"Oh, Moira, I would love to go with you, I really would, but I've already got a date," Charles says, grabbing a book from his locker.
"Oh… With who?"
Charles feels a wave of guilt crash over him at the disappointed reply, and he sighs. He needs to think of a way to get out of this without hurting her feelings, and quickly. He sifts through a list of names in his head, eyes searching the crowded hallway as he tries desperately to think of someone who will go along with his excuse. He's about to cave and tell her the truth when he sees a presence enter the hall, and without giving it much thought – because it's going to end badly either way, he knows – he says simply, "Erik Lehnsherr."
Moira gapes, apparently too shocked to move, and he takes the momentary silence to solidify his excuse.
Hello, Eri—
Get the fuCK OU—
I know, I know. Stay out of your head. Terribly sorry, but if you go along with what I'm about to do, I'll flunk the next debate and you can take out the season.
He can see Erik glaring at him – and boy, if looks could kill; he'd already be cold and needn't have to worry about the mess he's getting himself in to. He hears Erik's curious what are you about to do in his head as the other boy comes into reaching distance, and rather than replying, he reaches a hand out and pulls him so they're standing side by side.
Erik's just about to open his mouth to say something when Moira finally emerges from her trance, wide eyes flicking between the two teenage boys, "You and Erik Lehnsherr are going to the Valentine's Day dance? Together?"
Charles tightens his grip on Erik's forearm in an attempt to halt the outburst he can see simmering in his eyes, and smiles at Moira, nodding. "Yes."
"But… I thought you didn't like each other."
"We don't," Erik answers, mouth set in a thin line.
Moira's face scrunches in confusion, and Charles feels so sorry for her; he'd rather not drag her into the mess that was the relationship between him and Erik. "Then…why are you going to a Valentine's dance together if you don't like each other?"
I'd like an answer to that, too, Xavier, comes Erik's voice in his head, and Charles smothers an urge to punch whoever taught him how to project so well.
"It's, um," he stumbles for a moment, eyes looking towards Erik in a do you think you could help a little way, but the other boy just stares at him, patiently waiting for his answer.
Bastard, he projects, the sadistic amusement radiating from the other boy not going unnoticed.
"It's an experiment," he finally mumbles, "For a bet."
He curses himself for his own stupidity as Erik's lips stretch into a smirk.
Moira, if at all possible, looks even more confused. Charles doesn't blame her – the situation makes absolutely no sense, he knows – but he does wish she'd stop gawking at them. She's about to say something again when the bell signalling the beginning of their next class sounds and cuts her off.
He flashes her another charming smile before closing his locker. "So sorry, dear. Seems we've got to go," he says, eyes flashing towards Erik. "Talk later," he nods and turns around before she has a chance to reply, pulling Erik with him while he silently thanks the heavens that Moira isn't in any of his classes that day.
When they're far enough away that Moira won't be able to see or hear them, Erik yanks his arm out of Charles' grasp and goes back to glaring. "What the fuck was that?"
Charles sighs, "Sorry."
"I don't want to go to the dance with you."
The feeling's mutual, Charles thinks, but doesn't project. "I know," he mutters as they walk through the door of their shared AP English class, taking their assigned seats at the back. Charles never understood why their teacher had placed them next to each other; all they ever did was fight.
"You better be serious about flunking the debate," Erik tells him before pulling out a worn notebook.
"I am, but only if you come."
"How long do we have to stay?"
Charles shrugs, "Long enough to be believable." He finishes pulling out the things needed for the lesson and grabs a spare black pen, extending it towards the other mutant, "Need one?"
Erik accepts it silently, adverting his eyes to a new page of his notebook as their teacher walks in. He'd run out of pens the night before and hadn't had a chance to replenish his bag yet.
Keep it, Charles projects as the class falls silent, smiling at the glare he gets in return.
They stay silent for the first forty minutes of the lesson, listening idly as their teacher went on about Macbeth's tragic ambition. Neither of them had written anything down the entire time, the teacher's ramblings things you could find easily with a quick google search. If he was truthful, Charles hadn't been listening for the past fifteen minutes or so, instead he'd been staring, transfixed, as Erik drew oddly beautiful swirling patterns in the margin of his book.
