Warnings- Language, Sex (maybe), depressing themes, OOC, the brutal murder of the English language etc.

AU-Everything is basically the same, but I kinda messed around with people's ages and Charles isn't in a wheelchair.

A/N- I have a bad habit of starting stories, and never finishing them. However, I plan to aver that streak with this one. I have damn near everything mapped out in my head, but it's going to take some time to get it on the page. Anyways, I hope you enjoy this part, and leave reviews if you want! Reviews are love! I'll try to respond to them all (another thing I'm horrible about). I'm also working on making everything look nice. I tend to write huge blocks of paragraphs, and this website doesn't seem too "Large-ass paragraph" friendly. I'll have everything fixed by next chapter. Anyways, here's chapter one.

"Life is only on Earth. And not for long."-Justine [Melancholia]

There's birds in the sky. Little shadows passing in front of the sun, climbing higher into the clouds, vanishing from view as soon as they appear. The sky's a radiant blue, and the ground a rotten brown. Mostly demolished buildings stand stubbornly in the distance. Charles, an old man, takes it all in.

"Nice day," he says to no one in particular.

A slight breeze passes by, and he briefly believe that he can grasp it. The air slips through his fingers, wrapping itself around the digits, cooling the skin. A dull pain shoots through his body. He sighs as he turns around. Heading through his makeshift yard, he reaches his dilapidated house. The front door makes the loudest squeak when it opens, and he curses it for being so annoying. After mentally setting the door ablaze, he walks down the hall to the last room on the right. Slowly opening this door, which too has a habit of being a loud pain in the ass, he pokes his head in and looks around.

Erik stares out of the window in his coffin-like bed. Age and illness have sanded down his features, creating a shapeless shell of a man. He holds his hands like that of a corpse, and his feet are nothing by tiny little stalks. His helmet sits over his head, hiding his eyes and thoughts.

"Feeling well," Charles asks, knowing that no answer will come his way. Erik remains still, only his lips trembling for mere seconds. Charles smiles and sits down in the chair next to the bed. He reaches down and holds Erik's hands. They've diminished so much, both fitting in the palm of one of Charles'. He runs his thumbs over Erik's knuckles, carefully going over ever rise and down every fall.

"It's a nice day out. Not the best, but not horrible. There are a few clouds out, which is nice since it's really hot. I don't remember it ever getting this hot before, but what can you do? I'm going to have to find something to help ventilate this place though. Our little fans can't do all the work. You'll probably have to wear less. That's not a problem, right? It shouldn't be. You were never one for modesty. I remember how you would always wear Speedos when you would go swimming at the mansion. It embarrassed the kids, but I always thought it was amusing. You seemed to have so much pride in your body. It really was something to see."

Charles grew silent. Erik continued to stare out the window, but his fingers weakly gripped one of Charles' own. The birds chirped outside, and the house creaked. The only other sounds were the two men's breaths; one weak and sluggish, and the other worn but strong.

He dug through the pile of debris, pushing blocks away so he could go deeper. Erik had fallen asleep, so Charles decided to run over to what was left of the city and look around. It was only a thirty minute walk, so he should be ok. His goal was to find something to help cool down his home. However, he didn't know what exactly would help. The dark thought that 'nothing could help' crossed his mind, but he pushed it away. 'Best not be so negative' he mused to himself. Yet, wasn't it the perfect time to be negative? The world had basically ended. Erik, in all his misguided love, had risen up and purged it all away. Charles had escaped the brunt of it, but everyone else had died. Others may have survived, but there was no way to know for sure. The two of them had travelled the world in search of survivors, but Erik eventually grew too ill. Charles became his caretaker. The situation was more fucked up than either would like to admit, so they didn't. There existed a strong aura of silence between the two. They both had their grievances, but held their respective tongues. It wasn't easy though. There were times when all Charles wanted to do was humiliate Erik. To demean him to the point of suicide. He wanted nothing more than to make Erik Lehnsherr to pay for his actions. However, those thoughts would eventually disappear. Charles Xavier didn't live a perfect live, but the fact that he was alive pushed him forward. He could cross certain bridges when he was forced upon them.

