Sun in an Empty Room
Summary: "Charles' fingers were dancing on the jacket, the shirt, the pants… The same fingers then danced on Erik's flesh also." Raven's POV. Oneshot.
Disclaimer: I just own the plot.
Sun in an Empty Room
When was the first time I realized it?
Probably it was that one night at the château, when Erik was talking to Charles. They were talking about Charles' master thesis. They were at the balcony, their silhouettes neat against the velvety purple sky. I remembered the sight of it very well, the sight of Erik in his leather jacket. The sight of him leaning more and more towards Charles, who was wearing his gray cashmere sweater. They talked. And talked. And talked. From the sight of it I would've believed if one of them told me that the next day the world is going to end.
I personally thought that the thesis itself was interesting, sure, but he was just theorizing. He was always like that: He theorized things. Whatever happened in the surface, or in the flesh of a mutant like himself, he turned into words. He would even add bits of poetry to reinforce the credibility. People thought him as smart, passionate, but it was me who knew that gorgeous secret of his. I wondered if Erik had realized that—by any means? Or it wouldn't matter at all. It was the sight of them together. I was curious. From here, from a spot several angles below the balcony, I would frown from time to time, trying to understand the no-distance world that they were staying in.
Sometimes I'd hear music. The faintest bits of them. Vintage American jazz, perhaps, or was it Django Reinhardt? I had never known about the latter before, if Erik hadn't told me. The reason he told me was because of Charles, too, because I asked him whether it was possible that he, Charles, liked other kinds of music other than his regular Haydn and Mozart. "Oh, he likes European jazz."
His smile as he mentioned it was something I could never forget for a long time.
"Even all American jazz sounds the same to me," I said, "And now, European jazz?"
"Yes," he said. A faint trace of smile was on his face, "When I was in Switzerland, they were crazy about Parisian street jazz. Django Reinhardt and Stéphane Graphelli, respectively. They are more gypsies with songs than musicians. Charles fell for their music the first time I lent him the LPs."
He was walking slowly next to me. I wished it would last. Longer than this talk, longer than this night… If only. Looking at his tall build next to me, his German face, more If Onlys sprung up in my consciousness.
"I wonder," I said, "You're not even here longer than I, but you've known a lot more about Charles than I do."
He said nothing.
He was really handsome, Erik. Even with such tight-lipped expression he was really handsome. Probably it was his dark-brown hair that framed his square jaws perfectly—or those deeply-carved eyes. He had such piercing sight that went well with sadness. He knew it well, sadness, the way he knew the 217468 in the back of his forearm. I looked at him. For a long time we exchanged sight. I couldn't touch his mind.
When he finally looked away, I knew I never could.
"We'll talk later." He said, patting on my shoulder.
I nodded.
"You're going back to the library?"
"Yes," he said, "Tell Charles I'm there, will you? He was sleeping when I left his room."
I imagined him returning to his blocks of French books in the library. The mental image of him reading scared me off at times. There was no person that seemed to me looking better with books than him, not even Charles. He was always so serious, Erik, the sight of his passionate face hurt me.
Something that hurt me even more was the last sentence:
He was sleeping when I left his room.
"When I left his room," I replied.
"Erik's at the library?"
"Yes," I said.
"Thanks, Raven," Charles kissed me lightly on the forehead as always when something made him really glad. Most of the times he did kiss me that way, of course, but when there was something that made him really glad, the kiss felt different. His lips were warmer.
"I wonder," I said at his back, "What is it between you and Herr Lehnsherr that I haven't yet understand."
Charles turned around, although he made no attempt to step closer.
"We've been talking about his real power, Raven," he said with a smile, "The place between rage and serenity, that is, but Erik has problems in controlling his inner rage."
"This dishonesty is getting sweet, Charles."
"Do I have to read your mind?"
"Go on," I said. Then in the mind: I wish I was the one who could read yours.
Charles smiled. I did the same, although it was more of a forced one.
"Erik's really handsome, is he not? Here I am reading your mind, Charles, and bet you this one is right."
He shrugged.
"Where is this thing going, Raven? You're not suspecting me of—"
"Go on, read my mind."
In the mind: Having the same fondness as mine about Erik.
Charles smiled, but said nothing. We remained staring at each other for a long time. He had such gentle eyes. In the past those eyes had formed one of my If Onlys. He would never understand, Charles, even until today he didn't.
When he left, I was left with such gentle warmth.
It was the same night when I heard the clacking of their lips meeting each others. I was curious so I followed Charles to the library. It was never my favorite place, the library, with the yellowish light and piles of books. They always smelled like dust, but Charles had always told me that such smell was something precious, not something gained. The window was left half-open near the corridor. I wondered which one between the two that had been so careless. Were they in such a hurry to meet each other's lips they'd forgotten that between them and the outer world was just a sheer lace curtain away?
I watched them as they inhaled each other's warmth.
Charles was on the ebony table. Erik was above him, as if telling me implicitely that he had owned Charles, bone and blood. I watched him, Erik, took out Charles' sweater, shirt, unbuckled his belt, pulled down the jeans off his thin legs… I watched them. I kept my eyes open. I was left breathless, surprised. I didn't know whether I was wishing that I was Charles that was possessed by Erik, or the other way around. I had dreamed to be possessed by Charles, but the first time I'd landed my eyes on Erik I knew that I wanted to be possessed by him, too. I couldn't: I transferred those silent affections towards Hank, who was as clueless as I was.
