Despite all the trouble and shame his mutation put him through as he was growing up, at the end of the day, Charles is happy to be a telepath.
Well, not exactly at the end of the day. More so, it's the very beginning of the day that fills him with blithe ignorance for what's going on around him as he focuses on the man next to him.
Erik likes to sleep with his nose in Charles' chest, and his arm around the professor's waist. He doesn't really move around in his sleep or steal blankets, and Charles can always find a perfect nook for his chin on the crown of Erik's head.
In the mornings, Erik's mind is in the perfect state of half-slumber. His lips, usually ready curled to scowl, are quirked in what Charles would like to think is a smile, and the expected furrow in his brow is entirely absent. Erik is truly at rest here, in a pile of limbs and sheets and lavender detergent, and the untangled threads of his subconscious are reaching out to his bedmate.
Charles doesn't want to pry. This early in the morning, when the sun is just beginning it's journey across the polished oak floors of Charles' bedroom, Erik's senses are just waking up, entirely trusting; a clean slate. It's like Erik never had to watch his mother suffer, or submit to the will of a monster. He's the child he never got to be in the mornings, and it makes Charles heart swell and bubble over with affection.
He knows he's projecting, and if he's not careful he might wake Erik up, but he does nothing to stop the dusky pink paint spills of fondness he knows are blooming in the back of Erik's head. Erik lets out a contented sigh as Charles cards his fingers through his hair and runs a finger down his straight nose. When in action, Erik's sharp features seem severe, but at this time of day, they seem more sculpted, and Charles is content to let his fingers roam over the carved lines of Erik's face.
Erik's eyes open lazily, and he glances up at Charles. Feeling a trickle of light-heartedness coming from Erik's direction leak behind his Parietal lobe in a shade of sunny yellow, Charles' lays a kiss on each of Erik's eyelids, leaving a splatter of rich, chocolatey adoration on the canvas of Erik's mind in their wake.
Eyes again closed, Erik lets out a languid grin. A teasing invitation prickles along Charles' temporal lobe, letting him in. Erik, in childish wonder that seems to be reserved for moments of semi-consciousness, is curious. He wants to see what Charles is going to add to his painting next, and Charles is happy to oblige.
Passion: a red circle drips off the page, promising more. Erik's fingers curl into Charles' hip.
Bliss: heavy cream drops warp the paper, threatening to break through. A purr rolls of Erik's chest.
Adoration: a rosy gold spill, threatening to cover the sheet, never holding true to it's form.
Admiration: a pale green streak holds it's own against the stronger colours. Erik's eyelids twitch and quiver, threatening to open.
Charles continues, savouring the tiny reactions as he waits for the inevitable wake up. As Erik's eyes open, Charles can feel the dull throb of pain and anger reclaiming it's place as a sticky coat covering Erik's thoughts. It leaves Charles' eyes stinging, but Erik is smiling and hauling him onto his lap for some fun before the day officially starts, and Charles lets it go.
"I had the most interesting dream."
Erik's eyes are filled with mischief. Charles can still feel the glossy overcoat, but for now, he's going to ignore it. He's going to give in to the pink bloom, coffee splatters, red circle, cream drops, gold spill, and green streak. He can always feel the heartache, but he's not going to feed it.
Not now, not when he can feel the sadness dripping away, even if it's only for a few idle minutes when the rest of the world doesn't exist, and it's only the two of them.