disclaimer! I get tired of always writing this, but. You'd know if I owned these guys, 'cos the beach scene would've had lovemaking in it.

More 1stclass_kink de-anoning. But in secret. And this is ultra-gooshy and lemony so. What? The prompt kink was "romance".

Just Like This

His back is on fire, his mind wracked with the pain of everyone on the island, his body still tense and screaming from earlier exertion and the ghost of Shaw's death still in his head, and Charles is still holding on.

His gloves hands are tight on Erik's shoulders, and all he can do is stare into his eyes, pleading, asking, why Erik why you did this why you were the better man Erik why did you kill him please why.

It's as much as he can do to just find some solace, find some shelter, to keep himself awake, because all of this is killing him and he cannot die.

Erik stares down at him, all wordless apologies and silent prayers. He didn't deserve Charles before this, there is no way he deserves him now.

So selfless.

So perfect.

And he ruined it.

Erik is not stupid. Years of Shaw's torture, and he learned.

It will be nothing short of a miracle if Charles could walk again.

And he caused it.

Erik is cursing the world, cursing Shaw, cursing himself, tears welling in his eyes, teeth gritting, and he can only gasp out his words.

"I want you by my side."

Lying on a beach, in the sand, in the middle of November, the only warmth Charles has is Erik, holding him close and crying. He wants to take off that helmet, to wrap himself in his mind, to fill Erik up with only him, Charles, there, everywhere. He doesn't want tears anymore.

Shaw is dead. Erik is a murderer, but he is an avenger.

The war has been averted. They did their job.

All he wants his Erik. They won. This isn't supposed to end tragically.

Where is their happy ending.

Charles looks up at him, his eyes soaked, his body broiling, and he says, "So do I."

But not like this.

xxx

Azazel didn't care from the beginning who's side he was on. He wanted to win, was all, and so he did all of his duties with a noncommittal, grim satisfaction. Erik's request to take Charles to a hospital was understandable, and it had no repercussions he could think of. After everyone was delivered safe and sound—the good one, Xavier, he had passed out by then—Angel scowled at who could've been their leader and left with Azazel to find a new place to stay.

So, noncommittally, Azazel took her hand in his, watched as the humans rushed to help the one who looked as one of their own, scoffed, and then they were gone.

xxx

When Charles woke up again, Erik was there, his head in his hands, his mind tensed and hurt, but he was there.

Erik looks up in shock when he feels Charles' presence in his mind, and he quickly covers his red and swollen face again, away, hidden. His heart, his mind, they scream of happiness, of bliss, relief. They also scream mercy, help, I'm so sorry Charles I did this I ruined this I'm so sorry forgive me forgive me please I'm so sorry.

The only thing Charles has wanted to do is absolve him, and when he takes Erik in his arms, that is what he does.

xxx

Charles can walk.

Erik is sure, he has to pay. If Charles can walk, then what does he have to lose? He spent too much time praying, too much time trying to bargain with whatever may be up there for something this perfect to happen without a cost.

This thought keeps him on reserve. Waiting. Expecting.

He was never this happy.

It must be a sin to be this happy.

For anything to seem this perfect.

Charles can walk, he's alive, and he's with Erik.

Something has to give.

xxx

Back at the mansion—that house was way too big for just Charles, it's no wonder he decides to make it a schoolhouse, and he smiles as he says it, inviting, including Erik—Charles hears him think this, and drops a cup in shock. Erik knows he heard, and he has no way to explain other than to tell the truth.

To Charles, the truth hurts.

You can't be serious, Charles projects, half-speaking, half-thinking. He's so shaken up, everything Erik hears comes from both inside and outside his head. "You can't be serious."

Erik just watches, and repeats himself from before, from when they were on that cold, November beach. "I want you by my side."

And then Charles is kissing him, berating him in their heads—Stupid stupid stupid I can't believe you I'm here I'm not leaving you aren't leaving you are not leaving.

Erik holds on tight, hands vices on Charles' waist, and he kisses back, because he's afraid this isn't real, that this won't last, that Shaw isn't dead, that he'll just take all of this away. He kisses him hard, painful, because he can't help it, and then he's crying, and they're on the bed.

xxx

To Charles, Erik's fingers are like wildfire, consuming every inch of his body, pulling up his shirt and running across his chest.

Everything is silent, but inside their minds, it's a tornado.