Erik existed in his bubble of silence. He was used to it. After years of nothing but the cacophony of war, a few hours of nothingness were a blessing. No movement, just stillness. He took immense pleasure in the halted feeling of the atmosphere around him. However, that pleasure slowly furrowed into his skin, getting closer and closer to his heart. He knew that Charles hated the silence. Being a telepath had warped him against it. Where Erik saw a certain tranquility in it, Charles could see only death. So he talked. He informed Erik, usually in painstaking detail, of the simple events of the day: the flight patterns of the birds, the intensity of the sun, the shapes of the clouds, the subtle way the wheel of life would turn. Erik would attempt to listen, but would soon drift further within himself. Charles would still talk. This was their routine.

About an hour after he began, Charles had only found a few trinkets. After putting the "spoils" into his satchel, he took one last look around. The city was gutted, and all signs of life eradicated. Almost no life existed in these few buildings. Actually, calling it a city would be inaccurate. Graveyard was too harsh though. A monument then. A monument to a reality now since purged. A reminder that once, where these buildings once dared to scraped the very skies that held them down, a giant had annihilated everything in its path. A giant so sad in its anger that it cared not for the destruction wrought. The world was its beach, and each city an eternal footprint in the sand.

Erik was happy. Or, he thought he was happy. Charles was safe, and with him. That was better than he hoped for. Still, said happiness was different than he imagined. It protruded at odd angles, stabbing the insides of his heart.

Charles looked up at the sky as he walked. The sun had migrated across the sky, bringing night into the day. The air had grown cool, but the breeze had vanished. His satchel made noises as it bounced on his hip. The ground made crunching noises with each step. The stars started to shine.

Antiques lined the shelves of their little house. Each a bit different, with no cohesion to the collection. Decorative plates sat next to broken Japanese fans which rested behind damaged clocks. Each day, Charles would rise and rearrange them in whatever way struck him. Sometimes there would be a method, and other times only madness. Occasionally, he'd replace the old items with new things he'd find, but that didn't happen too much. It all depended on Erik. The trinkets would be brought to him to get his "thoughts". If Erik responded with his eyes, Charles knew that it had to go on one of the shelves. If Erik did nothing, it would be put in a box in the backyard. Over the years, the number of boxes had grown. They became their own little town of broken decorations. When night rolled around, Charles might stroll through the new city and look at the stars. Surrounded by boxes, his gaze would rise and rise until it landed on the moon. All the citizens would leave their condos, for this was an affluent town, and join him. A thousand faces looked at the same surface, each harboring different wishes in their hearts. Some might pray, but most simply hoped. Eventually, it would be time to retire. One by one the townsfolk would say their goodbyes and return to their homes to slumber. Only Charles would remain, still staring at the moon, face unreadable, and voice unreachable.

Charles' chair-bed was old and worn. He'd found it a few years ago and had dragged it over to the house. This had done a number on it, but he didn't mind that much. Anything would be an upgrade from the floor.

Erik was, way back when, happier than he was now. He knew this. It hadn't been that long a period of time, but the emotions had burrowed into him. However, the only thoughts truly clear were the tiny moments: the way the sun would leak through the windows into Charles' room, the way his heart would skip a beat whenever he'd awaken, or the way Charles would cry at the sappiest parts of movies. He knew there were times of great intensity between those quieter ones, but they just didn't seem important. They existed in the back of his mind like little flickers of film reel. Short and choppy they'd appear, never gaining enough momentum to flow smoothly. The other ones, the "my friends" and the shark jokes, played constantly in the forefront. If he could find the courage, he'd fully take them in. If his courage failed him, then guilt would cloud his vision. If that were to happen, he would only be able to look out the corners of his eyes. It would stay like this until Charles returned. Everything would vanish and he'd focus in on him. He'd be told about how the world was still alive. 'It was fine,' he'd be reassured. 'Everything's still around,' Charles would sigh. Erik knew that he didn't mean any harm. He knew that it was to tell him that life went on and he shouldn't feel so ashamed. Still, all he ever heard was, "Congratulations. You didn't completely fuck up everything."

