For those interested, I've changed the first two links and added one or two more to the picture of Emmett, First Class, in my profile. Thanks to kaesaku for telling me that the links didn't work :)

This chapter's kind of short since it serves as a transitional chapter, but there's smut (kind of) and introspective thinking so I hope they'll make it more exciting. Keeping the suspense on a hold.

Thanks for the awesome reviews (I've replied to them) and reading and hope everyone enjoys the chapter :) Will be busy this week so hopefully i will be able to update on Thursday or Friday, got most of the next chap written out.

Disclaimer: I don't own X-Men First Class or its characters.

When he is out of the hotel, it takes Charles some time to remember he had not taken his car.

Charles sighs irritably, raising his hand to impatiently hail down a cab. Why did it have to be peak hour now, of all times?

Surprisingly, it does not take him long for him to be noticed. The cab stops, and Charles steps forward to open the door, sliding into the vehicle easily.

The man who turns to look back at him is young, and he is reminded of the time he and Erik had found Darwin. He smiles at Charles, a twinkle in his eyes. "Where to, Miss?"

Charles blinks. Then, he remembers he had not removed his disguise. He tells the cab driver the address of their temporary residence, and he nods, a bemused expression on his face.

"Sure thing." The man replies and turns. As Charles reaches out to shut the door, he catches sight of the annoyed expression of the man who had been standing next to him.

"She's a pretty one."

Charles tenses at the sudden thought. But, it is one of admiration, and he relaxes as the cab starts forward.

Charles feels slightly guilty for stealing the man's ride, as he had heard him accusingly think. But, he has priorities, and as the cab rumbles along, he sits in silence and realizes that there may be benefits to being a woman after all –— if it assisted him in thwarting Shaw's plans.

"Are you with the CIA?"

Charles looks up, feeling slightly uncomfortable. "No." Seeing the question on the man's face, he lies, "I'm just going there to visit someone."

"Really? Who?"

Charles smiles at him, remembering the man's thought. "My boyfriend."

"I see." The man smiles back disappointedly.

He turns his gaze back to the front, and Charles busies himself planning their next move in the silence in the vehicle. He tries not to think of the goodbye kiss Emmett had given him, no, given Charlene.

Emmett still didn't know, and he didn't need to know. He may be a man whom had fascinated Charlene, but he was also the same man who was his, Charles's, enemy.

Charles frowns. Azazeal had said Shaw wanted Emmett in Russia and had taken him there –— wait no, he had also said Shaw wanted to see Emmett, so that gave them time to take the CIA's private jet to Russia, but of course, he had to meet with Moira and the CIA first to discuss their plans. They couldn't just invade the Soviet Union.

Charles sighs, rubbing his temple, vaguely hearing the man call out, "We've arrived."

Time really flew when he was thinking, Charles thinks. But, he smiles at the man. Fortunately, he has brought his wallet along, and he fishes out the cash to pay the man. "Thank you. Keep the change."

Before he can reply to Charles, the disguised telepath opens the car door and gets off the car. He closes it, and then proceeds to stride forward towards the CIA compound.

However, he is blocked by guards with frowns on their faces. "Who are you?" One of them asks suspiciously.

Charles blinks. They are men whom he has greeted on occasion. He is about to state his identity when he remembers that right now, he isn't Charles Xavier.

He couldn't shed his disguise in front of mere human beings, and he couldn't pretend he was a CIA Agent either – he had no doubt they kept identification of every CIA agent and Moira seemed to be their only female member.

Charles resists the urge to sigh, finding the situation tedious for its importance. "My name is Charlene." He tries to give a polite smile, deciding to go with his initial excuse. "I'm here to visit my boyfriend."

"You can wait for your boyfriend outside, Miss," the guard speaks strictly. "We have strict orders not to let any unauthorized personnel entrance."

Charles wonders if he should just mind-control them into letting him in. But, he remembers his principles and how unethical it would be, and says with what he hopes is a sweet smile, letting sadness show in his blue eyes. "But, I haven't seen him for months. Please, let me in?"

"Who is he?" The other guard asks, in a gentler tone.

Charles hesitates. "Erik Lensherr."

He sees the men's eyes widen, and hears them converse in hushed tones. Charles manages to keep the smile on his face, half wondering if he should just leave with a half hearted excuse and come back as himself. He wishes the men knew how he had to relay an important message.

