A/N: Second ErikXCharles fic. Because I need more of it based off of the First Class movie in my life. ;P

…This takes place sometime mid-movie, during the training sessions at the mansion.

– On a random note, am I odd for always associating the Xavier mansion with Hogwarts? I mean, come on… it looks a bit like a castle, but it's turned into a school for mutants whom are people with superhuman powers, not unlike Hogwarts being a school for wizards with magical abilities.

And then when you think of Harry Potter versus X-Men in general, regular humans are always put down by someone magical/mutant or another as dangerous and unworthy…

Sorry. I just really love X-Men and Harry Potter, and in my mind, things such as that converge. I'll shut up now.

Within the week or so they spend "training" (Erik isn't sure if he likes the word, because it brings up all sorts of mixed feelings and imagery to mind) in the Xavier mansion – no, really, it's more like a castle it's so large, and Erik has admittedly taken a wrong turn a few times and gotten himself lost – there have been more than a few nights in which he found himself unable to sleep.

Now, it could be because Erik has never been very open to sleep; growing up the way he had, through World War II as one of the targeted Jews, and then worse, under Sebastian Shaw's supervision because Erik was just that special, it had led him to be so paranoid as to rarely sleep, or, at least, take a very long time to relax enough to fall into that blissful reprieve known as sleep.

And so, with a sigh, he forces himself out of bed once again, for perhaps the third night in a row, and takes a trip downstairs.

Erik isn't sure what he intends on doing with himself until he is too exhausted to stand or pace about any longer; he could venture down to the study where the small television screen is located, or he could head for the library to read, or he could even go down to the kitchen for a glass of warm milk (as a young boy, his mother would sometimes make him a glass of warm milk, heating it in a pan on the stove, to help him get to sleep after he had a nightmare).

The metal bender opts for the latter, the fond memory accompanying it being the main appeal of the idea. He takes long, careful strides in what he hopes is the right direction, and soon, yes, it's correct, because he finds himself in the dimly lit room.

But the second he enters the kitchen, a voice calls out in a low, casual tone to him, "Couldn't sleep either, Erik?"

The older man jumps in his own skin, but he shows no signs of the reaction as he blinks mildly and steps further into the room. He raises a brow as he moves toward the refrigerator. He pretends not to be eying the slighter man on a stool at the breakfast bar, a glass of milk (warm or cold, he suddenly wonders, because if it's warm, then they oddly have more in common than he originally thought) in his hands.

"It's difficult to sleep in a place this large and sparsely populated," Erik supplies as a vague response. He goes about fetching a small pan, round and a little deep, and setting it on the stove. He pours milk into it, puts the jug away, and then lights the fire without touching the stove, using his gift to turn the metal knob at a distance.

"Really? Because I have honestly never thought of it that way. But then again, I'm a little biased in saying so, because I grew up here," Charles replies with a hint of a smile in his tone, but not much of one on his lips. "Although is that truly the reason why you can't sleep, friend? Or is it something else?"

"I swear to God, Charles, if you're trying to read my mind again…" Erik warns, but it's done partially out of jest. Not that Charles would be able to tell; Erik nearly always has a stern, serious expression on his face and tone to his voice.

"No, no," Charles replies with a light shaking of his head, "You know I ask permission first before doing that to an ally. But if you refuse to tell me…" And he leaves it at that, letting the implication speak for itself, this time a smirk appearing on the slight upward curl of his mouth.

Erik makes a scoffing sound and stirs his milk, it nearly ready to pour into a mug. "If you must know – since I get the feeling you'll continue to pry no matter how much I resist – I couldn't sleep because sleep avoids me like the plague. I have always been adverse to sleep because sleep means unawareness, a lack of protection, and nearly no guard. And I can't help but feel increasingly less secure when I know there are people who would love to find all of us right about now."

Charles makes a soft, "Ah," in understanding. He nods his head once, taking a thoughtful sip of his creamy beverage. "Hmm, yes, that would make sense. If you had asked each time this happened, I could have soothed your mind for you and helped you sleep. After all, I can assure you that we are quite safe here."

Erik decides he doesn't like this conversation any longer, and as he leans over the breakfast bar in front of his friend, warm milk in hand and steaming in light wisps in front of his face, he regards the other and changes the topic. "Why are you out of bed at this hour, Charles? It's only fair you tell me your reason in return."

To this, Charles smiles a bit and drops the gaze of his intensely blue orbs. "I couldn't sleep. I couldn't, not with all of the voices swarming my mind. I can't always control them when I am in and out of consciousness, and ironically, when I relax to sleep, that's when they become the loudest."

A dark grin plays across Erik's face. "You realize, Charles, if someone didn't know you were a mutant, talk like that would warrant you a trip to the loony bin."