That's why you always run out of pens, he projects, noticing the other boy tense as the comment.
What have I told you about getting inside my head?
Not to do it.
So why do you insist on doing it?
This is boring.
It's always boring. Fisher has no clue what he's talking about.
Exactly. At least talking to you is mentally stimulating.
We don't talk, Xavier. We argue.
Yes, well, Charles pauses, sighing quietly. I don't particularly feel like getting into a debate on mutant relationships with humans, so forgive me if I'd rather have a conversation.
A conversation about what? Erik asks, putting his pen down and shifting in his seat.
What time shall I pick you up on Saturday?
Why do you assume you're picking me up?
Do we really have to turn this into a debate?
Charles sees Erik roll his eyes before replying, Come at five. No sooner.
Address?
Erik picks up a pen again and scrawls a number and street name in the corner of his notebook page before ripping it off and passing it towards Charles. Don't expect me to be dressed fancy.
Of course not. I guess I'll see you then.
Erik lifts his eyebrows at him, kind of like he's making a no shit, Sherlock face, and Charles rolls his eyes, tuning back in on their teacher's monotone rambling.
xxx
Charles pulls up outside of Erik's home at exactly 4:45 PM on Saturday, palms sweaty as he shuts the engine off and looks out the windshield. The house is small compared to others on the street, but there's a warm sort of homely atmosphere that makes it easier for Charles to get out of the car and knock on the door.
He knows he's a little earlier than intended, but he hadn't been sure how long it would take to drive from his house to Erik's, and he supposed being early was better than being late. He doesn't know why he's so nervous. It's not like he and Erik are friends; if anything, he'd say Erik was his rival. Kind of. In an academic, opinion-y type of way. He found their relationship status very confusing at times.
He suspects most people don't become breathless when their rival starts arguing an opposing opinion, simply because the passion in their eyes is too beautiful to even begin to describe.
Whatever they were, he knows he shouldn't be ready to throw up at the possibility of Erik's mother opening the door rather than Erik himself.
Nevertheless, he makes sure there's a charming smile on his face when he knocks. He checks his outfit – formfitting dark blue jeans with a plain white button down – and waits for someone to answer the door. It's not long until a women, presumably middle aged, appears in front of him, a warm, welcoming smile on her face.
"Hello," he says, voice smooth and ridiculously more British due to his nerves. For some reason, he feels the need to make a good impression with this woman. Sticking a hand out for her to take hold of, he introduces himself. "Charles Xavier, how do you do?"
She cocks an eyebrow at him, but still smiles, and Charles isn't sure if he's made some type of mistake or not. "Edie Lehnsherr," she replies, and Charles notices her accent is much thicker than Erik's. "It's nice to finally put a face to the name," she says, dropping his hand.
"Erik talks about me?" he asks, genuinely surprised.
Edie grins, "Oh, yes. All the time."
He can feel the butterflies exploding in his stomach, his eyes widening. He can't imagine what Erik's mother thinks of him based from Erik's stories. "Hopefully not all bad things," he says, eyes moving nervously around the front yard. "I wouldn't want you to get the wrong impression, Mrs. Lehnsherr."
Edie laughs at him then, a rich sound, and Charles relaxes a little bit. "Not at all, dear. And please, none of this formal business. Call me Edie."
There's something inherently nice about this woman, and Charles can't help but like her. The grin he gives her is real when he corrects himself, "Edie, then."
"And don't worry; between you and me," she murmurs, leaning in. "I think he likes you a little bit."
Charles' cheeks burn red, and he's about to stutter out a response when Erik suddenly appears at the door, an annoyed furrow on his brow as he mutters quickly in German, eyes locked with his mother's. He doesn't understand any of it, just a mamma here or there, but he watches their expressions, watches as Edie rolls her eyes when he finally stops talking. Watches her turn to him, send him a knowing look before looking his outfit over and pointing to his bare arms; Charles presumes she's scolding him for not having a jacket over his black polo.
His presumptions are confirmed when Erik sighs and says, "It's not that cold."
"I don't care. If you get sick—"
"I'm not going to get sick."
"Go get a jacket."
"Mamma."
"Go."
