A/N: So, I saw the new X-men movie and thought that both Charles and Erik were secretly doing it, well duh. So I wanted to write something, because who doesnt, it's not like they're hiding it (good, anyways).
Disclaimer: Not mine, or I would be hella rich.
The study was always a place for him to relax, to have a glass of fine scotch, to write thesis papers on genetic mutations, and relax his mind. The study housed a hundred books, decorated with the utmost attention to detail that good money could buy; Charles never thought he would find himself constantly confined within its walls. Contrary to most opinions the professor wasn't always with his nose in a book or trying to solve complex DNA sequences. No, Charles Xavier wasn't all about the books all the time (just most of the time).
The study was one of the many rooms that his mother never ventured into; Charles would have been surprised if his mother had even known about the room. The room had never held any significant meaning to the young professor before. Now, well, now it was the best bloody room in the entire mansion. The study was just a room, yes. But this room was where the young telepath met his good friend for nightly games of chess and for a drink. Charles thinks Erik is the best piece in the entire room. Forget the expensive carpeting, the handcrafted wood furniture, or the rare first edition books housed along the shelves, Erik was still miles above all that.
They had just finished their third game of chess, glass of scotch in hand, relaxing in the leather clad chairs, in silent contemplation. Charles wouldn't want to be anywhere else in the world. The professor sets his drink down on the small table, next to the chest set, where his white king is lying on its side; Erik had won their last game. Erik catches Charles line of sight, follows it down to his defeated king and smirks.
"Not use to loosing there Charles?" The telepath lifts his gaze till he is looking into the other mutants eyes, he is tempted to look into his mind and see what is lurking beneath the surface, but reframes from doing so.
"I do believe I am a gracious loser," He replies with a hint of a smirk marking the corners of his lips.
"You could say that, if you think telling me that I must have manipulated the pieces why you weren't looking, is being a gracious loser." Charles snorts at the comment, his smirk turning into a full smile.
"Well, I never said I was perfect my friend," Charles picks up his glass of scotch and takes a large sip, relishing the slight burn of the liquid along his throat.
Erik's reply is a silent nod of his head, mimicking Charles and taking a long drink from his glass. Both reclaim their hold on silent contemplation. Charles' mind, though, is ever wondering, feeling for the others around the estate. All confined within their own respective rooms, some even in the blissful realm of sleep. His lips part into a fond smile, thinking about the kids, about his family, however eclectic it is. Erik catches the affection radiating from Charles relaxed features and it makes him smile as well, it goes without saying that Erik feels the same; the kids and Charles are his family, and he can't picture anything better.
"Charles?" The telepath glances over to his friend.
"Yes Erik," smile still in place.
"I was just wondering if you have a favorite room here, in the mansion," Erik asks, a faint blush coloring his cheeks; that isn't exactly what he wants to ask, but he can't quite take it back now. He sees Charles study him a minute, his face set in a deep line of concentration and trepidation. The metal bender begins to wonder if the other mutant is trying to peak into his mind, but waves that off, Charles says he won't without permission.
"The study." The answer is said with such conviction that Erik chuckles a little at it.
"Always the scholar there Charles," the telepath cracks a smile of his own.
"No, not quite," Charles downs the last of his scotch, "I don't come here for the books or the ambiance." Erik feels himself grow a little heated, he can tell this conversation is going from their normal light-hearted chats to a more visceral, more revealing insight. The metal bender is never one for expressing his feeling openly, but with Charles he seems to always do and be the opposite of what he pictures himself as; funny though, it never bothers him.
"Then why is it, why is the study your favorite room?" Charles again contemplates his answer, not wanting to give too much away, not wanting to make Erik leave.
"Well," Charles releases the breath he wasn't aware he was holding, "the company of course." Erik actually laughs at that, leave it to Charles to always be the charmer.
"You give out compliments like they're candy," Erik is still chuckling under his breath, Charles joining him.
"No my friend, it's just that you're too sweet," the professor winks, laughing at his own joke. Erik though has stopped, staring at his friend. The mutant can feel his cheeks begin to grow hot at the compliment from his friend; he isn't sure if he will ever be able to handle such flirty comments with acceptance, ever. Charles catches the flush on his friend's cheeks, and tries to stifle his laughter. "I'm sorry my friend, I did not mean to make you uncomfortable." Erik's reply is a slight incline of his head in assent.
