The Apropos of Peace
"Erik- this is pointless."
Charles tells him for what's got to be the millionth time. The younger man's looking at him with those piercing blue orbs and his full lips parting in an almost inaudible sigh, loose strands of soft brown hair framing his gentle features. Erik feels a smile tug at his lips at the familiar pang of frustration Charles sends his way, and almost feels like this isn't worth the younger man's worry, but stops himself. Charles has stopped him from doing this far too many times, he's convinced him it's pointless over and over, but this time- Erik won't take no for an answer.
"Come on Charles- we've talked about this." Charles brows furrow when Erik pushes the pistol into those long, (slender) fingers. He can feel the vibrations of the metal; can sense the bullets shifting about in the chamber. Heavy and light and solid all at once, the molecules are figuratively at his fingertips, and he's itching to manipulate them, to control them through a rush of adrenalin. He knows he can stop the bullet; he just wants to know how quickly he can do it.
By the look in Charles' thoughtful eyes, and the way he lets his hair cover them with shadows- he doesn't approve one bit. But he's never approved of this, and Erik doesn't think he ever will, but he doesn't need too. He just needs to trust him and pull the trigger.
He moves his hands forth and lightly covers his friend's fingers with them, tightening his grasp around the machine. He can feel the cold skin tense beneath his hold as Erik lifts the weapon to the height of his forehead.
"You know I can stop it Charles-" and he's about to protest, tell Erik what he's told him a thousand times, "Yes, I know you don't think it's a challenge, but it's something I need to do." There's a pause as he lets go of the pale flesh and lets his hands fall by his sides, silently thankful when Charles keeps the gun held to his head.
His friend shakes his head a little and there's more frustration printed on his smooth, considerate features,
"Erik- you know I'm not comfortable with this-"
"I know Charles, but please, this is important." He keeps going before his friend can interrupt, "You know it is. I need to know how quickly I can stop the bullet. You know this is necessary. After Shaw…" He trails off, and not much more needs to be said.
He feels something twist painfully in his chest and quickly pushes the horrid image of Charles lying, bleeding in the sand, covered in (so much) red with hands pressed against the seeping hole in his leg. He tries not to think about it. "Please, Charles. We've talked about this."
Charles takes a moment, a long moment where the only sound's the ruffling of his coat against his slight frame, the rustle of the leaves not far from the mansion, the breath he releases through pink lips. Erik holds his breath, waiting for approval from that sharp, silky British accent.
"Fine- fine. Erik. Just this once, this once." He internally releases his breath. His friend looks like he's mentally bracing himself, and if this were another situation, Erik might have found it in himself to be amused. But Charles is holding a gun to his forehead and his finger's pressing a little tighter against the trigger, and Erik needs to concentrate on anything besides the loud beating of his heart.
One, Erik hears Charles mentally announce, and the soothing voice in his mind does wonders for his heart- in more ways than one (ways he doesn't quite understand). He waits.
Two, Erik holds his breath momentarily-
Three-
"No, I can't. Erik, I-"
"Charles!" Erik's irritation seeps out of him involuntarily because he can't help as it wells within him and escapes. They've talked about this so many times. Charles won't hurt him- they both know it- he won't-
"Erik." The gun's lowered and Erik wants to scream in frustration. "I'm sorry-" Charles shakes his head, tousled hair ruffling with the movement. "I can't."
Some childish part of Erik wants to role his eyes, wants to yell, because Charles can, he knows he can, he just won't.
He knows he's broadcasted his thoughts a little too loudly, however, when Charles' eyes darken slightly. The gun still in those pale hands, but it's pointed towards the ground, and Erik has half a mind to pull it back up again.
He decides to try one more time.
"Charles, you know I need this. Don't you trust me?"
There's another moment of silence when the pistol hangs a little too heavily in his pale fingers, when the beat of their hearts is the loudest thing to be heard. Erik licks his lips,
"I need this."
A moment.
"Fine."
It's abrupt and quick, but it comes and Erik is surprised, surprised at the resolve he can see seeping from those features, the knowing in those orbs. He's taken back a moment because he thought it would be harder but this… this is…
"You want to know how quickly you can stop a bullet at point blank?" Erik barely has time to nod, "Fine. Fine, go ahead. Stop it."
And then he's lifted the gun up with a steady but quick hold, and he's raising it and raising it-
But he isn't pointing it at Erik.
He's pointing it at himself.
Those clever fingers are raising the gun, and Charles' holding it against his own forehead.
Erik feels his heart stop.
"You want to stop it, Erik? Go ahead. Stop the bullet."
The pistol is pressed tightly against the side of Charles' head, and his fingers squeezing down on the trigger. Erik can feel the bullet spinning in the chamber, can sense the push and the pull of the forces right before the lead is launched-
And he's never felt so much anger in his life.
The gun's torn from Charles' hands before another second goes by, and lies in a mangled heap of metal meters away from them- scrunched and broken and utterly unrecognisable. The precious metal had been manipulated and transformed into something hideous and unknown and lies still and innocently upon green grass.
Nothing happens for a moment.
The only traces that indicate anything's happened are the bruises on Charles' fingers and the rage burning in Erik's eyes.