Charles can't contain a small giggle as Erik rolls his eyes and dutifully goes to get a jacket, Edie watching on with a smug smile.
"I never thought I'd see the day where Erik Lehnsherr listened to the person scolding him," he mentions when Erik disappears into the home.
"That's my boy," Edie responds, laughing. "I'm happy as long as he stays out of trouble and listens to me."
Charles sees the fond expression on her face as she says it, can feel the love radiating from her mind as Edie talks about her son, and feels a type of envy coil in the pit of his stomach. His relationship with his own mother would be non-existent if they didn't argue.
He's saved from replying when Erik reappears, worn leather jacket on, and Edie smiles, pleased.
"You look nice, liebling," Edie tells him, leaning in to kiss his cheek.
Charles thinks he spots a blush on Erik's cheeks as he mumbles a thank you.
"And you, too, dear," she says, turning back towards Charles. "Quite handsome, really. I think Erik and I have a similar taste in men—"
"Bye, Mamma, see you later," Erik's voice cuts off the rest of the sentence as he walks closer to Charles and grabs his arm, all but dragging him to the car.
"It was lovely to meet you!" he calls out, looking behind him to grin at Edie, who laughs and waves them off.
Erik scowls and uses his mutation of take the car keys from Charles before moving towards the driver's seat.
"What makes you think you're driving?"
"You almost crashed the van on the way to the last debate. I'm not risking it."
The telepath rolls his eyes but still gets into the passenger's seat, a smile on his face. He waits until they've turned out of Erik's street before facing the other boy. "Mamma, huh?"
"Fuck off."
Charles chuckles, not disheartened in the slightest, "It's cute." He sees Erik shoot him a glare, "There's nothing wrong with being a mamma's boy."
"I'm not—"
"Yeah you are," Charles cuts him off. "You're close, it's nice."
Erik sighs and stops at a red light, "I take it you and your mother don't get along."
"Ah, no, not really," Charles shrugs. "No one was all that pleased about the telepathy. I think I used to intentionally give people headaches when I didn't get my way."
Erik's doesn't reply for a while, and Charles thinks their attempt at a conversation is over until Erik parks the car at the venue and turns to him, smiling softly. "The silverware would rattle when I cried. I think I almost stabbed my babysitter once."
Charles gets out of the car, laughing at the picture of a baby Erik shooting spoons at people he didn't like. "I could see you doing that now."
"Don't tempt me, Charles," Erik jokes, floating his keys towards him. "A key isn't that far from a knife."
He makes sure the car is locked before joining Erik and walking towards the doors of the hall, sighing as he feels the stares of their classmates. "I didn't think people would stare this much."
Erik shrugs, "Ignore them, we only have to stay for a little bit."
"Or, we might end up having fun and staying the whole night."
"Not a chance, Xavier, I don't do dances."
"I bet you're secretly a good dancer."
"No."
"I bet Edie gave you lessons when you were younger."
There's a small flush creeping up the back of Erik's neck, just above the collar of his jacket, and Charles smiles. He's probably right.
"Piss off."
"You're getting defensive, which means I'm right."
"I'm not defensive."
"Yep," Charles says, the p making a popping sound.
"Don't call my mother Edie."
"She said I could."
"I don't care."
Charles rolls his eyes, "Are you sure the two of you are related? She's so much nicer."
Erik glares at him again, and maybe that hadn't been the right thing to say, but Charles juts lifts his shoulder in a shrug and pushes the hall's door open, letting Erik enter ahead of him.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Erik mutters, grimacing as he looks around the room. He knew it was Valentine's Day, but fuck, that wasn't an excuse to cover ninety percent of the walls in pick, tacky heart decorations, separated by what he thought was red tinsel.
"That is such a waste of helium," Charles states, eyes staring at heart shaped balloons hovering near the roof.
Turning to look, Erik groans. "Right, I'm leaving," he says, turning towards the door.
Charles quickly grabs hold of his arm and pull him closer, "No, you're not."
"Charles."
"I know it's…tacky—"
"It's a fucking assault to the eyes."
"Just stay for a little bit," Charles begs him. "Please. I don't want to hurt Moira."
"Last I checked, lying to someone wasn't the best way to do that."