Charles chuckles began to die down and he finds himself staring at his friend across the short expanse of the table, the flush still visible on Erik's skin. Charles licks his lips, letting his eyes travel down to the other mutant's lips; the professor's breathing picking up a beat. Erik notices the heated stare, furrowing his brow slightly. Feeling slightly uncomfortable under the intensity of Charles' blue gaze, Erik clears his throat and stands from the table.
"Well, I'm going to retire to my bedroom. I will see you tomorrow morning, yeah?" Charles focus snaps back to the present, back to the study, back to Erik. He looks up at his friend and nods his head.
"Yes, of course. I'll see you tomorrow," Charles stands from his seat, following Erik out of the room, his white king still toppled over in silent defeat.
The next night finds both Charles and Erik back in the study, having shrugged off the offer of a game of chess, but with a glass of scotch in hand. Both men have been chatting away about the day and about nothing. Charles doesn't mind, he just lets the velvety baritone of Erik's voice wash over him, he swares he could listen to that man talk for hours, days even. Too bad Erik was more of a listener than a talker; so when the metal bender does speak freely Charles relishes in it, tries to keep him going, keep him open.
"Charles, can I ask you something?" Erik's voice floats into Charles' ears, reaching into the deep recesses of his mind.
"Of course, anything," the telepath answers with an encouraging smile.
"Do you honestly enjoy my company?" Erik shifts in his chair slightly; Charles detects the movement and understands that his friend is uncomfortable asking such a question, especially one regarding feelings. "I mean, you said that…last night, I, I just wasn't sure…you know, if you….meant it."
Charles thinks he might die; Erik never gets flustered, until now apparently. Charles would be lying if he said he doesn't like it. The telepath can't help the smile that tugs at the corners of his mouth. Erik sees Charles looking at him, smiling at him and he feels like an idiot. Talking about feelings are not his strong point, he knows that, but for some reason he just needs to know.
"You want an honest answer?" Charles queries, Erik's replies with a nod. "Yes, yes I do. Very much actually, you are my best friend Erik." Erik just keeps staring at Charles; there is nothing that he could say to that, so he remains silent. Charles feels as though he has put himself out on a ledge, wanting to know if he is viewed in the same light, Erik obviously isn't going to supply the information on his own, so Charles is going to have to take it himself.
"Erik, do-" before Charles can finish his question, Erik has pushed his chair back and has successfully stopped Charles inquiry, the room a torrent of unshed emotion. Erik can't handle the level they were moving towards, not now.
"I am going to retire early tonight friend, I will see you tomorrow," Erik turns and all but flees the study. Charles just stares at the closed door to the study, and for the first time feels like he doesn't quite like this room, it seems to stifling. Charles pushes his chair back from the small table and leaves the room, his scotch warm and forgotten.
The study remains empty for three days, before Charles and Erik return for the normal game of chess and a drink. The previous times pushed aside, both men just wanting to relax and retreat back into the usual routine. They both remain respectively quite and courteous of the other, never venturing to deep in their conversations. Erik finds that he has indeed missed this time with Charles over the past three days. Charles couldn't contain the smile that stays firmly in place the whole time that Erik and he stay holed up in the study. Charles finds himself remembering why he liked the study so much.
It's the end of a tiring day of training; the others have retired to their bedrooms after they had finished eating dinner, except Charles and Erik. Though both are physically exhausted, their mental stamina is still running on full. Charles can never deny spending extra time with Erik, and Erik can never say no to Charles. The telepath pulls out the folded chess board, holds it up and shakes it a little, a smile playing across his lips, Erik smiles back and moves to sit down in 'his' chair. Charles sets up the board, white designated to his side of the board, of course. Erik pulls out a bottle of scotch (he wondered how many they had actually used in their short time staying at the manor) and pours both he and Charles a glass.