Just when he is about to do just that, he hears a familiar voice, "What's going on here?"

Charles sees the guards turn, to view none other than Erik Lensherr striding heavily towards them, his expression rigid.

"Mr Lensherr," the guard says, and Charles can hear respect and slight apprehension in his voice. He sees him shift his gaze. "There is a woman here claiming to be your girlfriend."

Erik shows no surprise. "I don't have a girlfriend."

Charles sees the guards turn their attention to him, puzzled. He sees Erik glance at him, and speaks, "Erik, it's me."

Erik looks at him as if he has never seen him in his life, and Charles realizes what he has to do. He puts his fingers to his temple and speaks mentally to the other man. "Erik? It's me, Charles."

Erik blinks, then his eyes widen slightly. "Charles?"

One of the guard looks even more confused, whispering to his friend. "Didn't he say she isn't his girlfriend? And isn't Charles a man's name?"

"I have no idea." His companion shrugs. "Maybe they're long lost lovers."

"I'll explain why later, but I've just told these guards that you're…my boyfriend so they will let me in." Charles speaks quickly, urgently. "Could you confirm that fact- I mean, idea with them?"

Erik is still looking surprised and confused at the sight of what seems to be a female version of Charles before him. Then he steps forward, grabs Charles's wrist, and pulls him forward to kiss him.

Charles's eyes widen at the feeling of Erik's lips on his. For once, Erik's kiss is not passionate – merely a brush of the lips. Before he can move, Erik withdraws, staring at him as if in a new light.

"It's really you." Charles hears in his mind. He sees Erik nod, and turn to the guards, "I retract my previous statement. She is my girlfriend. I'll be taking her in with me."

Charles can feel the confusion radiating from the guards' minds. Erik is still holding onto his wrist, and he is pulled along with the other man into the CIA compound. The guards do not stop them like they had stopped him, and Charles supposes they are either too surprised by the situation or fearful of Erik.

"Explain."

"Later." Charles wants to say, but Erik is regarding him with sharp, narrowed eyes and he sighs.

"It's a long story."

"We have the time." Erik's voice is gruff.

"Not now, Erik." Charles says, raising his gaze to Erik's dark eyes. "As a matter of fact, we have something close to an emergency. I'd like to discuss this with the CIA immediately."

With those words, he pulls his wrist away from Erik and advances forward towards his destination.

They arrive at the CIA meeting room. Charles peers in through the small glass window embedded into the door, to the sight of a man speaking to a table of agents. Moira is seated at the table, a small frown on her face as she listens to her superior speak.

"They're in a meeting."

Charles withdraws. He walks around Erik, wishing he could shove his hands in his pockets. "Well, that'll give me ample time to change back then."

He raises his hand, but is stopped when Erik grips his wrist. Charles looks at him questioningly. "Erik?"

"You still haven't told me why."

Charles blinks, then smiles. "Why, the reason why you perceive me as a woman right now is because I used my telepathy to convince both everyone and myself so."

"You know that's not what I meant."

Erik is staring at him as if he is the telepath, as if he can read Charles's mind. Charles's smile does not falter. "Curiosity killed the cat, Erik."

Erik smiles, all sharp teeth. "I am no cat."

Charles watches in apprehension as Erik moves closer. He tries to remove his wrist from Erik's grasp. "Do release me, Erik." He says, voice tight.

Erik does not budge. He is looking at Charles with those dark eyes and Charles feels a sense of déjà vu creeping up on him. "Erik, I will not be able to change back if I'm unable to concentrate."

"Don't change back then." Erik says and Charles's eyes widen as he prowls closer, backing him against the wall. "For now."

And then, he descends, his teeth grazing Charles's neck. Charles's breath hitches as Erik murmurs against his sensitive skin. "It's your fault for saying you're my lover."

Technically, he had said he was Erik's girlfriend. But that information wouldn't help him much now, not with Erik holding him against the wall then leaning up to capture his mouth-

Charles tears away, avoiding contact with Erik's lips. He glowers at Erik, exasperated. "Release me, Erik. You will not assault me for the second time today. Just, no."

Erik just smirks, that familiar desire in his eyes. "No, Charles? Why is that so?"