Erik took off his leather jacket, his black shirt… He was always wearing all black. He was like a book with the cover hidden behind a blank paper. Charles' fingers were dancing on the jacket, the shirt, the pants… The same fingers then danced on Erik's flesh also. His flesh so white. His movements were the ones with the best precisions, like the one he always did as he leafed through his books. I knew those fingers would never work on me with the same way—or that I had just realized that, I didn't know.
I held my breath. Their lips met. Clack, clack, the wet clacks so loud as if the glasses, too, had been broken. Charles smashed the table with his palms. Erik swept the books off of it so that he'd be free to move even more… My eyes hurt. Looking at them made me aware of the pain I'd since long left unsaid. Besides that pain I felt nothing else. I kept watching them, watching, until I felt as if I was immune to the sight.
Erik's fingers were long, very long, the fingers of a fine pianist. And the same fingers danced on Charles' naked chest, neck, then his fly… I had never seen his fly reacted to a touch in such intensity. I thought I was lost in the view already I had started imagining thing. But none of this was a dream.
The pain was hitting me right on the chest. I didn't know why I kept watching them. I was just torturing myself. The sound of their breaths filled the air. At this point I felt as if I was already in the same room with them, with them enjoying my presence.
Which one of them whom I'd wished I'd been?
In the morning, I asked Charles: "Which one is stronger: A concealed affection or an explicit one?"
He stopped walking, looked at his shoes, then smiled. I wondered if that one was really a smile. If it was there, the smile, it was too faint.
"I'd say both have their own strengths and weaknesses, Raven, if an affection is concealed—Say, Raven, why are you asking me about this?"
I said nothing.
"Alright, here goes: If something is concealed the power would be lead to implode. That said: the strength is an internal one. In the other hand, if the same affection is to be directed externally—in your word: explicitely—the strength may be visible, clear to the others' eyes, but well…" He paused, as if trying to correct one or two logical connections between the two.
"Say, do I have to read your mind?" he asked me with a chuckle.
I said nothing. I didn't even smile.
"Alright, then… well, on second thought, probably the concealed one is way stronger, because implosions are well… most of the times, it is being multiplied by several internal factors. Now do I confuse you?"
"No," I said, "You're trying to confuse yourself. You always theorize. Theorize, theorize, then you start forgetting what you're really thinking about."
I looked up. The sky was cloudless. It was painted in such clear, boundless blue. Such perfect epitome of blue, the kind that I'd gladly took into the lungs as I breathed in.
Charles smiled.
"It seems that I really have to read your mind."
"Sure," I said, "You'll find nothing, because in my mind I don't have what you really want to think about."
"And this conversation heads to…?"
"I want a conclusion, Charles, which one is stronger?"
"I'd go with a concealed one."
I smiled. "You're a clever man, Charles."
Patting on his shoulders, I let him fall several steps behind. The sun's warmth was just right. The rays did burn my eyes, though, I couldn't look up for too long.
You understand jazz. You read a lot. You understand complicated literatures, French, and whatever those sciences I could never even imagine to understand, but you're not good at hiding things. I guess that is kind of typical with clever men.
He read it. I felt it. I smiled.
I took a long breath, imagining the shade of blue in my lungs as I felt the cold wind brushing the inner sides of my nose gently.
"Don't sweat it, I know." I said, "Sometimes I wonder who I'd rather be: you or Erik. But then, I could always be one of you anytime I want it."
"Who's that you'd rather be?" he asked me as if unperturbed. He walked faster to catch up with me.
"Erik," I said, "That way I could learn to possess you, Charles, and that way you could learn not to feel responsible for my blueness, or me being your "sister". I thought things would turn out differently, until he came and took my place."
He smiled.
"If one day I change my mind and say that I'd rather be you, it's because Erik is such a handsome man—that's what any sane woman who could change shapes would tell you now and then. It's a part of fact."
"I always thought you're cleverer, far cleverer, than you think you are, Raven—I'm right."
"It is you who'd taught me to theorize." I said, "And you're not mad because I'd figured that out, out of all people?"
"One day they'll have to know, too."
Erik, who'd just finished his routine morning run, approached us with a towel around his neck. He was wearing a gray sweatshirt with loose jogging pants of the same color.
"I have to see Hank at the lab," I said, looking at them interchangeably, "Guess now it'll be just the both of you."
I went back to my room. I closed the sheer lace curtains to blur the sharp rays a bit. In the same warm shade I tried to remember the scene I'd seen last night, behind a sheer lace curtain. The scene I could never reach, the scene I'd never be a part of. I'd seen someone who I could never have, and he would never have me. I guess everything would be a bit distant from me now.
I sat on the bed, looking at the sky through the curtains. I lied there for a long, long time, probably afternoon, and thought that I wasn't a part of the room. I was looking at an empty room with rays of the sun filtering through the curtains forming blurred white trapezes on the ceramic tiles.
Everything would be a bit distant from now on.
Strange that I didn't feel so bad about it anymore.
Bromance is back in trend! After quite a long wait after Brokeback Mountain, 300, and The Eagle—I guess this is the time for McFassy!