They drink and play in companionable silence; it seems that words aren't on the menu for tonight. Somewhere around their third glass and second game, Charles realizes the mood feels different from the other nights, the air feels warm, his limbs languid, and his thoughts a maelstrom of discontinuity. His eyes find Erik's and Charles swears that time has stopped (and what an amazing power that could be!). Erik feels his breath leave his lungs; the room's temperature seems to go up about ten degrees.
"Charles, is the study still your favorite room?" Erik clears his throat, completely stumped by his own question. He doesn't understand why he asked such a thing, it had just seemed, right.
"Yes," the professor's answer is just a whisper of a word. Erik smirks, finding his courage to speak unbidden once more.
"Why?" Charles tips his upper body back against his chair, lacing his fingers together to sit atop his crossed legs; Erik unconsciously leaning forward, waiting on Charles' answer.
"Erik," the telepath regards his fellow mutant in serious consideration, "do you want me to give you the answer you want to hear, or the truth?" Charles feels that this is the out that Erik would want, especially when he knew how far this conversation is going.
It takes Erik only a second to decide which route he will travel with Charles tonight, he isn't afraid. This might be new territory for the metal bender, but with Charles it doesn't seem so bad. "The truth," and Erik actually smirks at the sharp intake of breath from across the table.
"The study is my favorite room because you are here. I hate this room actually," Charles begins to chuckle softly, "before, when I was younger I didn't give this room a second thought, and since you want honesty," Charles shoots Erik a pointed look which is returned with a nod, "any room you're in is my favorite." Erik exhales the breath he is holding and leans back against his chair.
"Charles, how did you know that also wasn't the answer I wanted to hear?" Erik retorts.
"I didn't read your mind," the telepath smirks, "I promised I wouldn't without your consent." The air seems to grow thick and Erik feels as though he might choke on it, he locks eyes with Charles and finds his breath again. His mind seems to be disconnected from the rest of his body, he can feel himself stand, walk the short distance over to stand in front of Charles, but it feels as though he is a marionette being controlled by another's strings.
Charles remains seated in his chair his gaze focused up at Erik, waiting for his next move; see where he will take this. Erik lowers himself down on one knee, swallowing the lump that has formed in his throat. The metal bender can see that Charles isn't going to push him for anything, would let him back out anytime, but Erik doesn't want that, he wants this, wants Charles. Erik leans up slightly, the invitation clear and open; Charles bends down at the waist to make up the rest of the distance.
The reaction is instantaneous; both men feel the flare of heat cascade down from their connected lips to their toes. Erik feels himself groan into the kiss and pushes himself harder against Charles, seeking more, more of Charles. Charles lets Erik lead, he lets Erik push for more, the telepath would let the other mutant take anything he needs to at that moment. Erik soon finds that just the ruff connection of their lips is not enough; with a low growl he opens his mouth and let his tongue sneak out and trace the bow of the telepath's bottom lip, running in the crease between the two.
Charles moans at the touch, opening his mouth to Erik's questioning muscle. Erik grabs the arms of the chair, effectively keeping Charles pinned to the chair, not that the telepath had any planes of leaving anytime soon. The kiss grows wet and sloppy, tongues dancing around each other, teeth scraping, lips sliding together, but neither cares, it's perfect to them. In the morning they will both wake with headaches raging behind red rimmed eyes, their hair falling sickly against their heads, but both will be the happiest they have been in years, so they will take the hangover, sleep deprivation, and messy appearance again and again.
Erik and Charles meet every night in the study, but instead of chess games and drinks, they sit together on the couch and find solace with their bodies. They let their lips tell the story of their emotions and really Erik finds that so much better. Charles is just happy to be with Erik, though the snogging isn't so bad either.
One night both mutants are heady with want and need; kissing seems to not be enough, not enough to quell the burning in their minds and bodies. Erik is the first one to break the kiss, leaning heavily against the arm of the couch, Charles all but sitting in his lap. The metal bender takes in the sight of his friend (could he still call Charles that, after everything they have done together so far?), his hair a mop of disarray, his blue eyes a light with want, need, anything that Erik can give him. Erik looses the rest of his inhibitions then, not afraid to take this farther anymore (they had already reached this point in a span of a few short weeks).