They used to have a dog. His name was Pietro. Erik had named him. He was healthier back then. Able to move around a little bit. He could even carry on conversations if the mood, and energy, struck him. The dog had followed Charles home after one of his many town visits, and Erik had taken a shine to him. His coat was pure white, something neither of the men had really seen. After a few days of the dog sticking around, they decided to take him in and split the food into even tinier portions. The dog didn't seem to mind. He'd just sit at the edge of their bed, and guard it. Pietro had probably done the same for his last owners before they were annihilated. He just happened to be a creature of routine.

He was as fond of Erik as Erik was of him. Whenever he wasn't guarding the bed, he would hop on it and curl up next to him. Erik would run his fingers through the fur, and they'd fall asleep just like that. Charles would look on in amusement with only a tiny hint of jealously.

It snowed the year Pietro came. It'd never snowed before. It hadn't snowed since. It'd come close, but no real snow would ever fall.

Charles had two houses. One with Erik, and one in the "city". His antique collection had grown at an alarming rate, so he would dump anything he didn't have room for at his "city" house. He would treat and organize them with the same care as the others. In fact, this house tended to be more structured. Everything had a pattern to it. Over the years, it had morphed into a place resembling his old study. There was a little table located next to a window where he sit down and read when daylight still existed. Readable materials were rare, so he treasured anything of the sort. He might try to bring it to the other house, but it would somehow feel wrong. He could only relax enough to read in this specific room, in that particular chair, by this one window. Anywhere else, and he just couldn't concentrate. He never told Erik about it though. As Erik had his secrets, so did Charles. It wasn't like he was lying to the man. If the corpse wanted to know about the room, all he had to do was ask. Hell, he would learn so much if he just opened him mouth. Charles knew he was still able to talk, and even if he was mute, then he could just take off that stupid fucking helmet so they could converse that way. It was that simple. The only thing stopping everything was Erik and his insane stubbornness.

Smoke rose off his cigarette, looping circles in the air. The wind would occasionally drift on by, dragging the smoke with it. The cigarette held steady in his fingers as he brought it up for another puff.

"Don't tell Erik about this," he said to Pietro.

Pietro stared straight ahead.

"I hope that means ok."

Pietro slightly tilted his head to look up at Charles.

"Don't give me that look. I'm your elder, show me some respect."

Pietro walked forward and pissed on the side of the building.

"Classy."

Sometimes, Erik wondered about heaven. The thoughts never stayed for long, but they were always coated in this immense sadness. He wanted for it to exist. He knew this. However, a certain fear coexisted in that want. A fear that would eat at the corners of his mind, until he dropped all thoughts of the matter. The want existed because his mother deserved somewhere beautiful to rest. The fear because he knew he'd locked himself out of such a place.

Raven ran through the fields as a colony of clouds lazily drifted overhead. Charles sat at the roots of his favorite tree while he mindlessly flipped the pages of his favorite book. He'd read it cover to cover many times before, so he wasn't really reading. He could recite the words without even looking. Still, he loved the feeling of running his fingers down the pages, watching as the words seemed to seep into them. The little rays of light filtered through the leaves of the tree, crashing upon the words, illuminating tiny sections. A low wind idly shifted the branches above.

"Charles," Raven yelled, her words drifting on the breeze.

"What," he answered without even looking up.

"Come play with me!"

"I'm busy!"

"With what? You've read that stupid book about a million times already!"

"So? I can read it as much as I want."

"Yeah, but it's boring to read the same thing that many times so you should put it down and come play with me."