"What the hell were you thinking!?" Erik's shouting, breaking the silence, and he's loud and angry and fury's bubbling up inside of him. His heart feel as if it's about to beat out of his chest and his taking a single long strong forward towards Charles- Charles who's reckless and careless and seems to be utterly frozen at the moment, all wide eyes and pale flesh. His lips are parted as if he's about to speak- but Erik doesn't let him.
Instead, his hands reach forward and roughly grab his friend's slender wrists, fingers wrapping around the fragile bone and pulling Charles against his chest roughly. He's gritting his teeth and it's a little hard to breath, but he forces his words out in another mad rush of anger, hands tightening against the other's with strength so unexpected Charles lets out an intake of breath as he's violently pulled against Erik.
"What the hell, Charles?! Are you mad!?"
"Erik-"
"Don't you dare! Don't you dare Charles- have you lost your mind?"
Charles parts his lips and he's about to say something, and Erik knows he should calm himself he really should but he can't because- because-
"What on earth were you thinking? Were you thinking? How could you be so reckless, so stupid-"
Erik!
It's the mental yell which grabs his attention, and he regains his breath. He's still inhaling and exhaling sharply and his anger's bubbling madly beneath his skin, but he's gathered himself a little more. His mind's going haywire, full of so much fury and rage it was frightening even to himself. But for a moment he's able to focus, focus on something besides the madness blinding him- focus on-
Oh.
His fingers are clenched around Charles' wrists so tightly he swears he can feel the bones shift beneath one of them. His hands are digging grooves into that pale unblemished skin, and he's drawn Charles so close to him they're chest to chest and the younger mans' standing on his toes. His features are twisted in something akin to pain, and those deep orbs are wide in something Erik doesn't quite recognise.
It's an instantaneous reaction.
He let's go like he's been burned, hands letting go of Charles and pushing himself back. He stumbles back a step and gathers his composure a little more, lifting his darkened eyes to glare at Charles. Charles, who's standing there, eyes dimmed and apologetic and bruised fingers outstretched towards Erik, and Erik has nothing to say to him.
He shakes his head in a mad, abrupt motion, teeth gritting together and fists clenched by his sides. There's a fire in his eyes and a flush to his cheeks and he really just wants to hit something-
Charles opens his mouth and it's like he's about to apologise but-
"Don't."
He doesn't quite think about what he's to do next, just lets out a frustrated breath from his lips and stalks past his friend, close enough to feel the ruffle of his coat against his trousers but not enough feel Charles' hands brushing against his arm.
With a heavy head and a heavier heart, he quickly moves past Charles' whose calling his name and the damn gun that started it all.
"Erik!"
And walks away.
Cooling down takes a while.
In the beginning, he's utterly consumed by his anger, his rage, and it takes two broken doorknobs and a few forks bent beyond recognition until he fully gathers why.
He thinks about it- and first, he settles on ignorance. Charles was ignorant, and reckless, and could have caused serious damage to himself. It was a stupid thing to do, it was a very, very stupid thing to do, and for a short while, Erik lets himself believe that's why he'd lost his temper, because Charles wasn't thinking clearly like he should have been. Because Charles had been wild, thoughtless, irresponsible. Because Charles had been rash and careless and impulsive.
And it works, for a while at least. For a while, he just bends some more cutlery to vent the frustration bubbling beneath his skin. He sits in the corner of the kitchen, and lifts one fork at a time.
(It doesn't last forever.)
He's mad yes, but not because Charles was rash or careless or reckless. Because Charles doesn't do rash or careless or reckless, Charles isn't any of these things. He's controlled and clever and too wise for his age, he's bright and witty and thoughtful. Charles knows the danger; he isn't arrogant or ignorant of how close he could have calm to putting a bullet in his own head. Charles knows, and at that moment, Erik knows it too.
So when that wave passes over, and he's almost run out of forks, he forces himself to stop and take a deep breath. His friend knows to be thoughtful and alert, he's a calm Erik hasn't seen in a long while, a calm that sometimes scares him. He's understanding and doesn't rush and Erik knows Charles is all of these things, and that's where it gets complicated.
He thinks about what happened (even though he really doesn't want to), he forces his mind to replay that moment over and over and over just so he can get even a little idea of what was going on in his friends head when he told Eric to stop the bullet.
He thinks more clearly, analysing trying to figure out what'd made it go all wrong-
("Charles, you know I need this. Don't you trust me?")
(Erik wants to role his eyes, wants to yell, because Charles can, he knows he can, he just won't.)
("I can't-")
Don't you trust me?
Don't you trust me?
Don't you trust me?
Oh, Erik thinks- the elevated fork dropping to the tiles with a loud clang (he pays it no mind), when it suddenly comes to him.
How could he have been so blind?
Oh Lehnsherr, you fool.
The fork lays there motionless on the floor, and Erik doesn't give it a second thought as he scrambles to his feet and rushes through the door.
Erik wasn't mad because Charles was ignorant, because he wasn't.
Erik was afraid.