"Simply saying no would have been worse."
"Whatever," Erik mumbles, moving towards a back corner of the large room. "It's not so pink back here."
Charles follows, shaking his head. "Who the hell picks the decorations for these things?"
"Pretty sure there's a committee."
"Why would someone spend their free time in a committee for this?"
"People say the same thing about debating," Erik points out, sitting down as a pink covered table.
Charles sits next to him, eyes scanning the room. "Yeah, but at least debatin—is that fucking mistletoe?"
Erik looks to where Charles is pointing and snorts; there is indeed a plastic branch of mistletoe taped to a wall. "Must've had to use Christmas decorations, as well. There's tinsel over there."
"Oh God," Charles mutters, covering his smile with his hand and turning to Erik. "I promise we won't stay too long."
They sit together quietly for a minute, and although the silence is slightly awkward, it isn't as uncomfortable as they initially thought it would be.
"Do you think we're underdressed?" Erik asks suddenly, smirking as he points to the door.
Charles looks, stifling a laugh as he sees what Erik's pointing at. A couple has just walked into the room and, while Charles thinks they look nice, he also thinks the tuxedo and wedding-like dress may have been a little over the top for the dance.
"I don't want to be rude," he says once his laughter subsides, his gaze trailing over the girl's white, lacy dress. "But, wow. I wish we got the memo."
Erik huffs a laugh, "Mmm, I've got that exact dress in my closet. I've been waiting to wear it out for a while now."
"It's a pity you didn't. The white would look lovely against your skin."
"Topped off with red lipstick, I think I would have been best dressed."
"Mm, hair slicked back."
"What," Erik says, running a hand through his hair so it falls in front of his face, silver-y blue eyes peeking through the auburn strands. "You don't like the messy look?"
"I think you look lovely, darling," Charles replies, blushing when he realises he's flirting with Erik Lehnsherr. "But maybe not with the dr—"
"Oh my God, you two actually came together!"
Charles' head snaps sideways to look at the intruder, surprised. "Moira," he says, standing up to kiss her cheek. He sees Erik's playful smile morph into a look of indifference and sighs internally. They were going so well. "You look lovely, as always."
"So do you, Charles," Moira responds, blushing. She looks at Erik behind him, an air of awkwardness about her. "You too, Erik."
Erik doesn't reply, just purses his lips and nods.
Don't be rude, Charles projects. She's being nice.
I said I'd come with you, I didn't say I'd converse with your friends.
Charles sends him a pointed look and Erik rolls his eyes, sighing as he stands up. "I like your hair," he says to Moira, "Did you get it done professionally?"
Charles sends him the equivalent of being jabbed by an elbow, and Erik smirks.
What?
Don't be patronising.
I'm not. Her hair looks nice.
Moira's smile falters for a second, but she still mumbles a thanks before looking away awkwardly. "Umm, I hope you have fun, Charles. My date is over there," she says, pointing to some kid Charles doesn't know. "See you later."
"Have a lovely night, my dear," he smiles, waving as she walks away. He waits until she's out of earshot before turning to Erik again, "You're a dick."
"Nothing you didn't already know," Erik tells him, and Charles wants to punch the smug look off his face.
xxx
Erik lasts a full forty minutes before finally groaning and standing up, irritated. "I can't do this anymore," he says, turning to Charles. "I'm going to kill the next person who pushes their significant other up against a wall."
"At least you didn't see a guy getting a blow job in the bathroom."
Erik just shakes his head, "I need air, you coming?"
Charles hides his mild shock at the invitation, but nods and follows him out of the crowded room. He sighs in relief when the fresh air hits him, only just realising how stuffy it had been inside.
"I don't like crowds," Erik mutters, walking away from the entrance and standing against the wall, his back pressed against the cool brick.
"Depends on the crowd," Charles says, wrapping his arms around himself as the cold air hits him. "But that was definitely irritating."
They're not the only people outside, but, as far as Charles can see, they are the only ones not going at it. He can see at least three other couples in compromising positions.
"Does that mean we don't have to go back in?" he asks, pulling a metal cigarette holder out of his pocket. "Want my jacket?" he asks, inclining his head towards Charles' folded arms.
