Erik's blood surges through his veins as he struggles, grasping, reaching; the submarine is only just out of reach. If he tries a little harder, if he focuses himself a little more -
There's someone in the water grabbing onto him. It's a distraction, and one he doesn't need. He tries to lash out and reach that much more just a little bit, and, and it's gone. The silhouette of the submarine recedes into the water of the distant ocean, and then there are words in his head, waterlogged and unfamiliar.
He stops trying to bend the world and lets the voice - no, the - man, except they're somehow the same entity pull him to the surface. (Because the man with the voice is saying things like you're not alone, you'll never need to be alone again and Erik has been alone for, for such a long time; his chest stutters at the thought of it.)
Erik shivers onto the boat and follows the man through to a bedroom of some sort, where he finds, thankfully, a towel. And a window (porthole?) and he can't help but stare out into the darkness, but it's... empty. He expects nothing else, and yet the sight of it, black and silent and still, drives into him like a dagger. He'll follow the blade of it, follow it to the ends of the earth and drive it into Schmidt, he'll - "hello? hello?"
"I... sorry," he apologies, "I was thinking."
The voice - man - he should figure out his name, names are important - asks, "About the man on the submarine?" and Erik nearly responds but realizes, no, that wasn't a question.
He supplies one instead. "Who... are you? Not just your name, either, who really?"
"Professor Charles Xavier. Charles. I'm... like you."
Erik runs through things that could mean, comes up, first, with Jew, but no. That's not right. Doesn't fit the situation, doesn't - and then he remembers from just minutes ago, in the water; the voice in his head, clear as day despite being in the water. And... ah. Ah.
He lacks, he thinks, the capacity to deal with this, smiles despite himself. It's a surprise; it's... "unbelievable, you understand? I, are, are there others, as well?"
Charles smiles, nods: it's a casual gesture, unaffected and, Erik thinks, a little bit beautiful. Beautiful for what it means and the way it looks, perhaps he's caught up in this but, after all, if anything is worth being caught up in, surely it's being validated (normal, perhaps, or something a little closer to it, a type of human rather than an unwanted one).
Erik doesn't expect his own motion but he's surging forward, somehow, unexplainably smoothing a hand along Charles's face; the expression that greets him is... incomparable. It's not the same as anything he's known before - for one, Charles's face is soft and curved at the edges, not hardened like him; an easier childhood, then. But more than that it's something in his eyes, something different from everyone else Erik has ever met.
But it's a familiar difference, in that he recalls seeing it in mirrors.
Erik blinks, then, realizing something. "You're... letting me touch your face."
"Yes."
"...why?"
Charles smiles again, and he'd hate ever to admit it but it makes Erik return the gesture. His hand slips over, the pad of his thumb brushing over Charles's thumb. He doesn't know why it feels okay to do this. But when Charles replies, his lips don't move even a centimeter, and it's the most damned wonderful thing. "Because I saw you out there. Because I saw how hard you tried to do something you thought was worth doing. And I couldn't take something you want away from you twice."
The crush of Charles's lips to his own is unexpectedly strong; he tries not to think or worry about it, because, God, he's not alone. He can have help now, he can - he has a chance to do what he has to do, and that chance is gripping his hair, parting Erik's lips with his tongue.
Erik pulls away, only because it's too much.
But Charles is frowning, incredibly. Erik is, he's out of his element here, can't move and bend people like he can metal. Suddenly his situation is strange and different and he's not alone, he's not alone, it's a strong blow as her realizes it; being treated as an experiment as a child and being kept alone as he grew. And now - someone else? Someone like him? And then there's the voice, "Erik. It's alright. It's going to be alright now."
It's harder than he expects to get Charles out of clothes. But then of course it is - they've been absolutely soaked through, sopping wet. To which he should be thankful, really, it's just he is not alone and he should like that to be physically evident as soon as possible; peeling cold fabric off a man is not the ideal situation. And yet. Once it's rid of, Charles's torso heaves with every breath, inhale and exhale, and Erik has to wonder that he in all probability looks the same, his lips parted a little pathetically, eyes staring.
Charles says please, twice somehow, in his voice and in his voice in Erik's mind. It's certainly something; Erik feels, a little, like he had ought to float something over but that makes no sense so he ignores the thought.
He touches, instead, because that's what you do in a situation like this, presses his thumbs against Charles's collarbone, and watches the way his neck cranes back in reaction. It's like bending metal, Erik decides. Similar but different. Charles won't snap (at least he hopes not) but they're both malleable, changing form under Erik, it's - an unusual thought process, he realizes. He wonders if Charles ever draws the same parallels - and he's never wondered anything like that before, because when has he ever known anyone else who could ever think of humans as something else?
There's been enough time and enough reflection, Erik thinks. He just... he's still overwhelmed by facts, really. Schmidt, submarine. Telepathy, Charles, Charles Xavier: it's a good name, strong and meaningful; Charles Xavier is Erik's not alone. And that's - horrifyingly sentimental, God, fuck, what is he doing? What is he thinking? He needs to stop, so he does. Charles's thigh is full and healthy when he bends his body down to kiss it, but all of a sudden that's not enough, not what he's here for. There's mutants, others! One of them is right here under him and that's something that Erik happens to know he wants very much, the companionship and the equality.
Once Erik is inside he feels like he's dreaming, like he'll wake up with arm outstretched, reaching for something impossible, metal coins falling to the ground all around him. (But that was one of his nightmares, wasn't it, so he must be awake.) Still, fueled by the insistent belief that he could lose this at any moment, wake up in a puddle of mud broken free of some sweet illusion, Erik moved fast. It was rough, hard, must have hurt though he wondered if the telepath could convince his own mind it didn't, but God he needed this. Somehow. Not in general, just - right now, here, with Charles, with a mutant.
With someone like him.
In time, his jerky rhythm sufficed and he came like that; the walls came down, after, and when Erik looked down at Charles, he felt a suffusion of guilt. He began to gather his thoughts to, to apologi -
"Don't. Don't. I wouldn't have let you," Charles assured, "if I wasn't alright with it. Don't misjudge me, Erik."
"Did you-?"
"No need to... it was obvious from your face."
Erik shook his head, amused. Obvious... well. He hadn't had need of masking himself lately, hadn't needed to interact much with people he wasn't... intimidating. He'd have to work on that, it seemed. "Charles, I - I mean, thank you. Not... for this, for... I would have never forgiven myself if I..."
"I expect you would find it difficult to forgive yourself for losing him. Particularly, Erik, because you would be dead."
"...yes. Well."
"And you're welcome, my friend."