"We're both men, we're not lovers," Charles says, annoyed at Erik's question. "You cannot just come on to me as and when you please."

"We could be friends with benefits, Charles."

"I am not interested," Charles begins, narrowing his eyes. "Now get off me before I-"

"Before what, Charles? I'm stronger than you physically and we both know it," Erik says and Charles feels frustration rising in him. "And you've never used your telepathy to stop me before."

He grabs Charles's hands with one of his own, smirking. "I've always preferred feisty women."

"I am not a woman – ah!" Charles is cut off by his own gasp as Erik slips long fingers up his skirt, pressing against the sensitive skin between his legs.

"I must say I'm impressed with your telepathy, Charles." Erik is saying casually, but there is no mistaking the desire in his eyes. "I can even feel you wearing women's underwear."

Charles flushes, and he stills at Erik's fingers near his entrance. "You're not-"

At this point, Erik's fingers stroke him through the soft material, and Charles inhales sharply. He gasps, then moans as Erik growls and grinds his erection against his thigh, his fingers diving into his underwear and brushing against the clit.

"Stop Erik, stop!" Charles communicates feebly. Erik has hitched his projected skirt high, his fingers slipping into his entrance. Charles screams shortly as Erik's fingers curl, hitting something pleasurable in him. "Erik!"

He feels like a slut as Erik shoves his fingers in deeper, as his deep voice rumbles in his ear. "You're wet for me, aren't you, Charles?"

Charles chokes on a sob as Erik plunges his fingers in again. Heat and pleasure are filling him, stretching him open, and he feels too warm, too hot to even move his limp hands. He whimpers softly into Erik's neck.

"I have a good mind to just take you right here, nice and wet, against this wall." Erik growls like an animal in heat. "But first, I think I'll make you come with my fingers."

Charles cannot stop himself from panting helplessly as Erik drives in deeper, hitting his sweet spot repeatedly. He feels overwhelming pleasure which bursts behind his eyelids and then he is screaming and coming, the liquid slipping onto Erik's fingers.

Erik smiles. Slowly, he draws his hand out of Charles, and Charles averts his gaze shamefully as Erik raises his fingers to his lips. He quickly tugs down his skirt, face burning.

"We're not done yet, Charles." Erik exhales hotly on his cheek, cupping Charles's cheek and turning his gaze back to him.

"We're outside the CIA meeting room." Charles says, trying to appeal to Erik's good sense.

"You and I both know the room is soundproofed." Erik counters, his smile like a smirk. Charles feels his fingers hook onto the hem of his skirt, feels his arousal pressed against his thigh. "They won't hear anything."

Had it been any other situation, had it been any other man, Charles would have probably acquiesced, for the sake of long abstained pleasure. But they were outside the CIA meeting room, and it was Erik, Erik whom he would see every day, Erik whom had been trying to take advantage of him for god knows what reason-

Charles takes a deep breath. "I don't want this, Erik." He says as he meets Erik's dark eyes seriously. "If you take me now, it would be rape."

Rape. The last word seems to strike something in Erik and he moves back from Charles, staring at him not in shock, not in surprise, but something else. "Charles…"

Charles, not Charlene. Even though he was still in his female disguise, Erik still called him by his real name. He still recognized him, recognized the person he was inside.

The thought causes Charles's heart to clench. He dutifully removes his gaze from Erik's expression, feeling confused and angry and guilty-

It is then that the door to the CIA meeting room opens. Charles and Erik turn their gazes to the men emerging from it, who notices them.

"Erik Lensherr," the man whom had bugged Charles for his help in locating mutants says, staring at Erik. "What are you doing here?"

Erik schools his face back into his normal, stoic expression. "Charles and I have something important to discuss."

But the man isn't looking at him. He's looking at Charles, who is still against the wall, cheeks rosy. "Who is she?"

Charles almost blanches at the man's thoughts at his dishevelled state. The other CIA men are whispering amongst themselves, and he can hear their thoughts, of him being Erik Lensherr's lover, suspecting they had fucked against the wall.

Fortunately, Erik's arousal has faded. "No one for you to be concerned about." Erik bites out, and Charles sees him glower at the man, a dark light in his eyes.

The man looks offended. "Might I inform you, Mr Lensherr, that your lover is indeed of my concern for she is unauthorized personnel inside the CIA compound-"

"Mr Lensherr," Moira steps forward, ignoring her superior's indignant look. "Where is Charles?"

