Chapter 2
A man in his late twenties sits up in bed and stretches his arms above him. He arrived home late last night and was so tired he could only peel his shirt off before collapsing on his large, soft bed. Rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hand Charles Xavier ran his hand through his hair, deciding a comb would probably get the job done better he headed to the bathroom to comb his hair and brush his teeth. As he brushed his teeth he looked at himself in the mirror, thinking about his new book and wondering if his fax had made it through in time before the man had left the office. To be sure, he decided to give Logan a call. Logan gave him the cell number of the editor and he sent a text, pushing his phone into his pocket Charles walked through his Mansion home barefoot as he liked the cool feel of the smooth wood under his feet.
He had slightly shaggy brown hair and blue eyes with impossibly long eye lashes. His chest was toned to his liking, not flabby but not too muscle and his pale, fade-wash blue jeans hung low on his slim hips as he walked casually through his home. In the kitchen he saw Hank was making breakfast.
Hank was his lodger. Of sorts. His parents sent him to New York for College and Charles had been a speaker in his English Literature class in his first month. Hank had approached him after the lecture and they'd engaged in a debate over literary attributes of some authors. Charles liked having him around even if it was just for some fun or a literary debate. Hank's family were very devote Methodist believers and while Hank himself was not as into his religion his parents still did not know he was living with a man almost a decade his senior, that Hank was gay or that Charles was an erotica writer. Another plus about living with Hank was he was a very good cleaner and an even better cook. Charles let him live there rent free, because he really didn't need the money and it was nice to have someone else around who reminded him to eat because sometimes when writing he got so caught up he once went three days without eating. Upon hearing this Hank almost had a heart attack and was now determined to make Charles eat at least twice a day if not three.
"Any calls?" He asked hopping onto one of the bar stools.
"God, Charles don't sneak up on me like that," Hank scolded him, "no there haven't been." He added turning back to the breakfast. "I was about to wake you."
"I could smell it in my sleep, you know it's my favourite," Charles told him sipping one of the two glasses of orange juice. Charles phone beeped in his pocket, he read it and smiled. "It appears we're going to have a visitor this evening, that new editor I wanted." He explained to Hank as the boy placed food in front of him.
"I know that look Charles; you're up to something I can see that glint you get in your eyes. Pray tell me what you are up to now?"
"Well up to the balls hopefully but that my young friend is a story for another day," he said for the pure reason it would make the young man flush bright pink, as if his shirtless appearance wouldn't do that already. "So what've you got planned for yourself today?"
"I have homework for Bio Chem. It'll probably take me all day" he told Charles.
"OK well I will be doing a few laps in the pool then going for a jog, or maybe the other way around, one does not keep a figure like this while eating cooking such as yours." To his word Charles changed into his running gear and ran the perimeter of his extensive property. It was huge and more than once he had to stop and catch his breath. Returning to the Mansion he changed and headed to one of the rooms on the ground floor and dove into the swimming pool, letting the water relax muscles Charles took a minute to simply float on the surface before swimming laps.
When his skin on his fingertips began to wrinkle from prolonged exposure he climbed out of the water, flattened his hair and showered and dressed in the adjoining changing room, not in the mood for a sauna or steam session. Leaving Hank a note he entered the garage and chose a car to make a trip into town for groceries and some new printer supply, being an author certainly wasn't without the costs of printing, faxing and re-printing sections of his books. Luckily Charles had much money and expenses to spare.
He even stopped by the bookshop for a new notebook or five, he always carried one with him for one never knew when literary inspiration would strike and Charles could go through three in a week. While he was out he picked up Hank's prescription as requested by the young man and headed back to the mansion to get some work done before Erik arrived.
The choice to switch editors and publishers on his new book had been a rather frustrating experience for Charles as he had been with his last one since his first book six years ago. But it seemed with all the hype over those E L James books Charles' books weren't going to get a look in from them. They wanted him to change his style so it was more like them because of how well their sales were. But that wasn't why Charles wrote what he did; he wrote what he did because it was something he knew deeply cared about. This wasn't something derived from fan fiction. This was his story and nobody would turn it into what it wasn't. That's why he'd contacted Lehnsherr Publishing as it was rumoured they turned down the other book because of the quality, he also wanted a challenge and he'd been told that the Head Editor was brutally honest. Something he liked.
At home Charles unloaded the car and put away the groceries and changed for bed in case he fell asleep in his study. Not like it would be the first or last time that it happened but when he slept he liked to wear something comfortable, last night exempt from the rule. Sitting at his desk in his study, where the walls were its own library away from the library he pulled the keyboard onto his lap, raised his feet and got to work, waiting for his guest.
Erik exited his car at half five in the evening, looking up at the mansion of a house where this Xavier lived. Walking up to the front door Erik felt so small next to the imposing building and taking a deep breath to calm him knocked on the door. He was waiting a minute or so when the door swung open revealing a young man with messy dark hair and square black framed glasses. He smiled, "19."