Words, thoughts, feelings, languages, colours. A never-ending outpour. They thought for each other, felt each other, the meshing of their minds so thorough that Charles isn't even sure they can be counted as two different people.

I don't want you to leave me I love you so much

Erik repeats these words over and over, his breath hitching, his mind cracking, and he repeats it as if it were a sort of magic spell, a way to keep him sane. He leans down to kiss Charles' neck, his hands roving and unstoppable, finding every part of Charles and claiming it, making him his.

Charles gasps, his back arches, and his body is tingling, aching, crying out for more. His hands frantically scramble to pull Erik's shirt off, to see more of him, more and more, he wants to know everything. All of his scars, all of his pain, his joy, Charles wants all of this, he never wants to lose Erik, he never wants to be on that beach again.

Erik stops, pauses, and rips his shirt off, his face red and panting. His hands run down to Charles' hips and stops, because he realizes that he can't even pull in enough air anymore, his lungs aren't working.

Charles kisses him again,

so impossibly kind,

so perfect,

and Erik groans. He doesn't deserve this but he wants this so bad.

He snaps his hips against Charles, the friction between them intense, enough to make them gasp. Charles reaches up, grabs Erik by his hair, cries out, and he's dying again, his heart beating too fast, his thoughts mingling with the German in Erik's mind, the scorching flames between their hips making his back catch fire, and he wants Erik, wants him more than anything.

Oh god Erik please please please Erik please

It's a flash—clothes are discarded, Erik is kissing him everywhere, Charles is creating these sounds he'd never known he could make and Erik never wants to forget.

And then he pauses before he even presses in, to understand everything, to comprehend, before he lost all of his senses, before he even forgot how to breathe. Erik stares into Charles' eyes, so bright and yearning, set against pink cheeks, begging for more, and they share a thought

This is the last time we're apart I love you so much no matter what I love you I love you I love you

before he's inside.

The piercing shout comes from Charles' lips, but his mind explodes with so many sensations that Erik just has to stop, to grit his teeth and rest his head on Charles' collarbone, to pause before he passes out. Charles was so tight, so hot, so everything, it was all Erik could do to not start pounding himself deeper and deeper into him, to hear more of his cries, his resistance, his acceptance.

And Charles, Charles, just once, his voice breaking, he says Erik's name, and everything Erik could do was gone.

He starts moving slowly, sloppy, haltingly, unsure, and then speeds up, quicker, quicker, until his stomach was pressing deeper and deeper into him and Charles was frantic, gasping out sounds and his mind unable to form reasonable thoughts, unable to articulate himself.

If Erik was making noise, he couldn't hear it.

All of his senses were Charles—

Charles' voice.

Charles' touch.

Charles' scent.

Charles' clenching around him, tighter and tighter.

Erik pushes in, deeper than before, making Charles swallow him until the hilt, and he gasps, the sensation he gives him, the sensation they share in their minds, it knocked the wind out of him. But he kept on, he couldn't stop, he had to keep going. No, he didn't have to. He just couldn't. Stopping would kill him.

His hands, Charles', they're against Erik's head, holding him and not letting go, and he's kissing him again, sweetly, painfully, everything Erik wants and everything he thought he didn't need.

How he could live from here on out, without this, Erik doesn't know.

His tears, they're salty, but Charles is so sweet and his heart aches with all his euphoria, Erik wouldn't mind dying. Wouldn't mind letting the last thing he does in his life be something this perfect, this unattainable. He thrusts harder and deeper, to find that friction, the one that would drive them insane.

Their connection is nothing more than pure pleasure, Charles calls out for Erik again, and Erik comes violently into him, responding his call with an overwhelmed throaty moan.

xxx

The sky, the room, his past—to Erik, everything is so dark.

But nothing is cold.

He holds on tighter to Charles, a shuddering sigh breaking out of him, a release of pain. His mind, it keeps going back, to when he almost lost him, when Charles almost wasn't there anymore.

I'm so sorry I did this I ruined everything

And it makes his heart jump, his chest tighten, a panic explode in him and then he squeezes Charles a little tighter, a little closer to him. Neither are sleeping, they're just there, occupying the bed and occupying each other's minds, and when Charles feels Erik's pain, his fear, he closes his eyes and soothes him, loosening the tight in Erik's mind and kissing his collarbone.

I'm not leaving you.