A fear he hadn't felt in so long, a fear he'd never think he'd fear again. He's fine when the pistol's pointed at him, when it's his own life he has to save. But Charles…
Oh, oh he'd been so, so blind. All this time.
You fool.
Finding Charles is easier than he had expected.
He's got his back to Erik, though the metal manipulator knows Charles is aware of his presence. He's standing outside on the balcony, hands perched on the fence when his shoulders tense a little, and Erik holds his breath for a moment.
He has so many things swirling through his head at that moment he almost forgets what he's to say. He wants to yell, to apologise, to confront Charles- he's tried to plan a speech, to force his mind to think of what to say, but right when he sees those slender shoulders and slender wrists, it escapes him.
He's standing maybe a meter away, but even from here he can see the blemished beginnings of bruises along those pale wrists. The purple which has started to collect around those long fingers, and he silently curses. How could he have been so stupid?
This isn't the time, he tries to calm his mind like Charles has taught him. Tries to slow the loud buzzing of his thoughts and the loud beat of his heart which seems to drown out everything else, and forces himself to take a few steps forward.
He doesn't look at Charles immediately. His hands find the railing and the feel of the cold, solid metal beneath his fingertips calms him a little, comforts him as he tries to forget the molecules of metal bending to his will and deforming the gun from earlier.
Calm your mind, Erik. He takes a deep breath.
"Charles-"
"I'm sorry." his eyes widen a little and his eyebrows lift in surprise. He turns to his friend completely to stare at those gentle features and Charles' soft voice breaks the silence. The younger man's hair is tousled and covering that piercing blue gaze, and Erik suddenly wants to brush those curls away, to caress his thumb across the soft skin, to-
"Erik, I'm so sorry, I hadn't realised it- I was being incredibly insensitive and I shouldn't have done it, I know, but I couldn't-"
"Charles." Erik repeats, and his voice is louder and firmer than before. Charles closes his lips and turns his blue, blue eyes to meet Erik's, fingers splayed almost nervously against the railing, and suddenly, Erik knows exactly what he's to do.
In that moment when he's got Charles undivided attention, he remembers the fear that crawled across his spine in shivers when the gun was pressed against the pale temple. He remembers how his breath escaped him when he felt the bullet spinning in the chamber, so close to Charles. He remembers the terror which enveloped him at the sheer thought of something happening to his first friend, to only friend, to his wonderful friend, and knows exactly what he wants.
For the first time since he was a child, he feels something stronger than his hatred for Shaw.
For the first time since he was a child, he's feeling more nervous and brave about something just within his reach.
For the first time since he laid his steely grey gaze on the optimistic, bright, thoughtful professor,
he kissed him.
He pulls his hands from the railing and places them gently on those narrow hips, pulling the telepath closer and ravishing those soft lips he's thought about for a long time.
Charles is surprised, at first, and he's a little breathless. But once Erik's lips meet his, the metal manipulator feels the reaction, the response, feels those soft soothing hands move to wrap around his neck and pull him further in. He can feel Charles' tongue against his own, feel the warmth and life through every sense that is him, and he knows this is why he was so afraid.
The kiss is soft and sweet and he's never felt anything like this before, never felt like this about anyone before. And it scares him and terrifies him and makes him want to linger in those soft lips and bright eyes and smooth British accent forever.
He fingers move to graze against those prominent cheekbones without breaking the kiss, savouring the taste that was whiskey and sweet and fresh all at once, savouring Charles.
When they break apart and Charles' eyes are closed, long eye lashes dark in contrast to his pale skin, and his fingers are clutching Erik's shirt like it's the only thing keeping him up. One of Erik's hands is one Charles' hip, the other cradling his cheek, and they're a hairs breadth away from one another. Charles parts those eyelids and Erik can see the beautiful eccentric blue peering through, and his friend (love) tilts his head to the side and his lips brush over Erik's fingers in a gentle kiss.
For the first time in a long time, Erik feels a love stronger than hate.
When he talks, still capturing Charles in an intimate, moving embrace- the gold and amber of the sun dying their skin, his words are soft and etched with something he doesn't quite recognise.
The same thing he saw in Charles' eyes earlier.
"Don't do that again, Charles."
Charles breathes out a soft, warm laugh that curls around Erik's heart in a comforting embrace, and sends the best kind of pleasant shivers across his arms.
"Only if you don't ask me to shoot you, again, my friend."
He feels a smile stretching his lips and his gaze softening to focus on the wonderful man in his arms.
"You're impossible."
He chuckles a little and Charles' joins in, closer to Erik than he'd ever been before, in more ways than one.
Erik takes a moment to think about the gun, the twisted unrecognisable metal and wonders if it's still lying dissolute on the far grounds of the mansion. He thinks about the warmth in his embrace and those piercing blue eyes, about the most beautiful laughter and the softest lips. He remembers what he told Charles once, not too long ago. He remembers telling him that peace was never an option, but now, he thinks he might reconsider.
Yes, he thinks as he tightens his hold a little on his love and Charles' head rests comfortably on his shoulder as the sun goes down. He knows they've much and more to talk about, to think about, but for now- for knows Erik truly knows that peace was always an option.
And as the sun sets a little more and bathes them in gold, he thinks he's found it.