Erik was not a patient man. Although, if asked, most people of his acquaintance would say otherwise due to his ability to hide impatience under a flawless veneer. He could hide almost anything under this sheen; this protective layer that he had perfected. He supposed it was partly because of Emma – she was able to see inside his head so clearly, it comforted him that he could at least take control over what the rest of the world saw. However, since he was currently alone in a stagecoach on his way to London, there was no one to witness him running his hand through his hair, checking his pocket watch every five minutes and tugging at the knotted scarf at his neck.

It took him a while to notice the coin he was turning over absently in his hand – or around his hand to more accurate – easing its way in and out of his fingers, coiling around his palm. Reluctantly, he slipped it back into his pocket. They were his favourite thing to manipulate, coins. They were small, and light, beautifully worked. Inconspicuous.

He didn't know what his plan was for when he reached London. He had no idea where Charles would be exactly, or how to even go about finding him. Some part of him hoped Charles would feel his mind, draw them together. That he wouldn't run. Foolish really; it was a big thing to request, considering Charles clearly wanted solitude, and Erik refused to give it to him. But the alternative was more than he could bear to linger over.

He had considered asking Emma to come with him, to use her mind to seek out his. She'd turned him down as soon as the words had formed in his head; partly because she'd exhausted herself reaching for Charles in the first place, and partly because she insisted that if they were meant to be together, they would find each other without any further assistance. Erik had called her a cold bitch, but had still given her a tentative hug before he left for London. They still had a long way to go before he could love her again.

He would settle for simply talking to the man, if that was all he could get. Or that was what he told himself at least. He was in love with Charles – no matter how foreign that particular emotion was to him – Emma was correct. He loved him, and would try his hardest to respect his wishes, even if that involved them never speaking again. He would go if Charles told him to, if he convinced Erik that was what he truly wanted, nothing less. Good God, what on earth had become of him? Pushing that bitter-tasting possibility from his thoughts, he instead reached out to mentally touch all the metal within his reach. His mind brushed over the metal on his person – pocket watch, coins – various components of the carriage amid groaning wood, buckles on the horses' harnesses, small and bright, holding straining leather, the solid dullness of iron horseshoes. Charles would have revelled in it, marvelling at Erik's ability to differentiate between the metals, encourage him to shape and work his gift to its full potential. Squeeze his hand and show him the bright, unguarded smile Erik had come to love most of all.

He abruptly severed his contact with the metals and closed his eyes against the sunset coming through the carriage window.

Charles once again reached for the carriage driver's mind, planting the suggestion that he should urge the horses faster. He didn't like to do so too often, for the sake of the driver's privacy and the welfare of the beasts. His guilt was outweighed however, by his urge to get back home, to fix the ridiculous mess he'd left behind in his childish running away. Or that's what he told himself. As much as he wanted to make things right with Moira and Raven, he was well aware it was in fact Erik driving his decision.

When he'd seen Misters Stark and Rogers again... well. If they could be together, why couldn't he and Erik? That is, if Erik would even speak to him still after his stupid display. Never mind that – he wouldn't be surprised if the shame of them being discovered together would be enough to make Erik shut him out completely. He loved the man, that much was painfully obvious, and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to let him go so easily. They would never be able to live peacefully together, as a man and his wife would. There would be vicious rumours of course, but usually the sort of people Charles had to spend time with were at least courteous enough to gossip behind his back. He could see it now: old Mrs Curtis whispering rapidly to anyone who would listen about the unsavoury relationship between Misters Xavier and Lehnsherr. It was quite enjoyable actually. He liked to think he could trust the staff of Xavier manor enough to live with the truth, but he knew enough about people to know this was unlikely. As much as he tried to put on a brave face, it pained him to think that all of the most wonderful things in his life had to be kept secret – his own gift, and those belonging to Raven and Erik. The giddy happiness when he caught Erik staring at him. To have to hide love was something he wouldn't wish on anyone. The only thing that kept him going sometimes was the hope that, perhaps one day, society would change.

Outside the carriage window, the sky was getting darker. He wouldn't be home tonight at any rate, and he doubted Erik would appreciate him turning up in the middle of the night. Once more pushing his lingering guilt aside, he brushed the carriage driver's mind. Apparently they were half an hour from the nearest stop. That would do, he supposed. At the very least, it could surely provide him with a better night's sleep than inside the rocking carriage. He'd need sleep to be able to deal with tomorrow. He settled back to watch the changing sky, once more closing off his mind to everyone's thoughts but his own.