"What?"
"I'm 19, not 16, he just tells people that for the street cred," he said, "Hank McCoy, you must b-"
"Erik Lehnsherr," he cut the young man off, "I'm here to see Mr Xavier."
"Of course, he's in his study; just don't call him that, he hates it. This way." Leading him through the kitchen Hank takes a white t-shirt from a pile of clean laundry and pulls it on while Erik notes his slim muscular frame; if he's 19 why bother with the intern pretence as it's clearly above consenting age and legal. Hank leads the way through a maze of corridors and up a flight of stairs; finally coming to a stop in front of a large oak door he knocked and walked in, waving for Erik to follow. Already Erik can hear relentless typing. Inside looks more like a library than a study but there is a man with brown hair and a concentrated look on his face behind the desk. "Erik Lehnsherr to see yo-"
"I need a good synonym for thrust, noun form, go," he shot, not even looking up from his typing. Not sure who it was aimed at Erik flicks through his mental thesaurus.
"Push, lunge, shove, attack, force, jab," he reels off coming to a stop when the man pauses and looks up at him.
"'His slow relentless jabs sent her reeling…' Sounds more like the commentary at a boxing match," he said, "God dammit, why are there no good synonyms for thrust? Bane of my existence," he shook his head; pausing for thought, "although," he said his eyes raking over Erik, "I do like a man with a big vocabulary," he smirked, "Charles Xavier, Hank leave us."
"Yes sir. Just don't act impressed, he'll settle down, eventually." He whispered to Erik before leaving.
"Impressed? I doubt that will be a problem," Erik muttered his eyes never leaving Charles.
"Please," Charles said standing and moving around the desk, "take a seat, we have much to discuss."
His appearance took Erik by surprise, from what he had read he expected Charles to be in leather or black and red, wielding a riding crop, what he had was a man, younger than he, leaning against a desk in blue pyjamas dotted with little, yellow ducks, the shirt had been left open, revealing his pale toned chest, over which he crossed his arms, where the sleeves were rolled up to the elbow.
"Erik Lehnsherr, Mr Xavier," Erik said holding out a hand.
"Good God don't call me that it makes me sound old. Call me Charles, or Charlie, or even Charlotte really, just not that."
"So, your son I presume?"
"Now that is rich," Charles broke into laughter, "no, he's my intern; just how old do you think I am Erik?"
"A bit casual aren't you?"
"You think my language is casual, Erik I'm standing before you in ducky pyjamas and you comment on my casuality of how I address you? But yes, he's my intern, well; he also cooks for me so more of a factotum."
"Houseboy? And a well-trained one at that," Erik commented.
"Hank? Well trained? Hardly, he's horribly trained I can't even get him to have sex with me, but I don't think you drove all of this way to talk about my intern as adorable as he is."
"No, I did not."
"Well I can tell you don't like me, show's you've got good taste in men at least. Also shows you've heard of me. Am I what you expected?" Erik took a moment to think and stare at the man in front of him. The last three writers he had worked with had been two men in their fifties and a woman in her forties, never once did he see any of them in their pyjamas and never once were they as uncomfortably alluring as Charles Xavier.
"I was expecting a beard."
"Thank God for razors, no, I never liked them, ages me horribly." Charles chuckled. "Anyway back to business, so will you at least give the book a read? It's going to be different than normal; I'm not used to handing over complete control of the book and me. I'm going to warn you Erik I haven't let another man boss me around in far too long, in fact I kind of miss it, but don't expect me to come easily."
"I'm giving you six weeks Charles, six weeks to prove I'm wrong about this genre and your book, do you have a manuscript?" Charles gave him the completed manuscript he printed off earlier. Erik leafed through a few pages. "You certainly do have quite a way with words Charles."
"So you'll edit me? Please. You won't regret it."
"I'm a brutal editor."
"I like brutal," Charles said leaning forward over his desk, resting his chin on his interlocked fingers.
"I'll make you rewrite the whole book."
"Now you're just trying to turn me on," Charles said shooting him an adorably dazzling smile.
"I'll get back to you in the morning, with edits. Goodnight Charles."
"Goodnight Erik, please let me show you out." Charles and Erik walked to the front door in silence. "So I'll hear from you by tomorrow?"
"Morning. Get a good night's sleep Charles for I expect great things now that I have met you and shall expect greater once I've read you." Erik said his final piece and departed from the property feeling Charles' intense gaze on his car every second of the way.
Heading back to his study Charles saw an email, brand new from Erik. 'Sneaky bugger,' he thought reading it.
'Write something. Anything. Honestly I don't care, but I want to see how you write under pressure. I'll be home in an hour and fifthteen minutes. I expect to have an email waiting. Some advice: Don't write what you know, write only what you want to know.' Charles smirked. He was enjoying himself with this new editor far too much already.