When Charles misses Erik, which is more often than not of late, he calls to him.

There is always a chance that he will not respond, that he has closed his mind to Charles' ability, whether by wearing that damnable helmet or simply keeping a tight lock on his thoughts. Tonight, Charles hopes, will not be one of those nights. Erik. Erik!

At first there is no reply, only the quiet whirring of the ceiling fan, and the low, insistent ticking of the clock. Ten minutes – 600 seconds precisely – go by before Charles hears a soft, somewhat sleepy response: Charles, have you any idea what time it is?

"I know, my friend, the hour is late. Or early, depending on your point of view. You also know that I would not have called for you if it were not important."

Important for who, Charles?

"For me, for you . . . for the two of us."

Very well, Charles. I am in the middle of something, but I will come as soon as I am able.

Charles tries to hide the plaintiveness in his voice, and fails.

"Please come quickly."

I will be there as soon as I can, Charles.

It is not long at all. Less than an hour passes before Erik comes to him, quietly slipping into the Manor through the dormer window in his bedroom. In most instances, Erik will not come in this way, but he knows well how much Charles wants him to – this time.

Erik sees that Charles is dozing, his mouth open, hands curled up under his head as he lays on his side. The hazy blue light cast by the television is hypnotic, almost soporific. Erik stifles a yawn and sits down on the bed beside Charles. He finds the remote underneath the covers and turns the TV off.

"What'd you turn it off for? I was watching that!"

"Don't be silly, Charles. The networks signed off hours ago."

"Fine then, but that was the only light. You know how I detest the darkness."

"You've no need to be afraid. I'm here."

"How comforting . . ."

Erik lays down rolls over so that his nose is touching Charles' cheek. He reaches out a blind finger to trace the line of his lips. Charles kisses Erik's finger, takes it into his mouth and gently nips it. "Can I at least turn on the lava lamp?"

"Oh no, Charles, really? You actually went out and bought one of those ridiculous hippie —"

"They aren't just for hippies! They're useful."

"Of course they are."

Charles reaches out, finds the lamp cord, and switches it on. It is bright green, resembling a giant amoeba slowly dividing and reconnecting itself. Erik notes a look of amusement on his friend's countenance; it is a beautiful, rare thing to see him thus.

Erik wordlessly clutches Charles' chin. He tilts it up and kisses his lips, deeply, passionately, until Charles moans against him.

Erik . . .

"Hmm?" Erik murmurs softly and trails his lips down Charles' neck, toward his chest. Tell me what you want.

I want – you know what I want. . .

Say it.

I – I w-want —

Come on, Charles. Say it!

I want you, Erik. I want all of you –

"You want me inside you?" Erik's breath hitches. He suckles Charles' neck, his lips and teeth marring the pale, freckled skin purple. "You mean you want me to turn you around and plunge into your sweet, tight little arse?"

Erik! Charles chides. Such unfit language from such a cultured, respectable gentleman! What am I to do with you?

I think a better question is: what am I going to do with you?

Erik smirks and catches Charles' earlobe between his teeth. He bites down, hard, and Charles moans pitifully. In one smooth motion, Charles is turned around, clothing removed in a frantic whirl. Charles is bared before him, just as Erik promised he would be. There is no need for further teasing.

There is a sudden wet pop, and without preamble Erik slides a firm, spit-slick finger inside. Charles makes a sound like a frightened kitten and stiffens, his buttocks clenching tight and hot around the digit. Erik inserts another, and another, gently treading the smooth muscle.

"Charles," Erik rasps between pants. "Are you ready? I must hear you say it!"

Charles opens and closes his mouth, it is as if he has lost the ability to speak. Frantically, jerkily, he nods his head, and that is all Erik needs. He withdraws his fingers, holds the younger man steady, and slides down and inside.

His mind whirls at the heat of contact, the incredible, juicy feel of him. It is almost overwhelming, the loud thwack of skin to skin, the delicious sensation of slipping in and out, the feel of Erik's balls somehow rough and soft against Charles as he slides home.

They both come, simultaneously.