Erik presses their lips together again, gentler, softer this time, telling of his intentions loud and clear. Charles moans into the contact, wrapping his arms around the back of Erik's neck, letting Erik push him down to lie on his back. Erik hovers over Charles putting his weight on his forearms and bent knees. The metal bender leaves Charles' lips and begins moving down along his jaw line, down to his neck, down over his collar bone, down to the collar of Charles button up shirt. Charles threads his fingers through Erik's hair, the sensations of Erik's lips on his body is magnificent, a fierce fire is beginning to ignite in his chest, and the telepath isn't sure how long he could stoke the flames.
"Charles," the name floats through the air, choked and raw, Charles looks down into Erik's eyes, "I have, what I mean to say is…Well, I haven't ever done, this, I haven't-" Erik is cut short by Charles steady response of "with another man or another mutant?" Erik nods.
"Both of those actually," Erik grins a little, a flush rising to stain his cheeks. Charles chuckles a little, letting his fingers run through the metal benders short locks, Erik leans into the comforting touch.
"Well, looks like you will get to kill two birds with one stone, my friend," Charles quips, causing Erik's grin to turn absolutely feral.
"Let's not waste any more time on small talk then," Erik takes Charles' lips again, redistributing his weight on one arm, using his other hand to undo the buttons of Charles' shirt.
Charles arches up on his back, shrugging his shoulders out of his shirt, never breaking the connection of their lips, their tongues creating a slow dance in their mouths. Erik uses his power to thread the button of Charles' trousers through its hole and slide the zipper down, shimming the material down and off Charles' legs. Erik breaks the tangle of their tongues and teeth to pull his customary turtleneck over his head. The mutant sits back against the arm of the couch again, undoing his pants and sliding them down his legs.
Charles, not liking the loss of touch and attention from the other mutant, slide the short distance across the couch and straddled Erik's lap, making Erik look up into the telepath's deep blue eyes. Charles smirks and lowers his pelvis down to meet Erik's, their hips rutting together, causing both men to emit a low groan of appreciation. Charles bends his head down to trail open mouth kisses along Erik's neck and shoulder, alternating between biting and licking. Erik tosses his head back, moaning out the other's name.
"Charles," the name a ghost of a whisper, the rutting of their clothed erections and Charles' mouth on Erik becoming too much; Charles retreats from the metal bender's neck; still rocking his hips against Erik's causing a slow crescendo of arousal to flow through both men.
"Yes," Charles eyes are dark and full of need, his hair tousled, his lips swollen and red, Erik can't find a better definition of perfect in that moment. "Tell me what you want Erik."
"Why not just read my mind?" Erik knows it will be hard to distinguish one coherent thought from another, with the way Charles is moving atop of him, his thinking ability seemed to stop functioning properly.
"I would rather hear your voice," Charles slows the rocking of his hips, much to Erik's dismay.
"Don't stop, please don't stop Charles," was all Erik can manage at the loss of friction, Charles smirks.
"Something tells me, that isn't all you want Erik," Erik groans trying to push his hips up in an attempt to get Charles to start again, but to no avail.
"Charles, I, I...I want you, all of you. Just please, don't stop, please don't stop," Charles can't help the smile that breaks out across his face.
"Well then Erik, I can do more for you than just this," the last part of his statement punctuated by a slow grind of his hips down against Erik's. Erik groans, his head resting on the back of the couch, his breath coming out in short, quick pants.
"Yes, anything Charles," Erik isn't capable of anything more than that, his words slowly desolving into low moans and groans.
They would fight tomorrow. Erik knows that tomorrow he will find Shaw and make sure that he never sees him again, he will know the pain he has caused, the torture he has inflicted; he will kill Shaw that is for certain. Charles though seems to still hold his childish notions that everything will find a way to work out, that if Erik kills Shaw he will not find his own peace, but he is wrong. Killing Shaw was never about peace, it has always been about vengeance, and vengeance is stronger than any amount of peace that Charles preaches.
That night they sit and play chess and drink, a nice throwback to old times, before the fight that is surely eminent. Erik takes a sip of his scotch and studies his friend from across the chess board, Charles is perfect. Erik often wishes he could feel and think the same way as his counterpart, to be able to find the best in others, to try and resolve conflict instead of charging right into it, but no that just isn't who Erik is. He could still hope.
