Charles?
It was a gentle, curious voice, calling to him from somewhere faraway. He didn't actually hear it through his ears, it was a small sound whispering somewhere in his mind, he numbly registered.
Charles frowned in his sleep, his senses slowly awakening with the rising sun. His mind was starting to get aware of everything around him. The hardness of the bed, so unfamiliar to his own bed in the clouds. That unidentified spicy fragrance; masculine and exotic, drifting all around him. And that heat.
There was a heat, so strong that it was almost tangible, enveloping him. And the weight on him, almost as if another body was-
Charles' eyes shot open, and he looked straight into steely grey eyes, a supernova trapped in those crystal orbs, only a breath away from his.
"Oh," a husky voice said, and Charles felt warm breath on his lips. It smelled like the woods in autumn, like cinnamon and spices, like the first fire in the fireplace. His eyes darted to said lips and back to the eyes again.
"Erik, what-?" Charles croaked, but stopped when Erik huffed, sending another gust of warmth to his lips.
"Good morning," Erik said, almost too innocently, "did I wake you?"
Well, yes! Charles wanted to scream. But Erik was too close for comfort, hands on either side of the sleeping angel, so Charles tried to sink into the cushions of the sofa. He was too mortified to speak, and he felt his face heat up. The only thing separating Erik's bare chest from Charles' was a thin blanket, and Charles could feel the heat through it; the cloth didn't make any difference. Funny thing, grateful as he was, where did the blanket come from?
"Hmm," Erik frowned, and ignoring Charles' obvious discomfort, shifted over the angel, so that now the Prince was completely on top of him. Charles' attention was diverted to the midnight wings that were gently brushing against his side, as if seeking his attention, when he felt warm –no, hot, absolutely scorching- fingers caressing his sides.
"Erik!" Charles squeaked and jumped, rising on his elbows and crawling back.
"Wait!" Erik said after a momentary pause, with that innocent expression ever-present on his face. He looked like the Hunter's Moon, perched between midnight wings. He edged towards Charles, straddling him again. Charles tried to lean back against the arm rest, moving as far away as he could in that small space, slipping his legs free from underneath Erik, and folding them closer to his body. Wrong move, he realised as Erik raised an eyebrow, as if in amusement, looking up from between Charles' legs.
The angel tried sitting up, ignoring the obvious parts of his body that were beginning to like this proximity.
Black wings spread open for balance as Erik rose to his knees, his face now level to Charles'. Charles was sure he could see the autumn constellations-Andromeda and Cassiopeia- in his eyes.
Erik was so close, he was almost in Charles' lap, sliding between his legs, and Charles could take it no more. The angel shut his eyes, turning his face away. Time seemed to cease as he heard his own heart sound like a midsummer's storm- all thunder and rambling. He felt Erik's breath on his ear, and a shiver travelled down his spine. Erik large hands now spread palm-first on his chest, and Charles felt the scorching heat through his thin robe. The hands slowly travelled downward, fingers caressing every inch they could reach. His nipples got a special handling from the calloused thumbs, and Charles let out a small whimper, feeling dry electricity surge through him..
While the hands travelled even further down, Charles felt Erik nipping his ear lobe. The pain-pleasure was fresh to him, and it was all Charles could think of in his early morning haze. His mind was unable to process what was happening. He gripped Erik's biceps, fingernails digging into the skin when Erik's tongue traced out the bite. Charles felt the heat travel down from his face and spread all over his body.
The hands moved even further down, moving along the curves and ridges, fanning at Charles' sides. Erik held him at the waist, and Charles was sure he'd have hand prints burnt on his skin. Then the hands slipped under his clothes and Charles sucked in a deep breath, nose brushing against Erik's neck. He should stop Erik; this was not supposed to happen. He knew he should push the Prince away, tell him to discontinue, just dosomething. But Charles found himself unable to move. Unable to do anything but enjoy the warmth of another body. The right fragrance to his olfactory senses, the right texture underneath his fingertips, the perfect sight to his eyes.
One hand moved upwards, in the small space between Charles' back and the armrest of the sofa. Then it moved to the side, slowly, worshipping the skin with the touches. The other moved under his waistband, reaching down, oh so close, fingers flexing possessively over the curve of his hips. Charles felt goose bumps rise on his entire body.
"Erik," Charles breathed, voice trembling. He rested his forehead on the broad shoulders, biting his lips to refrain from screaming. He heard Erik chuckling in his ears –oh, music to his ears- and all of a sudden, Charles felt the loss of heat as he heard Erik shuffling to stand up. His body moved involuntarily towards the heat that was Erik.
When Charles opened his eyes, Erik was sitting on the opposite side of the sofa, long legs crossed at the knees, with a smug expression on his face.
"Got it," Erik said proudly, revealing the prized possession in his hand –it took a moment for Charles to register that it was the remote controller for the television. The smile on his face was predatory. "Searched all over for it…I knew it had to be on the couch," Erik was muttering, but Charles didn't hear him over the ringing in his own ears.
Switching on the screen, Erik stood up and stretched, almost as if putting on a show for Charles. For a few mortified seconds, Charles stared open-mouthed at the rippling muscles of the tanned back.
Erik stood in the middle of the room, legs spread in a pose of dominance, dark satin pants hanging low on his waist. Sunlight lazily streamed through the open windows, creating a fiery golden halo around his midnight wings. Even though Erik had his back towards him, Charles didn't miss the mouth-watering size of his waist.
