Everlong

1st verse

-Hello, Erik. I knew you would come someday.

Cynism. I hate to admit this, but I inherited it from him. Sebastian Shaw, herr Doktor, had raised me to be the perfect weapon: cold, emotionless, selfish, deadly. And, for all that I know, weapons neither have feelings (anger, perhaps) nor do they speak (unless you consider the sounds of shooting and stabbing). Humans had such things as feelings, voice, life, and except for a short period of my life, I have never been treated as nothing but a freak, a monster. I was kind of a Frankenstein-like creature; one who was about to kill it's creator.

-I was waiting for you, don't you know.

-Me too. Everlong.

The next thing I know, I was in the middle of the sea (how did I get there?) and there was a numbing pain spreading all over my body. I wasn't going to give up on my vendetta so easily, though. The ship was way too heavy to sink, so I did the next best thing: lift the anchoring chains. Not that I knew what to do with them, and it was hard as fuck to hold them in place, but I was expecting an idea to pop into my head at any minute.

Then there was this little pressure over me, enough to break my concentration (I was drowning, why didn't I notice it earlier?), and the chains fell back on the water, creating waves all over me. That little pressure was annoying me already, though it was strangely comfortable and warm, and it was all over me, even into that deep blood colored mess where I kept my thoughts, but it was annoying me. Then I heard a voice that surely wasn't my own and it wasn't from anyone I've ever met, and this voice, a man's voice, frightened (or was it worried?) and desperate, kept calling my name, over and over, until I gave up.

-Erik, my friend, calm your mind. You're safe now.

2nd verse

It's been almost a month since I met Charles Xavier. Though I had been mad at first, we quickly became close friends. Closer than I thought possible for a man like me. Not that I was complaining, far from it, actually. He was the first person in years that showed me some kindness without expecting something in return. In fact, he and my mother were the only ones in the world who ever did that.

The incident at the C.I.A. headquarters which caused Armando's death and Angel's departure, alongside with a few more ounces of frustration (because fucking Sebastian Shaw had been so close!), also made us move to the ancient Xavier's house. Mansion. Castle. Whatever that huge place was. I'll always wonder why we weren't there on the first place, because besides it being enormous, the facilities were much better and suited for training than C.I.A.'s (also much less unnerving). The best part about that house (mansion? Castle?) wasn't the space or the facilities, though. It was the study room. It smelt like old books, scotch and sandalwood, and it's where me and Charles would spend hours, playing chess as an excuse to learn about each other without words.

Time passed slower when we were together, or so it seemed. Perhaps it had something to do with telepathy, but I don't really think so. Charles made me a lot calmer, a lot more than I thought possible, but again, he had this effect over me, a lot of things I thought impossible became usual after we became friends. Friends, best friends. I would never get over this. Friendship, camaraderie, trustfulness, happiness. Human feelings that were almost foreign to me.

Unfortunately, I remained in my weapon condition, and as any good weapon, I had to be trained. I had quite unusual training choices, and making Charles comply with them had been a hard task. I saw on the lines of his face that he really tried to shoot me, but he's too much of a nice guy to shoot a friend in the middle of the forehead. We both knew I could stop the bullet, I had done it plenty of times. But Charles had a better idea, a harder, more challenging idea: moving the satellite dish. He had faith in me, but I was sure I couldn't make it, not without help, anyway. When I let him inside my head to help me, I wasn't expecting a memory of one of my brightest days, when my mother (no, mein Mama) taught me about the Hanukkah traditions, about the meaning of each light, and the peace we felt when all the candles were lit. That memory was buried so deep I had forgotten about it, and when I opened my eyes, I felt a single tear sliding down my cheek. I moved the satellite.

I didn't notice it at first, but Charles had tear stains on his cheeks.

Chorus

-Charles.

Silence

-Charles?

-Um? Sorry Erik, you were saying?

He's always so deep in thought.

-I have been wondering.