It was dark by the time the stagecoach reached its final stop that day. If it was up to Erik they would have travelled through the night, but fresh horses were needed, and it was likely more passengers would want to board. A few hours sleep wouldn't hurt, he supposed, if he could get them. Even if sleep evaded him, he could at least procure a room to rest in for the night. The coach slid to a rocky halt outside the wobbly looking inn and stables that, along with the few other rambling buildings, made up the stop. As Erik climbed from the carriage, he was met with the usual shouts and raucous laughter one frequently encountered at such stops, a sign that a long night of drinking and revelry was in store, despite the early start a majority of the patrons would no doubt be facing. He stretched out his aching joints, willing the cramped muscles into a more human form than the hunched one he had adopted inside the confined carriage walls. The evening lamps had been lit; their sickly glow causing the buildings and their occupants to appear even more untrustworthy than Erik already suspected. He made his way quickly through the stumbling men and tightly laced women to the inn itself, to secure a room. After a brief conversation and exchange of coins for keys with the surly man behind the desk, Erik nodded his thanks and went back out into the night, in search of some distraction to while away the remainder of the evening. In situations such as this in the past – making the necessary but tedious stops while travelling – he would find a young man willing to share his body for a few coins in some discreet backroom or alley. There were more men that shared his preference than the public generally liked to admit, and in places such as this, there was always someone who understood. And by understood, he meant someone who wouldn't spit at you in disgust, but instead give you a wink and a price. Tonight however, and in his current state of mind, the idea of another held no appeal. He would have to settle for drink.

He turned to the small tavern attached to the inn, at once regretting it when met with the mindless noise and smell of spilt ale. Well, it was no more or less than what could be expected, and he'd coped with worse before. It was the sort of place he could once have relished his solitude, but now all he felt was alone, separate through bad luck and stupid mistakes rather than choice. Fixing his standard glare on his face, he cleared his way to the bar and ordered a drink. A woman sidled up to him, pretty enough – bright eyes and breasts practically spilling over the top of her corset. Having now worn one himself, the sight disturbed him, though whether it was discomfort or arousal he found it hard to say. With that memory flooded back the image of Charles, lips around his cock, hands scrabbling at Erik's corset laces. The girl said something. Shaking the memory off, he bluntly sent the woman on her way, ignoring the hurt look she gave him. Charles would have reprimanded him for his rudeness, were he there. But he wasn't, which was entirely the problem in the first place. Not content with ruining other men for him, Mr Xavier had apparently ruined women for Erik as well. Damn the man.

Erik found himself unable to sit amongst people any longer, their faces, their voices, their everything seemed beyond his endurance. Leaving what money he owed for the drink on the bar, he ventured back into the cold air. Another coach pulled up outside the inn from the direction in which he was he was headed, from London. The driver swung down, patting the sweaty neck of the closest horse, before pulling open the carriage door to let the passengers out. There was only one it seemed – a man in a dark coat, like Erik dishevelled with travel. He turned to smile his thanks to the driver, and though it was but a fraction of the brilliant smile Erik had often witnessed, there was no mistaking it.

Charles.

It was one of those moments you don't think are possible until they happen to you. One of those moments when time stands still, when your eyes lock with someone else's and you can't look away, every other detail around you becomes an insignificant blur next to their face. And so that moment was for Charles.

Erik's face caught his eye, body just as unmoving as his own, and still Charles couldn't quite believe it. Cautiously, he opened his mind, dissolving the barriers he had kept raised since leaving his home in a panic several days ago. He felt them then; the rush of tired or drunken minds of those around him, and cutting through them all, the sharp glint of Erik's. He didn't know how much he'd missed the touch of his mind until that point, when once more it melded with his own.

Erik's face hardened with the contact, as stern in the baleful lamplight as when they first met, and along with it a spark of anger that Charles should have expected. Forcing his face into what he hoped was indifference, he wove his way through those lingering in the cold towards Erik.

"Charles." His voice was cold and sharp, like his shuttered face, and if Charles didn't know him better, he'd be worrying whether Erik was about to strike him.

"Erik." To his annoyance, the crack in his voice was clear as day. But this may not have been a bad thing – he felt Erik's anger dull a little when he spoke. The metal bender didn't replay however, just closed one firm hand around Charles' forearm, and marched stiffly towards a dark gap between two buildings, pulling the other with him. The second they were out of sight, Erik turned to face Charles, releasing his arm. The anger was gone from his face and from his mind, replaced with a buzz of nerves and desperation.