"I don't want to play with you Raven."

"Fine. I don't want to play with you anyways. You're too boring to play with."

"Then why did you as me to in the first place?"

"I can't hear you," she yelled as she ran away towards the trees on the other side of the property.

Charles rolled his eyes at her youthful spirit and went back to his book. He'd gotten it a year or two ago for Christmas. His mother had found it in an old bookstore in one the cities she was always visiting. She knew nothing about it, but she had decided to pick it up on a whim. She'd read it, enjoying it very much, then passed it down to him. He read it in one night. The actual writing wasn't too bad, but it was a bit amateurish in places. Still, for some reason, he adored the book. Yes, it was meandering in places, and the ending was too dark for its own good, but he simply loved it. There was something in the words that entranced him. He'd read much better books, and would continue to do so, but that book had remained his favorite.

"CHARLES," Raven shouted, breaking him out of his mind.

His gaze shot up in a glare, but soon softened when he saw her running at full force towards him. He shot up as quickly as he could and said, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing! You just gotta see this!"

Before he could reply, she took his arm and dragged him across their massive lawn. "What is it," he asked, annoyance reappearing in his tone.

"You'll see," she nearly squealed.

They ended at a large tree that held many carvings. Raven turned around and said, "Isn't it awesome?"

"What's awesome?"

"The bird's nest silly!"

"What bird's nest?"

"That one," she sighed, punctuating it with a point of her finger.

"There's nothing there."

"What," she exclaimed as she turned her head.

"Yeah, there's nothing there."

"There totally was one just a few minutes ago! I saw the momma bird come over and feed her baby. Then she flew off, and I came over to tell you!"

"Well, I don't-" Charles started to say, before stopping abruptly as he looked down. Around the base of the tree, there lay a broken nest. It must have fallen out in the time it took Raven to get him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. You must be confused about which tree. Let's just, uh, go back inside. I bet mom will get us a snack."

"I didn't get the tree wrong Charles! I totally remembered that it was the one where we carved our names into it last year! Remember? Last New Year's? You were so scared I'd cut myself, but I showed you. So, I'm totally right. There's totally a nest in that tree. We just gotta find it."

"There's nothing Raven. Let's just go back now."

"Charles! We are going to find this stupid nest so you can see the stupid baby bird! Ok?"

"Raven, I don't-"

"Oh shut up and help me look," she said while turning around.

"Don't," he tried to shout, but it was too late. As she turned, she saw the fallen nest. Her eyes widened, and she grew still for a moment. Then, in the blink of an eye, she ran forward and dropped to her knees. She pushed away the nest to see what rested underneath. The baby bird had landed near an ant's pile. A few ants had scurried over, and were slowly being to cover it. Raven went down to grab the bird, and as she drew her hands up, the ants started to bite her. The bird dropped out of her hands, she shook her hands to get rid of the ants, and went down to pick it up again.

"What are you doing," Charles damn near screamed.

"I'm trying to save it!"

"You can't save it Raven!"

"Yes, I can!"

"No, you can't!"

"I can if you help me," she said, tears falling from her eyes.

Charles, at a loss for words, just stared. He, for the first time in his life, didn't know what to do. After a few hurried seconds of thought, he pushed Raven out of the way. Before him was a dying baby bird. He'd read somewhere that the mother wouldn't take it back due to it being touched by a human, so simply returning it to the tree was out of the question. He could see it struggling to breathe, and his heart dropped.

"Close your eyes," he breathed.

"What?"

"I said close your eyes!"

Raven did as she was told, tears still falling. Charles looked to make sure that she had done what he asked. When it looked like she was going to listen, he stood up slightly and took off his shoe.

"What are you going to do," Raven sobbed. Her body slightly lurched forward with every dry-heave.

"Don't worry about it. Just keep your eyes shut."