Charles stiffens. But Erik does not react, saying smoothly, "He went to the restroom."

"I see." Moira says. She turns her gaze to Charles. She does not voice her curiosity out loud but Charles can hear it in her mind, "Who is this woman? Is she really Erik Lensherr's lover?"

Charles raises his gaze, meeting her eyes. He sees Moira's eyes widens lightly as he speaks, "I'm sorry that my presence has caused trouble." He apologizes in his feminine voice. "I shall take my leave now and not return."

He gives a bow, then turns and quickly walks away. He can feel the gazes of the CIA agents on him, can hear the lustful thoughts of the men as they stare at his behind. Charles grits his teeth, his cheeks flushed as he increases his pace.

He perceives himself as invisible as he slips inside the restroom. Charles ignores the familiar sense of déjà vu, looking into the mirror with annoyed looking blue eyes at his female form.

He has never felt so embarrassed in his life. He was a professor, a man of science, science and formality and yet there he had been –— being the object of lust to several men's thoughts, men in the CIA no less- whom he would be seeing several minutes from now - why, even Moira had thought that he was Erik's lover-

Charles clenches his fist, feeling frustrated. He hates the image of the blushing woman in the mirror, hates that he still feels warm after Erik's ministrations. He blames it all on Erik, because really – didn't that man think about anything else besides sex and revenge?

Charles bites his lip. He had thought Erik was his friend. They had grown close over the past few days, after Erik's first assault on him. They had gotten to know each other, especially during their mutant recruiting trip and everything was well and dandy until the Logan incident.

It had been nice to have Erik as his good friend, someone he could converse with intelligently. He had even learnt that Erik shared his love for playing chess, though they hadn't gotten the chance to play against each other.

Charles admits he had been attracted to Erik the first time he had seen him. He had been intrigued by his mind, and had felt the slightest lust that time in the cabin when Erik had tried to kiss him. Erik was the first man he had been attracted to, besides Emmett.

Then Erik had gone and sexually assaulted him after he had decided not to leave. And Charles hadn't liked it –— hadn't liked being pinned against the wall –— being vulnerable to Erik's sudden lust for him.

Charles grits his teeth. Erik had asked if he was afraid of him. Charles was sure he wasn't afraid, fearful of his friend. He was merely apprehensive of him, and had a good reason to be so. Despite what he knew about Erik –— his past, his love for his mother, his irrepressible desire for revenge, the loneliness he had felt; it seemed the other man was still unpredictable.

Charles sighs. If Erik wanted to be unpredictable, he could be. If Erik saw him as a sexual object and not his friend, like how he saw Erik as, then, it was sad, but they would probably have to break off their friendship. He couldn't bear being friends with someone who would sexually harass him out of the blue.

The notion seemed to inspire hurt in his heart, hurt and sadness. Charles clenches his fist. He liked Erik, he really did, he was the friend Charles had always dreamed of having, without all his thoughts of sex and revenge, but he was a logical man and had to weigh the pros and cons of the situation.

Charles raises his gaze to the mirror. He holds his fingers up to his temple, eyes narrowed as he concentrates.

Slowly but surely, the image in the mirror changes. Charles sees the long brown hair replaced by his own short brown locks, sees the blue eyes become smaller, sees the blouse replaced by his own, slightly formal male attire.

Charles lowers his hand. He looks at his own image in the mirror – at the return of his more narrow blue eyes and short brown hair. He raises his hand to finger brown strands of hair, as he lowers his gaze to his flat chest.

Sometimes he couldn't help but be impressed of what his telepathy could do. With just concentration and visualization, he was a man again – himself. A pretty man – as women had called him, with his smooth skin and pretty blue eyes, but a man all the same; whom most other men wouldn't look at with lust in their eyes.

For once, he understands how Raven feels, understands what she meant when she had complained of men staring at her when she went outside. Charles vaguely wonders if Angel feels the same, if Moira is subject to the same treatment. He sends a prayer of thanks that those women are not telepathic like him.

But, there is a limit to empathy, even for a telepath such as him. Charles tears his gaze away from the mirror, inhaling then walking to exit the restroom, making himself visible again.

It was time to face Erik and the rest.