Charles catches Erik's stare and smiles at him; he leans over the small expanse of the table and kisses Erik, a sweet chaste kiss. Erik tries to press forward, to seek more, always seeking more, but Charles takes control and leans back, reestablishing just the feather light caress of lips. Erik opens his eyes, not use to Charles creating the rhythm; he sees Charles eyes open. Erik thinks that it might be okay to release control just once, to not always be the one charging ahead, to be lead, especially by Charles, he trusts him more than anyone else.
Charles breaks the contact, and moves around the table to stand in front of Erik, a reassuring smile playing across his lips. Erik pushes his chair back away from the table, looking up at his friend, his best friend, his everything really. Charles lowers himself down into Erik's lap, his knees on either side of Erik's leg. Charles brings his hands up to cup Erik's face in his palms, his thumbs rubbing slow, soothing circles over his cheek bones. The telepath bends his head down and gently, oh so gently touches his lips to Erik's, the flames beginning to rebuild, to grow into that overwhelming fire, threatening to burn them both.
Erik Let's Charles take his time, slow and gentle, even in removing his shirt, his trousers and underwear. Charles divests himself, just allowing Erik to feel, to just open himself up, to be vulnerable, and it is the scariest and most thrilling thing the mutant has ever done. Charles kisses Erik while slowly lowering himself down along Erik's length, taking his time; Erik thinks he might lose it right there, the heat burning bright under his skin. Charles lifts his hips up never losing his measured pace, never allowing Erik to take control and drive into him fast and hard like he wants too.
Erik knows he won't be long, that this torturously, exquisitely torturous pace will drive him over the edge faster than the roughest and fastest sex he has encountered before, he knows that its due to Charles, the things he's expressing through the gentle connection of their bodies, that he cannot say with words. Erik thinks that maybe Charles methods could work, that not everything has to be so hard, and so fast, that maybe there is more to the man that Erik has come to associate himself with, but Charles always seems to know him better than he knows himself.
Both men come together, a heap of tangled limbs and sweat soaked skin. Charles begins to extract himself from Erik's lap, but is stopped by a gentling hand on his cheek. He looks into the soft green gaze of the metal bender's eyes; he smiles and allows Erik to bring their lips together, just a soft caress of skin, nothing more.
Charles hasn't been into the study for quite some time, he hasn't felt the need to venture back in there yet. The carpeting one of the many reasons, it seems to inhibit the mobility of his wheelchair, and Charles hates feeling trapped. Another is because Erik no longer joins him there, he doesn't slide into the leather chair across from Charles, he doesn't take out the scotch and pour them each a glass, he doesn't join him for chess, and he certainly doesn't kiss Charles like he use to.
Charles stops his chair right outside the door to the study, he looks at the ruff grain of the door, feeling as though he should go in and just see. So Charles takes a deep calming breath and with a little effort turns the handle and makes his way into the room. It looks the same, with the finely stained wood, the meticulously decorated walls, and shelves upon shelves of books. Charles makes his way over to the small table that has a small stone chess set on it, the white king toppled over in defeat. Charles lifts the small piece so he stands upright and tall.
Charles brings his two fingers up to the side of his temple, searching, but knowing that what he is searching for is forever lost to his mind. Still he tries, he reaches as far as his mind will allow, and without the added help of Cerebro, but finds that all too familiar void. He takes one last glance around the room, and turns his chair and heads back to the door and out of the room. Charles is sure he will be able to come back in this room again, that he will be able to have a drink without thinking about the past, be able to read a book without thinking of the way his voice sounded, and be able to just sit without remembering the way his body burned against his. Yes, Charles thinks he will be able to come back here again, one day, just not today.
As he begins to close the door he hears the faint whisper in his mind, that familiar voice bringing a sad smile to the telepath's lips.
I always thought I would end up with you, eventually.
Charles doesn't say anything back, but they both know he won't. Charles closes the door to the study, the sound of the lock clicking into place, resolute; the chess board sitting alone in the dark, the white king standing.
THE END.