"Tell me what you're going to do," she demanded, taking her hands off her eyes. Charles, not knowing she had done that, then brought his shoe down upon the bird killing it instantly. It made a wet, squishing noise and some blood spread out from underneath the shoe. Charles tried to lift his shoe, but couldn't gather the energy to. Instead, he looked over to Raven. Her face had frozen, her eyes large.

"Raven," he sighed as he leaned over to touch her shoulder.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!"

He shot back, frightened at the force her words held. He took a deep swallow, and said, "I...I had to do it."

She didn't respond. She only stared down towards his shoe. Her fists were tightly gripped, and she shook with so much anger.

"Raven, listen to me. I had to."

She still didn't respond.

"Raven! I'm sorry ok? It was in so much pain and the mom wouldn't take it back and we don't have anything to take care of it and it was going to die! I helped it Raven! I helped it!"

"BULLSHIT!"

All the words evaporated from Charles' mouth. He'd never heard her curse before. He knew that she knew all the words, their step-father had a filthy mouth, but never heard them uttered aloud. To think that his younger sister, not even ten years of age, had yelled such profanity before him, someone approaching teen years, was too much. His brain stopped for a second, and he just looked on in confusion.

"BULLSHIT," she screeched again. "BULLSHIT BULLSHIT BULLSHIT BULLSHIT! YOU DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! YOU JUST KILLED IT!" The words keep falling out of her mouth and striking Charles. She lunged forward, tackling him to the ground. She grabbed his shirt and shook him while yelling, "I HATE YOU I HATE YOU I FUCKING HATE YOU!"

It was too much for Charles. He reached forward and grabbed her head, making her look him in the eyes. "I'm sorry I'm so sorry I didn't mean to but it was in so much pain and I didn't know what to do and I didn't want it to suffer anymore and I'm so sorry!"

Raven threw herself in all directions to get out of his grip. She balled her fist and hit his chest. She cried and sobbed and yelled. "I don't care! You killed it! You fucking killed it! I can't, God, I can't."

"Please listen to me! I didn't want to! I just couldn't let it keep like that!"

Raven finally stopped moving, falling forward into his chest. Tears fell from her eyes with the frequency of a waterfall. Snot fell from her nose. She sobbed erratically. She continued to dry-heave. "It hurts so much," she whispered almost inaudibly.

"I know," he too whispered. His finger went up to stroke her hair, but she swatted it away.

"Don't touch me," she hissed.

"Raven..."

"I said, don't touch me," she repeated, her body rising. Her hair hung limp from her face. Her eyes were empty, and her voice distant. "Don't touch me, don't look at me, don't talk to me. Ever again."

Charles went to reply, but she jumped up and ran off before he could. He wanted to chase after her, but he couldn't. His body was like lead, weighing him down towards the earth. All he could do was stare at the now empty sky and cry. The air around him had stilled. No noises passed through his head. The world had grown silent.

Before Charles and Erik were forced to remain in one place, they roamed the land and hunted. They weren't skilled in the slightest, so most of their trips ended in failure. Their travels brought them everywhere. Then, Erik grew ill. Very ill. He still pushed forward, but it became too much for him. Charles found a little shack semi-close to the ruined city. Even further away, but not too far, existed what was once a meadow. The soil there was healthy enough for him to put his green thumb to use. There was also a river nearby that he could gather water at. Finally, he could look through the city to see if any cans had remained. It was a boring life he'd cultivated, but a somewhat safe one. The food wasn't plentiful, but there seemed to be enough of it. Then Pietro came and the portions got smaller. Charles wanted to complain, but he hadn't seen Erik so happy in such a long time, so he shut his mouth and ate his food.

Erik walked down the snow covered street, his mother's hand in his own. He was covered in clothing due to his mother's fear that he'd freeze to death. She only had one jacket on. It was sometime in December of his tenth year.

"Erik," she said as they stopped on the corner off the street and waited for cars to pass.

"Yes mama?"

"Was your dinner good?"

