do, but anything would be better than just sitting there. He slid off the table and joined the receptionist behind the desk, rubbing his hands together.

The man who walked up to them was smiling pleasantly but distractedly. He had reddish-brown hair pushed out of his face, and he kept running a hand through it, glancing around anxiously. When his eyes met Erik's, their brilliant blue color made a shiver race down his spine.

"Hello," he said quietly to the receptionist.

"Good afternoon, Charles. The regular?"

"Yes, just the simple 15-minute massage." He picked up the pen and scribbled his name down on the sign-in clipboard.

"There's no wait today; why don't you just go on back?" The receptionist gestured toward the empty table, and Charles shook off his jacket, grimacing as it slid off his tense shoulders.

Erik held out his hands. "I can take that for you, if you'd like."

Charles smiled, surprised. "That would be wonderful, thank you. I'm Charles, by the way."

"Erik." Erik placed Charles' coat in the closet and prepped the table, his fingers shaking slightly as the handsome man's eyes followed his movements closely.

"Are you new here? I haven't seen you before."

"I've worked here for a few months."

"Hm. I guess our paths just haven't crossed, then."

The metal in the headrest on the table twitched, and Erik hurriedly stepped in front of it. Breathe. Calm down, or you'll accidentally stab someone or something.

Charles' eyes narrowed, his smile widening as he stripped off his shirt, watching Erik's eyes take in his chest before he lay down. "You know, these massages can get awfully boring. Why don't you tell me about yourself?"

Erik coughed awkwardly. "Uh, there's not much – "

Charles closed his eyes, his forehead pressed into the paper on the table. "What sort of music do you like?"

"I – "

"No wait, let me guess. How does metal suit your fancy?"

Erik froze, his hands hesitating above Charles' shoulders. "Sorry?"

"No no, I must be wrong."

Erik relaxed slightly, pressing his fingers into the soft skin of Charles' back, noticing how muscular and tense his body was. He worked his hands across his shoulders and down his spine.

"What about sports? Ever win any medals?"

Erik's hands paused again, hesitating at Charles' lower back.

Don't tell me I'm wrong. You must be a metal master, from everything going on in your mind right now.

Erik shrieked, jumping backward from the table. The receptionist glanced at him, confused, but Erik waved her off. What…why are you in my head?

I'm like you, Erik.

You…you're a mutant, too?

I am.

Erik slowly resumed his task, shaking off the receptionist's suspicious glares. Wow. This…what you can do…that's incredible.

Thank you, Erik. That's very kind of you.

They talked silently like this for the rest of the massage, until the woman behind the desk nodded to Erik, and he wiped down Charles' back, helped him up, and handed him his shirt.

Charles held his shirt balled up in his fist and smiled at Erik. "I don't know if this is very professional, but how would you like to join me for coffee once your shift is over?"

Erik's cheeks burned, but his lips twisted into a smile. "I'd love to."

I'll see you in three and a half hours, then.

"How did you kn – "

Charles grinned, touching two fingers to his temple. I just know.