-About what?

His queen took my knight; I took his bishop with my rook.

-About all these things happening right now. About the future, the future of our species, about killing Shaw, about everything.

About you. I think I love you.

-Don't let these worries get you, my friend.

-But what if we die? What if we follow different paths? What if we're betrayed?

What if I loose you?

-Then, my friend, we shall do what we must under the circumstances.

His pawn took my rook; I took his knight with my king.

-I'm tired of this.

I took one of his pawns with my bishop.

-Of what, may I ask?

He took my queen with another pawn.

-Of everything. I'm tired of losing everything, of people I love getting killed, of things getting worse when they were already fucking. terrible.

I knew things would be upside down after I killed Shaw. Still, I wish everything could stay this good, feel this real all the time.

Charles took my king with his queen.

-I'm really sorry to say this, my friend, but you just lost again. Checkmate.

I managed a weak smile.

-You cheat.

-No I don't! I'm just that good.

Oh, you have no idea.

-Erik?

-Yes?

-Can you make me a promise?

-Unless you ask me not to kill Shaw, then yes, anything.

-Don't stop me.

That said, he kissed me.

Third verse

I wasn't on control, as I thought I would be. Not that I minded it.

Charles' left hand lifted my chin while his right hand was on my neck, playing with a few strands of hair. His lips were dry and rough, but gentle at the same time, and his scent (white tea, oak and musk) filled my lungs, my veins, my thoughts, my everything. The hand on my chin went up to my face, caressing softly my cheekbones, and that's when my own hands decided to move, one on the base of his neck and the other on the small of his back, pulling him closer and lifting me up from the armchair at the same time. I groaned when I felt the taste of his mouth (scotch, mint toothpaste and rosemary) on mine, trying to get him the closest possible, battling with the buttons of his vest, then with the buttons of his shirt and why did he wore so many layers of clothing?

The brief two seconds we pulled away (to breath and to remove another unnecessary items of clothing) were enough to put my thoughts in an acceptable order. I knew in that moment that I loved Charles; naïve, friendly, careless, optimistic, good natured, ridiculously beautiful and a tad bit crazy Charles Xavier. He was the complete opposite of myself, but he fit like a puzzle piece. That one puzzle piece I thought I lost years ago, and was the only one missing to finish the puzzle, to fill that gap right in the middle of it. Even his body fit perfectly around mine, our height difference (it wasn't much, but suddenly he looked so small wrapped between my arms) and our body type difference, and the fact that his head rested right above my heart. Everything.

His bare chest was warm and soft against mine (even my body was like a weapon, hard and cold), and his lips had gone away from my mouth to travel down my neck, my clavicle, my shoulders, my nipples, my ribs, my stomach and every inch of skin he could reach. I could undo my belt and the buttons of my trousers with a thought, but it was nice to see Charles fidget with them, the lust in his eyes making his pupils so huge his eyes were almost black, and not in that electric blue, the bluest of the blue eyes I had ever seen. When he finally undid my pants, sliding it down just enough to pull my underwear along, without really taking it off, I decided I couldn't take it anymore. I got him on his back, taking his belt and almost ripping his trousers with a flick of my wrist (suddenly bending metal had a whole new meaning), and kissing him feverishly, passionately, wildly. Did Charles know I loved him? That this wasn't just a "perhaps I'm going to die tomorrow" fuck, that he made me calm when I thought of him, that there wasn't any woman in the world who could compare to him?

-Charles.

He looked startled.

-Yes?

-You're crazy.

He laughed.

-You're not much sane either, my friend.

I kissed him lightly on the lips.

-I love you.

Author's note:

It was kind of hard to write this in first person, but I think I succeeded!

This was inspired on "Everlong", by Foo Fighters, that has been on repeat since I started to write this.

You should listen to the song while you read, it's highly recommended! (It's a fantastic song, really)

I hope you enjoy it!

-W.P. Petit.