"Of course!"

She nodded in response.

"Why do you ask mama? It's never bad when you cook. I always tell you that."

"I know. I just wanted wanted to hear it again," she said with a weak smile.

Erik smiled right back, a bit toothy his mother thought, and said, "I'll say it as much as you want!"

"That won't be necessary love."

"Ok! Where are we going anyways?"

"We're going to meet up with papa. He's going to take us on a ride," she said weakly.

"We're going on vacation," Erik said, happiness filling his voice.

"You could say that."

"Yay! Are we going to some place fun?"

"Yeah. Someplace fun," she replied with a drop of her heart.

The cars had stopped by this time, so they crossed. They ended up walking a few more minutes before meeting his father. Erik noticed that the car had a lot of baggage, more so than usual, but he didn't question it. His mind will filled with the thoughts of the trip. He hugged his father and mother, thanked them for taking him on a vacation, and ran into the car. His parents stood outside the car and hugged for the longest time. The snow fell and fell and fell. They too got in the car, and drove away from the city. As Erik took in the landscape, unknowingly for the last time, he went over the places he could be going to. He planned out schedules for every option, and was practically bouncing in his seat. His father stared forward and drove. His mother cried the whole way.

Charles sat in his second house, trying to read. He'd managed to heat up some hot cocoa by using this mix he'd found in the cabinets of one of the destroyed homes. It was a cold day, one of the older ones in his memory, so it really hit the spot. He rubbed his hands together to warm them, and started reading. It didn't take long for Pietro to interrupt him.

Sighing, he closed his book and walked towards the door. He opened it and said, "I'm busy. Go dig something." He then shut the door and went back to his book. It took a few minutes for his actions to really hit him. He just talked to a dog like it was a human. He just ordered around dog completely thinking that it understood him. He was going insane. That was it. He was going insane. There was no other explanation for his actions. He had a shrivelled up corpse as a boyfriend, a clingy dog that said corpse loved more than him, the world had fucking exploded, and he was conversing with the blasted pet. Yup. He was going insane. He sighed, again, got up from the table and walked outside. Pietro was digging a hole.

"Goddammit. Maybe I am going insane," he whispered to himself.

Pietro turned to look at him, and gave him the dog equivalent of, "Yes, bitch?"

"Let's go home," Charles said through gritted teeth.

Pietro sharpened his expression, and it looked as if he was actually contemplating if he wanted to comply. Charles internally sobbed for his lost sanity. After a few moments had passed, Pietro started to walk back towards their home. Charles rolled his eyes and followed.

Charles mindlessly stared at his book in the family library. The sun leaked in softly through the window behind him. A maid sat in the corner and dusted the shelves.
"Would you like any hot chocolate," she asked upon finishing.

Charles nodded.

"I'll be back in a second then."

Charles listened as her footsteps receded down the hall. His book still rested in his lap, unread but open. He could sense Raven walking around outside on the porch. He called out to her. She blocked him. He could probe farther and force her to listen, but he promised he'd never do that. He sighed and stared out the window. It was a calm day. There were only a few clouds in the sky, and the trees were swaying in the wind. His mother's dog walked aimlessly around the yard in large circles. His mother was passed out in her bed. Soft jazz music drifted through the hallways. It'd been a week since the bird incident. Raven had said a total of seven words to him.

The maid came back and put his drink on the table. She asked if he needed anything else, and he said no. She left to do more cleaning. Charles continued to stare outside.

Erik listlessly walked down the snow covered street. He'd escaped about a month ago, but his memories of said escape were foggy. He could only remember bits and pieces, and those were tainted by this terrifying rage. His life had covered by a dense fog ever since. He knew not where he was or the day. The only thing he was certain of was that his feet would continue to move forward no matter how tired he became. He walked until his body would give out. There was no rhyme or reason to where he fell; he just did. Many times he slept on a sidewalk. He'd stolen his clothes, so he blended in with his surroundings. There was no indicator of who he was as long as he kept his sleeves down. It was getting late, and his body was growing heavy. He'd walked a long distance today, so sleep wouldn't be that bad. He pushed on though. One foot went in front of the other as the snow drifted slowly towards the ground. A few stars twinkled in the sky. Cars zipped by. A woman yelled at her husband somewhere down the street. Erik suppressed the urge to cry.