"It's fine," he replies, watching on as Erik places a cig to his mouth and lights it. "Does your mother know you smoke?"
"I don't know," Erik answers truthfully. "Maybe. Probably. She usually always knows what I get up to."
"Would she care?"
"I only have one every now and then," Erik shrugs, blowing a puff of smoke into the air away from Charles. "Don't mention it to her, in case she doesn't know."
"That doesn't answer the question."
"Mum's really good with my rebellion," he makes quote motions with his hands, and Charles grins. "She just tells me to not get into anything I can't get myself out of."
"Really?"
Erik nods, taking another drag. "That be being said, she'll kick my ass if I fuck up too much."
Charles laughs – because isn't that a vision to think about – "I'm surprised you're not always walking around with bruises, then."
"Funny," he deadpans, chucking the cig on the ground, his boot squashing it into the dirt.
"I try."
Erik looks at him and pushes him away from the remnants of smoke, eyes trailing down to his folded arms again. "You're cold," he points out. "Take my jacket."
Charles opens his mouth to protest, but Erik is already pulling the black leather away from him, and any objections are cut off when he sees the smooth, caramel skin of Erik's arms, the teasing slither of his stomach as his polo rides up.
Erik shoots him a knowing smirk when he finally grabs the jacket, blushing. "Like what you see, Charles?"
Charles doesn't really know how to reply; they've been kind of flirting all night, Edie's words in the back of his head the entire time. There are butterflies in his stomach now, because, truth be told, he's always liked what he saw. Despite some of their differences, he'd always thought he and Erik could get along well, if only they tried.
Running his tongue along his bottom lip, Charles decides to just be honest. It's Valentine's Day and they're at a dance as a date and he's seen too many people kissing to not want to at least try and get somewhere with the other boy. "Yes," he finally answers, voice low in the open area. "Quite a bit, actually."
Erik raises his eyebrows at him, almost as if he hadn't expected Charles to reply so openly. "Well then," he says, trying to compose himself as he moves closer to Charles. "Perhaps there are other ways to warm you up."
Charles stares at him for a minute, unmoving, and then, suddenly, he starts giggling, bringing his hand to his mouth to stifle the laughter.
Erik scowls, "What?"
"Sorry, sorry," Charles says between giggles. "Terribly sorry, darling. I, it's just—I can't believe you just said that."
Erik continues to scowl, arms crossing over his chest. "Forget it, then," he mumbles, and Charles swears his ears have turned red.
"No, no, no," he says quickly, biting his lip to stop the laughter. "It's cute, endearing, really, I didn't mean to offend. It's just, I don't know, you're so," he makes a flow-y hand movement, unsure of what he means by it, and continues. "And you just—it sounds like something I would say, and I'm terrible at this."
Erik looks away and steps back, shrugging. "Forget it," he repeats, voice barely above a whisper.
Charles shakes his head, still smiling, "What if I don't want to?"
Erik just looks at him, almost confused, and Charles eventually just moves forward, one arm wrapping around Erik's waist while the other holds the jacket still. Erik comes to him easily, breath coming in short, erratic puffs as he looks down at the telepath.
"Really?"
Charles nods, "Really."
"But w-"
"Shut up and kiss me, Erik."
Erik doesn't need to be told twice; within seconds his lips are against Charles', gentle and tentative as the other boy pulls him closer, their bodies flush against each other. Erik wraps his arms around the smaller boy's waist, hands resting just above the small of his back, and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, coaxing Charles to open his mouth. Charles does, and Erik takes the opportunity to run his tongue against the other's, tasting the remnants of whatever flavoured juice they'd been drinking and something else he'd have to describe as distinctly Charles.
They pull back shortly after, both of them needing air, and Charles smiles, burrowing his head in Erik's shoulder. "I don't want to do this where people can see."
"What do you want to do?"
"Use my car?"
Erik groans quietly, nose buried in Charles' hair. "It's too far away, let's just use this person's."
Charles moves his head to see the car in question, parked only a few meters away, and laughs. "I'm not breaking into a car just to make out with you."
"My mutation makes it really easy," Erik says, smirking.
"Erik."