Charles shook his head and snapped out of his daze. "Erik! What in the world-?"
"What?" Erik asked innocently, but his eyes said otherwise. "You don't like this channel? I understand. Entertainment here on Earth is just…" he trailed off, shaking his head as if he was really contemplating the topic. He surfed through the channels, clicking his tongue at the monotony.
"Not that!" Charles retaliated. "If you needed the remote, you could've just asked me!" As if Erik was really interested in watching television!
"Hmm," Erik turned, tilting his head. "But I didn't want to wake you."
Unable to think of a proper reply, Charles simply stared incredulously. Wake? Charles was sure he wouldn't be sleeping properly for the next few days. Or years.
"No, Mystique, you don't understand!" Charles whispered. When a few other angels gave him sideways glances, he turned back to using his powers.
It's not…I can't explain, but it's different. You know? He whispered in his sister's mind.
Why is it bothering you so much? Can this not wait till after this meeting is over? Mystique asked, raising her eyebrows.
You're right. I'm sorry, I just. This hasn't happened before. I-I'm sorry. Charles looked away. What was happening? He had never been so distracted before.
No, he couldn't have a diversion right now. He had his duties, so many responsibilities. He had to concentrate on them. There was a new case regarding the guardians for the Silver Gates, one of the old ones had been wounded in a tarry with an escapee. And then, being the highest ranking Archangel, Charles had to check the weekly accomplishments of the Elite Seven. Oh, and then they had to make preparations for the upcoming congregation with the Four Horsemen.
Charles led out an inaudible sigh. Maybe he could-
"Charles!" Mystique hissed.
"What?" Charles asked, lowering his voice.
"I've been calling you from such a long time. Were you even listening?" His sister asked.
"No," Charles admitted, shame coloring his cheeks.
"I said, it's going to be alright, dear brother. Let's focus on this meeting now, and after this is over, we will discuss what's troubling you, yes?" She asked gently, to which Charles nodded. If he had one confidante in any of the Worlds, one person he could trust, it was Mystique, so much like the sister he never had.
He then concentrated on what Hank was saying, taking about a new beacon that would light up whenever a Gifted was born to Earth.
"How long do you think this will work?" Phoenix asked looking down to Earth. She saw Maya look up to the Heavens, as if staring right back at her. Phoenix, with the fiery red hair, was Uriel, the Watcher. She was the beacon of the angels, and she had the ability of sight, she could look into any of the planes. Sunlight lit up her hair, and her eyes glowed with the nervous light of mischief, like a prank that a child played against her parents.
Charles was her mentor, and sentinel, and she didn't consider him lesser than her guardian. So she consoled herself and suppressed the bubbling in her stomach when Mystique said that it was all for the better good.
Charles had left Mystique's cloud a few hours ago, confessing all his troubles. Mystique, like the good sister she was, counseled him with her best advice. She had encouraged him, told him not to pay attention to Erik fooling around, and boosted his confidence in recruiting Maya. Then after wishing him all the luck in the world, she had watched him fly down to Earth after he'd promised that this mission won't take long.
However, Mystique hadn't mentioned her part in the assignment. She couldn't directly lie, couldn't; lies tasted like bitter vile on angel's tongues, burned their eyes, choked their breaths. It was a tangible entity, suffocating them, whenever they lied. But hiding something, hypothetically, wasn't the same as lying, so she could work with that.
"Secrets have been known to last since time itself," Anna said, unconsciously agreeing to Mystique's mentality. The silver streaks in her hair flowed in the light wind, her eyes full of clandestine as she looked back to the two women. "Trust me, I know," she added with a wink.
'Rogue', as the other angels called Anna fondly, was Raziel, the Keeper of Secrets. Mystique could always remember her saying that secrets were like touches; and Rogue had the ability to know all your deepest secrets with one touch, as if all your memories, your experiences, your skills, your powers flowed to her through physical contact.
After Charles had left for Earth, earlier, the two Archangels, Rogue and Phoenix, had immediately flown to Mystique's cloud, eager for updates. And so Mystique informed them about the progression, though unclear with the explicit details, which Charles had somehow mumbled out, blushing like a bride, and Mystique had listening, biting back a grin. She hadn't seen her brother open up like this for a long time. The way Charles was blushing, and stammering, like they were children again, a lifetime ago. She had refrained from teasing him with much difficulty, maintaining her soberness and sophistication. She hoped that the Deities would bless them and their plan would succeed.
Initially, Mystique had been reluctant to share her plan with others. But she needed all the help she could. With Hank's suggestion, she had invited the other five Archangels to her conspiracy, and to her surprise they all had agreed. They all had, in some way or the other, a debt to pay to Charles.
Mystique smiled, absently looking at the cloud rolling like mist at her feet. Charles, always doing good for others. Karma had to bless him one day or the next. And as the angel of Justice, she knew that Karma spared no souls, not even the oldest creations. Justice serves, in one form or the other. If you do good, then goodness shall befall upon you in the end, no matter how many pits you have to cross in the way. And it was finally Charles' time to bask in the sunlight he had earned for himself, all these centuries.
Each and every soul taking part in this assignment was important, Mystique knew, even the ones condemned to Hell. The wheels were rolling, maybe not in the direction they had expected it to, but in the end, they would reach their destination.