Sharon stared at the empty room around her. Brian walked in behind her, boxes piled in his hands.

"Be nice for a little help," he joked as he placed them down.

"I'd offer to help, but you'd just shake your head and mumble something about the baby."

"Ah, that's not true. Have some faith in me."

"Ok, then. I'd love to help you."

"Certainly not. This type of physical labor is not for a woman, especially one with child," he smirked as he walked towards the door. As he passed her by, his hand rubbed her stomach.

"I'm not even showing yet Brian."

"Yeah, but I can feel him in there."

"How do you know it's a him?"

"I just know," he said while leaving.

Sharon went back to staring at the room that would become Charles' nursery. She took in a long breathe, and exhaled. It was going to be a long pregnancy.

Erik sat in his chair and watched the door. His breathing was calm, but his foot tapped incessantly. He didn't have all day. As if he heard his cue, Charles walked into the room. He was wearing tight checkered pants with a dress shirt and sweater. A weak attempt at a Catholic schoolboy it seemed.

"I hear you wanted to see me sir," he nearly purred.

"Yes. I did," Erik grunted in annoyance. This was ridiculous.

"Whatever could it be about," Charles cooed as he sat on the arm of the couch that was across from Erik. He spread his legs as wide apart as the fabric of his pants would let him, leaning back against the wall. His fingers ran softly up and down his thighs.

"It seems that you've been acting out recently. Graffiti, foul language in the classroom, unsavory activities in the locker room. What do you have to say for yourself?"

Charles brought his finger to his mouth and began to nibble on the edge of it. "Not sure Principal Lehnsherr. I don't know what came over me. I will gladly accept any punishment you see fit."

"Fine. Bend over my knee then."

"Gladly," Charles moaned with a perverse glee. He slid off the couch and sauntered over to Erik. The taller man slid his chair back to give the other some room. Charles balanced himself on Erik's legs and waited. Erik's hands fell towards the smaller man's ass and began to slightly knead the flesh there. Charles made a noise of approval.

"Do you enjoy this?"

Charles made the same noise and nodded.

Erik swiftly grabbed the hair on the back of his "student's" head and pulled upwards. "I ask if you enjoyed this. Answer me when I fucking ask you a question," he hissed.

"God, yes, I enjoy this," Charles breathlessly rambled.

Erik stared at the back of the head and tightened his grip. Many thoughts flashed in the forefront of his mind. Horrible, vile, perverse thoughts. They came one after another, travelling from his brain down to his groin. He steady himself, and took a deep breath. He took one last look at the back of Charles' head. He reached over to his desk, pick up his knife, and quickly shoved it as hard as he could into Charles' neck. His victim struggle for a few seconds but quickly grew still. Blood gushed from his wound and covered Erik's hands.

"Brava," Emma laughed while clapping. She walked into the room, and Charles disappeared. "All those years of practice and you finally penetrated him. With your knife, I mean."

"Quiet, Emma."

"Oh, hush. This is a great day! You finally got over your pathetic love for that man and killed him! Well, faked killed him, but you have the skills to do it in real life now! You did stop before getting to the good part though."

"There's nothing good about this."

"Maybe not for you, but I quite enjoy the sight of the great Mutant leader panting deeply as he wildly pounds into a posh little British boy."

"You're sick."

"And you're a pathetic freak who uses my powers to fuck his ex-boyfriend. The original plan was me to conjure him up so you could gather up the courage to slaughter him. I'm not complaining on the route you took so many times, but it was getting a little old. Now we know you have it in you to kill that little pissant. Like I said, good times are finally here in chez Brotherhood."