Charles takes no offense. He chuckles airily instead. "Yes, I daresay it would. Makes you wonder if some of the labeled 'crazies' of the past were actually telepaths in disguise, if they truly were insane, or if it was both, them being turned insane from their telepathic powers out of control," the mind-reader remarks conversationally, but his gaze is back on Erik, studying him, and Erik knows that half of the jumble Charles just spoke was done on autopilot.

"How are the thoughts of others now, then? Will you be able to get to sleep soon?" Erik tries, and he purposely looks down into his mug, thumb rubbing the rim, fingers splayed over the warmth of the ceramic siding where he threaded them through the handle.

"They are quieter now that you've come to distract me from them. And yes, I should hope so," Charles sighs, leaning back on his stool and finishing off the last gulp of milk. He sets the class aside and idly wipes his upper lip with the side of his hand, above his thumb. Erik ignores the fact that he just tracked every small movement with his eyes. Charles goes on, "…And I should hope you may soon return to bed as well, Erik."

"Warm milk always did me good as a child," Erik shrugs, bringing the mug to his lips, his gaze elsewhere. "So we'll see."

Suddenly, Charles his leaning over the breakfast bar, one forearm on the surface to stabilize himself as his face comes closer to Erik's and Erik freezes, not sure why he's tensing at the proximity, and yet doing it nonetheless.

One of Charles' hands is out toward him, hovering timidly in the air. "And if it doesn't work, will you let me help you get to sleep? You need your rest, after all."

"So do you. So no, thank you, I'll pass," Erik quips a tad begrudgingly, shifting backward where he stands so that he isn't leaning over onto the bar any longer. "Go to bed, Charles."

"Why do you never let me in?" the younger man retorts with a frown. "I only try to help you, Erik. Many people only try to help you, and yet you constantly refuse them. Some people's intentions truly are well-meant; they aren't trying to gain something in return!"

"No?" Erik snaps, setting his mug down with a too-loud-to-be-normal clink. "Because I get the feeling that you do want something from me, Charles. What is it, exactly? Am I just another riddle to be solved to you, like how mutations in the body work, or how people like us exist from morphed genes? Is that what you want? Answers?"

Charles blinks, slowly retreating back. He stands from his stool and braces his hands on the edge of the countertop of the breakfast bar. "I am well aware that some secrets are better left as that, Erik: secrets. Someone shouldn't know everything about someone else, because that's a sort of violation of human nature that turns someone in a panicked mess." He sighs, pinching the bridge between his eyes. "Look," he says gently, raising his eyes to lock with Erik's, "I am not trying to figure you out like a puzzle. I just want your trust. Friends – comrades – they trust one another, don't they? And yet you seem to trust no one, even as I reach out to you."

"Trust is dangerous, and tricky," Erik replies lowly. "Trust can befall misery if you aren't careful. Because when you trust someone, you care about him or her, and when you care, you risk losing him or her, and because of that, you risk worsening your own state. Sorrow does awful things to people, and trust is the first step toward it."

His voice sounds wounded, hollow. And it stabs a pain into Charles' heart to hear it that way, spoken so guardedly, and even without his abilities, Charles can tell that Erik is peaking from experience, most likely from the root of his pain founded in his past.

Charles swallows, the tightening lump of tears in his throat, but he somehow manages to keep them from welling in his eyes. "I understand, Erik. And while I believe that is true, you're forgetting that trust can lead to other things as well; relief of a burden, solace in another, and companionship in that caring you mentioned. And those are the things I am offering you; I'm not trying to bring you more pain. The last thing I would ever give you is more grief."

Erik contemplates this, his icy blue eyes flecked with grey scanning Charles' face for any hints of deceit, but all he finds his genuine honesty. His muscles loosen, and his facial expression loses its hard edge, and when Charles notices this change, he seems to smile.

"Do you believe me, now?" Charles asks almost smugly.

"Don't exaggerate it," Erik scoffs, reaching for his milk again to have some sort of distraction. He sips at it, but it suddenly tastes too sweet to him, and suddenly lukewarm. He dumps it down the sink – it isn't a waste for someone as financially well-off as Charles – and sets his mug aside. Returning to the question, he does add, "But yes, I believe you. And I think, despite my best efforts, your natural charm, Charles, has made me trust you from the beginning, even against my better judgment."

After all, Charles saved Erik's life by jumping the gun and diving into the water after him, saving him from drowning when he was too blind with rage to realize he has to let the accursed submarine of Sebastian Shaw go if he wanted to continue living.

Charles chuckles again. "Well, thank God for my charms, then," he replies smoothly, stepping around the breakfast bar. "Because it seems they have let me crack even the toughest of nutshells."

Erik quirks an eyebrow. "Comparing me to a nut, now, are you? I would like to think I am more handsome than a nut."

