NOTES: So what I was saying about chess and cocktails...this fic has an abundance of both. XD I saw the movie again a few days ago; so much love for it and (most) everyone in it and also for YOU, yes, YOU, faithful readers, for reviewing and favoriting and alerting and being oh so patient when I haven't been updating with the frequency I'd prefer. I love you all and reward you with drunk!Charles and an Erik that can only be described by this face: -_- (Title and quote from I Know Him So Well [appropriately] from the musical Chess.)

RATING: T for drinking and mild slash

The Gap Between Us

Looking back, I could've played it differently / won a few more moments – who can tell?

Erik wasn't quite sure how this chess game had come to encompass a drinking game as well, but he was sure that he was winning both. Somehow, about an hour ago, they'd started the practice of each man taking a drink every time his opponent captured a piece. Erik took the first few victories and, seeing as Charles' skill in chess seemed to deteriorate with every drink, Erik continued to gain pieces in a sort of alcohol-fueled snowball effect.

By this time, Erik was barely tipsy and Charles didn't seem to have a very solid grasp on which piece was which anymore. As one of Charles' pawns moved halfway up the board and landed in between two squares, Erik decided it was time to put the game (and his opponent) away for the night.

"Oi…" Charles whined as Erik cleared the remaining pieces into a pile next to the board. "What're y'doing?"

"Not taking advantage of your current state…" Erik stood up to clear away their glasses.

Charles groaned and folded his arms on the board, laying his head down and grinning dazedly up at Erik, who only laughed his quiet laugh as he walked over to deposit the glasses on top of a white cabinet. As Erik turned back, he saw that Charles' eyes were fixed unsteadily on his face.

"C'mere…" Charles mumbled, still staring and reaching out a hand from where he was still half-lying on the table.

"What?" Erik asked, standing over him.

"C'mere," Charles repeated, waving him down. Erik crouched down and Charles' fingers reached out and held up a lock of his hair. Charles continued to stare foggily, studying Erik's hair as well as he could manage. "S'red in the light…" he concluded as he gently turned Erik's head to different angles to better catch the lamplight. "It's…it's really lovely…"

Erik couldn't help smiling a little at the warm, unsteady hand that had come to rest on the back of his neck. "Charles, if you even begin to say the word 'groovy,' I'm never letting you near any kind of alcohol ever again." They both laughed, Charles' laugh high and drunken and Erik's soft and wry. Still laughing and letting his eyes drift shut, Charles wove his fingers tighter into Erik's hair and tried to pull him closer. "No, you don't," Erik interjected, standing before Charles could go anywhere with that particular action.

"Hey, hey, hey, what're you doing now?" Charles gave a confused smile, his hand falling from Erik's neck to his wrist.

"Same as before," Erik murmured, using Charles' grip on his arm to pull him to his wavering feet. "You're going to bed now," he decided as Charles forcefully leaned against his side, his head rolling back onto his shoulder as he was led out of the room.

Rolling his eyes, Charles mumbled, "You're even more'f an old fart than I am…"

"Spending as much time with you as I do merits that sometimes, Charles." Charles only offered up a rather loud raspberry in response. "That's lovely…" Erik whispered sardonically as he steered Charles down the hall, dreading the prospect of excusing his chess opponent's behavior to any passing CIA agents.