"Fine," he mumbles, sighing. He moves out of their embrace and takes hold of Charles' hand, "Come on then."
Charles grins down at the linked hands, following Erik as they stumble towards his car. His free hand digs for his keys but he stops when Erik opens the door without them, a cocky smirk on his face. Charles gets into the back seat first, discarding Erik's jacket on the car floor while he lies on his back, watching as Erik fumbles to get on top of him while using his mutation to pull the door shut. It's crowded and uncomfortable and there's a seatbelt plug digging into the flesh of his back, but the adrenaline running through him sends a shiver of excitement through his body and he lifts his head, waiting for another kiss.
Erik's lips are on his in an instant, tongue running against the roof of his mouth, and Charles moans quietly, hands moving to rest against Erik's back. The only light in the car comes from the darkening sky outside, and Erik's body is a range of shadows and solid objects as he leaves kisses down his jaw, teeth nipping at his neck. He's getting hard embarrassingly fast, but he can't bring himself to care, too caught up in the feeling of Erik's body atop of his.
His hands slide under the cloth of Erik's polo, and he marvels at the way the other mutant's heated skin feels beneath his hands. He slides them up his back, down his sides and across the defined muscle of his stomach. "Off," he whispers against Erik's lip, eyes wide as he watches Erik lean back and quickly pull the shirt from him.
His lips makes a quick return to Charles' skin, fingers moving to the buttons of his shirt, "May I?"
Charles nods eagerly, letting a pleased sigh leave his mouth as Erik's lips follow the movement of his fingers, leaving a string of stinging marks across his torso. His hips buck unintentionally and he lets out a long, low moan as his erection makes contact with Erik's thigh. For some reason, he's embarrassed, and he opens his mouth to say something – apologise, probably – but Erik just shushes him, lips moving back to his mouth. Erik's hands find the waistline of his jeans and he pulls back so he can look in Charles eyes, questioning.
"It's okay," Charles tells him, and Erik smiles.
"Tell me if you want me to stop," he mumbles, using his mutation to undo the zipper of his jeans, chuckling when Charles groans, almost shaking with arousal.
Charles leans up and in for another kiss while Erik slips his hands into the open fabric of his formfitting jeans, stroking idly against the covered hardness of Charles' cock, smiling into their kiss when Charles' body bucks up into him.
"Fuck," Charles mutters, his muffled moans filling the cramped car as Erik palms his prick. It's ridiculous, he thinks, because this isn't the first time he's done this with someone yet his body feels like it's on fire, like it's going to explode if Erik keeps touching him like that.
He buries his face into the crook of Erik's shoulder when the other boy slips his hand under the waist band of his underwear, long fingers gripping his cock and pulling. His movements are tentative at first, but they grow more confident as Charles continues to moan and mouth against his bare shoulder, hands making their wait to the fly of Erik's pants.
"Wait."
"What?" Charles asks, head tilting to look up at Erik.
"Let me get you off first," Erik mumbles, his spare hand moving to cup Charles' ass. "It's too difficult to move."
"Okay," he replies, voice embarrassingly breathy as his back arches into Erik's touches.
It doesn't take long before Charles is withering under Erik's body, small gasps and moans filling the car as Erik continues the expert movement of his hand.
"Come for me, Charles," he whispers, voice sounding rough with arousal.
Charles thrusts up into him one more time before his mouth opens in a silent cry and he comes, fingers grasping at Erik as he breaths heavy, body damp with sweat. Erik grins down at him, almost predatory as he brings his hand to his mouth to lick it clean, chuckling as Charles whimpers quietly.
Once his breathing calms down, Charles reaches for the opening of Erik's pants again, sitting up as much as he can to leave kisses against the damp skin of his throat and chest.
"You don't have to," Erik murmurs, but Charles hears the whine that leaves his mouth as he pushes against the obvious erection, feels the pure arousal radiating off of the other boy's mind.
The positioning's all wrong, but Charles fumbles with the button and zipper anyway, undoing them as quickly as he can and pushing the black jeans down mid-thigh, along with the underwear, so he can get a hold of Erik, satisfied to hear the quiet mantra of pleased sounds as Erik rocks up into the pressure of his hand. He stares for a minute before he starts moving his hand, not expecting Erik to be quite so big. They kiss again, Charles working his hand as much as he can at the odd angle, his fingers squeezing as Erik thrusts against him.