"Oh yes, you definitely are, but you are not less stoic, sadly," Charles says, and as he gets closer, he tries to remind himself that this is not flirting, no, it certainly isn't, because why would two grown men flirt with one another? Preposterous, just the notion of it. This is merely… friendly teasing.

Erik scowls in jest. "Watch your tongue, Charles. Keep insulting me like that, I will leave you to the voices in your head as I return to my bedroom."

"So sorry, I didn't mean to offend," the shorter man says lightly, moving to lean back on one elbow onto the breakfast bar directly in front of his friend. He peers upward at the other man, and Erik seems torn between stepping back and moving forward. "Please stay and keep me company," he says, feigning a plea as he plays up the batting of his eyelashes.

"You're ridiculous," Erik snorts, looking away and shifting from foot to foot where he stands. He wants to leave; something tells him that he should be leaving. And yet he's rooted to the spot, trapped by an unseen force, and yet he knows it isn't Charles' doing, at least not with his gift, as much as Erik would love to pin the blame on that.

"But apparently very charming," Charles grins, and yes, all right, he admits that this is beyond friendly teasing. This is flirting.

The metal bender smiles. "Charming indeed. About as charming as a bratty child celebrating a win, even though he cheated to do so."

"Erik Lehnsherr, are you accusing me of cheating?" Charles fake-gasps with sarcastic offense in his tone. He lifts himself from the bar and folds his arms over his chest. "I never cheat."

"No? Not even during chess when I am beating your self-proclaimed brilliant ass at it?" Erik smirks devilishly, crossing his arms over his chest as well.

"No! I keep my powers to myself, I assure you," Charles frowns, and he is nearly pouting, very much like a bratty child, and it's endearing and makes Erik's smile morph into something genuine.

"Oh? My bad, then," he answers softly. Again, the nagging urge to leave overtakes him, and he isn't sure why he feels so uncomfortable. Perhaps it's the foreign warmth in his chest or perhaps it's the way he can't stop staring at Charles, and perhaps even he is overtired, but there is something that tells him that this situation is becoming treacherous. "Anyhow, I should be heading back to bed, now. It's nearly two in the morning."

Charles sighs, and he doesn't want to think about why he feels a tad disappointed. "Yes, yes; you're right, naturally. Goodnight, Erik." And he grabs his glass, moves to set it in the sink, and turns to leave.

Erik curses some part of himself. He feels like he let the moment slip away too soon, even though another part of him doesn't want that could-be moment to occur. It feels like there is a line somewhere, and if he crosses it, or blurs it, things will change in ways they shouldn't, or ways he's afraid to let them change, because it will only bode unwell for him in the future.

"Ah, Charles, wait…" Erik calls back when they are both in the hallway, headed for the main staircase to lead them to their respective bedrooms.

Charles halts and glances over his shoulder at the other, partially turning back toward his friend. "Yes, Erik?"

The metal controller debates with himself for a good couple seconds. Then, after a lick and sandwiching of his lips, he steps forward the few paces to Charles in slow, measured steps. The younger man faces him fully, and Erik murmurs, "I might not be able to get to sleep." His defenses are down, and he dislikes the vulnerable feeling it gives, but he's opening himself up, taking a chance in doing so, and he prays that Charles doesn't let him down.

And he doesn't. The young professor smiles warmly. "Well, then. Let's go to your room and you can lie down, and I can help you."

Somehow, the idea of being alone in a bedroom with Charles is more unsettling than being alone in a kitchen with Charles, and Erik nearly regrets the suggestion, but instead of showing it, he nods stiffly and they both march up the stairs, to the left, and into Erik's allotted room.

The bed is forgiving under Erik's weight as he lies down atop the sheets, and it dips as Charles sits on the edge of it, one leg bent at the knee on the bed while the other hangs off the side. He twists his body to place a cool hand – cool, Erik realizes, because his own face feels hotter than usual – to rest on the side of Erik's face. Charles' thumb strokes Erik's temple, urging him to close his eyes.

Erik does so, and he feels his heart beating faster in his chest as the oddness of the situation, at the proximity of their bodies, at the contact of hand and face, and at the tenderness of Charles' touch, his long fingers mindlessly flitting through Erik's hair on one side.

"This will only take a moment," Charles assures, and he closes his own eyes.

Inside Erik's mind, things are flying by quickly, like a swarm of busy, upset bees in a hive. Memories, thoughts, feelings, and troubles whiz by like cars on a highway. Charles slows everything down for a moment, like the time-stopping feeling people get when he freezes the bodies of others around them.