"Get out."

"Oh, don't pout. He's not really dead. He's probably walking around his giant house with his nice little army of cub scouts. How many of them are there again? Let's see. There's the pothead one, the one with the attitude, the one covered in hair, that black guy, yeah not sure how he survived either, that blue cunt who went back to him, and I think that's it. Wow, that's pretty much all of the original gang. Except for you. To hell with them though. You traded up when you dumped them. That's a fact."

"I told you to fucking leave," Erik shouted. The metal in the room all shook violently.

"I'm going, I'm going. This place is too depressing anyways."

Erik slammed the door shut without even moving. Emma chuckled to herself as she walked down the hallway.

Her belly had grown much larger than she expected, as did her feet. Forced into bed by overprotective company, Sharon read. She wasn't too fond of the activity, but she needed a way to pass the time. She started with some light material, a few simple crime dramas, and eventually worked her way up. She never made it to any of the "great works in the Literary canon" due to her intense disliking of such a phrase. Giving respect to something because someone believed she should was preposterous. Yet, she would feign interest in said books if asked about them. She didn't need to completely grasp the plots, because it quickly became apparently that no one actually understood them either. A person only read these "masterpieces" because the rest of society pretended to.

Sharon had come to this realization three Decembers ago. In a conversation with one of Bryan's colleagues, she had attempted to have a discussion about The Odyssey. She found the material boring, but it was one that the populace, at least the educated ones, should have read. It didn't take long before she realized that her guest knew not what they spoke of. Characters were misquoted, their names mispronounced, and the events of the story were utterly mangled. She tried to correct ever mistake, but that only led to sighs of annoyance from the others. She quickly redirected herself to the course of her company. She went along with their wrong remembrances and silently chuckled to herself at the more asinine recollections.

Later that night, as she readied herself for bed, Bryan made a joke about their company's ignorance. Her laugh shot out of her mouth faster than she could dilute it. Her laugh was one of boisterous claim, but she had become a master of reducing it to a ghost of what it could be. Only on a few occasions did she allow others to hear it in all its glory, including her husband. His reaction to her was akin to having just seen a unicorn. Sharon composed herself and apologized. Bryan assured her that she had nothing to apologize for, and that he was just amazed that she had made such loud a sound. It took all her energy to conceal the joke the sprung forth from his statement. Instead, she turned off all the lights and went to bed.

The incident had remained with her throughout all the years. She and Bryan were still friends with said colleagues, but very distant ones at best. She couldn't even remember their names. She did think of them, among others, when given the opportunity though. Mostly when reading. It had a weird effect in that it multiplied her annoyance with literature. How she wished her children would detest reading as much as she. She had not divulged said wishes to Bryan, nor would she ever. If said hopes went unfulfilled, then she alone would feel the disappointment.

Erik often wondered about the true extent of his feelings for Charles. Erik had only loved one other person in his life, and that happened to be a girl. Charles was this enigma. The lust Erik felt for him was felt for no other man. Where did that desire stem from though? Was it the younger man's brains? His boyish looks? Or was it the infinite compassion that dwelled in his heart? Probably a combination of all three. Still, there was a certain oddity to the love. He couldn't, in all good conscience, consider himself gay. Women were still alluring to him, but bisexual didn't fit either. Charles was one-time thing that simply refused to die. It was a bit ridiculous when given deep though. They'd known each other for a few months before splitting up, so these feelings of love shouldn't exist. It takes time for love to bloom. Then again, Erik tended to jump the gun in matters like these. 'Best not to waste time fretting over such fears,' he'd reassure himself when he would start to dig too deep. He loved Charles Xavier. It was as simple as that. It was pointless to mull over the logistics of when and why. Just accept that it was simply was. This would help, but the worries would always resurface. He'd gather up all his energy, and push them deeper into himself as he did for most of his worrying thoughts.