"What the hell were you thinking Charles? What on earth possessed you to leave in such a manner?"

And Charles honestly wasn't sure how to even begin to answer that question.

"After that complete... mess we got ourselves into, I cannot believe the best solution you could come up with was to just up and leave."

"Erik I – " Charles could feel the coins in his pocket humming with Erik's distress. It was wonderful to feel it again, despite the unnerving circumstances.

"After everything." Erik was murmuring now, forehead pressed to Charles', their breath clouding together in the cold air between their faces. "I cannot believe that you would leave me." He kissed him then, softly, a press of cold lips different in every way to their first kiss, hot and rushed. Charles let him. More than that – he kissed him back, bringing one chilled hand to rest on Erik's cheek. They pulled apart gently when a small smile came to Erik's lips. "You haven't run from me screaming yet. I take that as a good sign."

"Yes." What else could he say?

"But I suppose I must say what I planned to, when I found you." He pulled away, remorse dulling the smile that had graced his features just moments ago. "While I can guess that you take as much joy in seeing me again as I do you, I am well aware of the problems that would arise from us... our being together. So I want you to know this Charles," his hand twitched at his side, as though to reach out and touch him, but changing his mind at the last second, "I love you. And I believe you love me. In my mind, that is reason enough to be together, hang everything else. But I know you're not the selfish being I am," and Charles' heart broke at Erik's poor opinion of himself, "and that there are others in your life whose happiness is important to you, as well as mine." He had been looking at the ground as he spoke, but now lifted his gaze to Charles' own, worry evident across his brow no matter how much Charles knew he was trying to hide it. "As much as it pains me, I will let you go, if that is what you want. Free to go back to your sister, your home, and try to make something of your life, out of the mess I left it in, and have something better than I could give you."

Charles stared at him, mind working furiously through his own thoughts, and some of Erik's, yet he still had no idea what to say. A part of him was still unable to believe that this man, who had been so distant and cold when they first met, was capable of making him feel so warm, loved. Words still failing him, a rarity in itself, Charles settled for what sometimes seemed to work best with Erik – touch. He stepped forward and placed the tips of his fingers on Erik's cheek. "My friend, only you could be so gloriously blunt and clear-cut about love."

Erik said nothing, evidently unsure in which direction Charles was heading, but remained tense under his touch, like a horse ready to bolt.

Charles smiled sadly and brought both his hands up to rest along Erik's jaw and neck. "Well then, since you bared your soul so bravely, I suppose it's only fair I do the same." He felt Erik's mood shift; the small, barely there at all spark of hope got a little brighter. "You're right." A shard of hurt ran through Erik then, and Charles wished he could at least have looked away from his face, so he didn't have to see it reflected there too. "No, Erik, listen. That's not what I mean." Without making a conscious decision to, he began to stroke the back of Erik's head. "You're right – I do want to make things right with Raven, and with Moira, if she can ever find it in herself to forgive me." He felt himself wince; if she spoke to him ever again it would be more than he deserved. "But I want you. I want you to be mine, and me to be yours. Entirely yours. And I cannot quite see what's so selfish about that. People have had worse reason to be together, in the past. So, I will willingly give my life to you Erik, if you'll have me." It was Erik's turn to stare. "It was stupid of me to let you go Erik. I don't have any intention of doing so again."

Erik looked for a moment like he didn't believe him. And no Charles was not going to ruin this again. Reaching out tentatively with his mind, he poured into Erik how he felt: a rush of hope, love, desire, comfort, and prayed that he could believe it. That was the moment Erik chose to kiss him, and all his mental processes were shot to pieces. There was only Erik: cold, slightly chapped lips, one hand on the small of his back and another at the back of his head, pulling him close but not close enough, not ever. There was a vague and distant part of him that worried some passerby would spot them and make something of it, but then he recalled that two men in a dark alley was probably a common occurrence here of all places, and also that he couldn't care less.

Love, it will not betray you,

Dismay or enslave you

It will set you free,

Be more like the man

You were made to be.

AN: This took ages because resolutions are hard to write, and because I went to France. Just for the day, but was still nice. This makes two (previously unplanned) things that have happened to me that also happen in this fic. Now, seriously, where is my Erik?

That is officially the end of the story, but there shall be an epilogue, because I like my loose ends tied up, and I don't think they've had enough sex yet.

Lyrics from Mumford and Sons Sigh No More.