Erik stiffens, heart skipping a beat, when all the haphazard things in his head begin to settle, and a low buzzing, like the hazy, fuzzy tiredness of true exhaustion, starts to worm its way in. It's warm, welcoming, and is making him drowsy. He feels his body begin to relax as Charles takes over, quelling Erik's doubts and fears, soothing his thoughts, and sharing in his memories and feelings.

The memories are scattered; some are of the day and week, some are of Erik's late teens and early twenties, and some are of his warped childhood. Charles purposely chooses to stow away the negative memories keeping sleep at bay for Erik; the ones of his childhood, and the ones of his revenge on Shaw. He focuses instead on the more pleasant memories, moments found between Erik and few others, the others namely being the mutants he's recently met and has been training with for the past several days.

And when it's all said and done, and Erik's mind is calm, his heartbeat steady along with his breathing, and Erik is halfway between consciousness and unconsciousness, Charles feels something. He frowns a little in his meditation, and his fingers flex, his thumb lowering to rest on Erik's prominent cheekbone as his fingertips press a with slightly more pressure to Erik's scalp beneath his soft hair.

This feeling inside of Erik… It takes Charles a moment to recognize it, to place it amongst Erik's other subtle feelings, but this one is the cause of Erik's hesitation of earlier, and the cause of his earlier rapid heartbeat. It's… well, the only way to describe it is affection, something akin to the trust they spoke of, and something daringly close to love.

It startles Charles to the point where his eyelids flutter open and he retracts his hand as if burned. Erik takes no notice, already being at the shores of sleep, the hands resting on his abdomen loose and his chest rising and falling.

Charles feels his own heart swell in his chest, and he inhales and exhales slowly. Erik feels something for Charles, something strong that Erik himself probably has no clue about, and Charles would be lying if he said he didn't feel bonded to the slightly older man since they met.

Bonded in what way, he isn't sure, because he felt a kinship sort of bond with Raven the first time he met her, and has since grown up with her being like his sister. And yet with unpredictable Erik Lehnsherr, Charles is never positive of his relationship, because they even discussed tonight (indirectly, but still discussed) how unstable they are. How… evenly unstable, balanced equally in every single way with one another, and yet never quite meeting in the middle like a scale might. (Their relationship, a nearly tangible oxymoron.)

Charles worries his bottom lip for a second. He has an idea – or, rather, an urge – to do something, but he isn't sure how deeply asleep Erik is, and if it's at all a smart idea/urge to act on. He isn't sure he's prepared for any consequences it might bring.

Still, it's positively harassing him, so Charles caves in with a curt exhale, as if rolling his eyes at himself. He supports himself with his palms on the mattress, bends forward and over, and lowers his eyelids to half-mast as he ghosts his lips at an angle over the corner of Erik's mouth. Then, deeming it safe to carry on, Charles closes his eyes fully and places a gentle, loving kiss on Erik's closed lips.

When Charles pulls back, ears burning from his actions, he notices as Erik's lips part and he seems to sigh, but is still clearly asleep.

Charles' stomach flips, and his own breath hitches. On impulse, he reaches out and touches a fingertip to Erik's bottom lip, and then leaves a feather-light trail along the other mutant's jaw.

Erik shifts in his sleep, face turning toward Charles, tongue flicking out to lick his lips.

And the mind-reader knows that he should leave now, that Erik is fine and that Charles himself needs his rest, but it is so very tempting to curl up onto the bed beside Erik and feel his warmth, to lie beside him and press a kiss to his jaw, or his throat, or rub his hand in circles over Erik's chest while he sleeps.

But no, no, Charles knows his boundaries as a friend, and he is well aware that he already overstepped them, and possibly even shattered them.

So Charles stands and forces himself to leave the room and return to his own bedroom (the same one he's had since he was old enough to leave the crib). But even now, when he isn't trying to read Erik's mind, and even since he met the metal controller, he feels tethered to him, connected somehow, that bond he mentioned feeling more obvious the second Charles kissed Erik.

And now, even as he lies down in his own bed, the telepath can't help but feel a small tingle on his lips, and if he opens his mind enough to the person he just left, he can feel something like gratitude, and again something like love, and somehow, this helps silence the thoughts of others that previous kept Charles awake.

XxX

Even through decades, even across miles, and even as they become quasi-enemies/only friends in memory, that tethered feeling is still there.

Erik feels it even when he tries to block Charles out with his helmet; Charles feels it even when he isn't trying to search for Erik.

All the while, Erik remembers a kiss in a dream and an echo of kindness and warmth. And all the while as well, Charles remembers failing to help Erik more, to make him see the better side of the world, and he regrets a little more each day, and he wonders if Erik has any regrets either, or if Magneto has taken over the Erik whom Charles once knew.

But still, even though the doubts and battles, and even between visits and glimpses of one another, they are tethered and bound together in a way, and they can't neglect the feeling, even if other feelings overshadow what once could have been love between them.