He trails kisses down the other boy's neck, stopping to suck on the prominent collarbone, knowing Erik will have a mark the next day. Erik groans, hands clutching onto his shoulders as Charles speeds the movement of his hand, paying special attention to the head of Erik's cock.
He presses sloppy kisses until his mouth is near Erik's ear, breath still coming in erratic puffs. "Let go," he encourages, voice low and sensual. The words are barely out of his mouth before Erik finally reaches his climax, letting out a long, hoarse groan as his come paints white stripes across his stomach and Charles' hand.
They stay like that for a while; wrapped around each other as both of them catch their breaths, coming down from the orgasm induced high. Eventually, though, the car starts to feel too claustrophobic and Erik can feel remnants of come drying on his skin in the most uncomfortable way.
"I don't want to ruin the mood," he murmurs, leaning back so Charles has more space to move. "But I'm one hundred percent sure that my mother is going to wait for me to get home, and if I walk in like this…"
Charles grins and point to a compartment in the front of the car, too lazy to move. "There are wet wipes in there."
Erik leans over and grabs them, cleaning himself up quickly and redoing his pants before taking another wipe and running it against Charles' skin, leaving a cool, prickling sensation. He smiles when the other boy giggles while attempting to fix his own clothing.
"I had no idea we'd end up doing this," Charles tells him, fingers quickly re-buttoning the shirt that never really came off. "Though I'm incredibly glad we did."
"Me too," Erik replies, bent slightly while he grabs his own shirt and jacket from the car's floor. "Better than arguing."
"Mm, definitely."
"Although," Erik says, voice muffled as he pulls his shirt on. "Imagine the angry sex."
Charles laughs again, sitting up properly. "Something tells me I won't have to imagine it for too long."
Erik shrugs, "I'm up for it if you are."
"Believe me, darling, as long as you're willing, there's no way that that is only happening once."
xxx
Erik sighs as he pulls the car into his driveway, head turning against the leather seat to look at Charles, a smile on his face. "Can't believe we actually ended up having fun."
"I know," Charles beams back at him. "Who would've thought."
Erik hums, eyes trailing to look at the front window of his house, noticing the light on in the living room. "I should probably get inside," he mumbles, undoing the seatbelt.
Charles nods and does the same, exiting the car the same time Erik does. They come face to face at the front of the car, Erik's right arm wrapping around Charles' waist.
"You gonna kiss me goodnight, Lehnsherr?" the telepath teases, wrapping his arms around Erik's neck and smiling when the taller boy leans down to gently press their lips together.
"Good enough for you?" he whispers, pressing his forehead against Charles'.
"Mm, one more."
Erik huffs a laugh and kisses him again, thumb rubbing a pattern in the small of Charles' back. "I'll talk to you tomorrow?"
"Definitely."
"And," Erik says, placing one last kiss to Charles' forehead. "Tonight wasn't too horrible, so don't flunk the debate. I want to win fairly."
"You're not going to win, darling. The title's mine."
"Keep dreaming, Xavier," he teases, pulling away and taking a few steps towards his front door. "I'm gonna kick your ass."
Hopefully that's not the only thing you do to my ass, Charles projects, laughing when Erik shoots him a playful glare.
Don't tempt me.
Wouldn't dream of it.
Uh-huh.
Goodnight, Erik.
Get home safe, pretty boy.
xxx
Erik walks through the front door and straight into his mother's knowing gaze. "I take it I'll be seeing a lot more of dear Charles?" she asks, patting the spare spot on the couch.
Despite his best attempts, he can't wipe the blush and giddy smile from his face as he moves to sit next to Edie, her arm automatically wrapping around his shoulders as he leans into her. "Maybe," Erik answers, his voice barely above a whisper. "What'd you think of him?"
Edie rakes her thin fingers through his short hair and grins when she looks at him, "If he makes you smile like that, liebling, I think we'll get along just fine."
"Ich hab dich lieb, Mama," he mumbles, scrunching his face up as Edie plants a kiss to his forehead.
"And I you, sweet boy."