FOREWORD: Hello one and all. This writer is horribly sleepy, but is here to whack out yet another angst-filled update. Thanks as always for reading and reviewing, and again, I am just so darned happy you're all STILL sticking to the story! I love you guys. *big grin* Enjoy!

Erik and I were fighting. Why were we fighting? I don't remember now. It was something insignificant I guess. It seems so long ago.

He was throwing things at me – metal things. A metal pepper shaker, a doorknob, several stainless steel pots. None of it hit me, I suppose he didn't want it to, possibly he only wanted to direct his rage at something.

He wouldn't let me near him, his body was a mass of angry hate. He was trembling, his voice raised high, high enough to get Raven peeking in through the windows before I smiled, shook my head and told her "I got this".

And I did. Erik's anger eventually spent himself and he settled for bending all the household utensils out of shape. Some light fixtures went loose, but nothing he wouldn't shame-facedly fix later. He was sulky, and his cheeks were flushed. I knew him well enough to know he will soon take me in his arms, and have his way with me – anger fueled his desires, it's the only way he knows how to deal with his emotions.

But it was later as he rested his head on my thin chest that he told me, his voice unusually soft, that he was sorry. I told him he needn't be, really.

Because I have taken him - his rage, his temper, his imperfection, his darkness – all of him, as mine.

XXXX

"I knew I lost you, even before I knew it was you I had lost."

Erik's voice was shaky, soft, and in the flickering firelight the flames cast a shadow as he sat on the couch, a drink in his hand. At his feet, facing him, is the chess set that he and Charles had spent many a night (not) playing. Charles's drink is there, too, but it is untouched.

Charles is standing by the window, one hand gripping the stiff embroidered drapes, the other in his pockets as his back was turned to Erik.

"I don't know where to start. How did I remember you? I found you within the stack of my clothes. It was that ridiculous white shirt of yours, the one that I – ruined when I –," he paused, cleared his throat. "When I had… rough sex with you."

Charles stiffened, but didn't utter a word.

Erik ran a finger through his hair, pushing it up in spikes. He grimaced as he saw Charles's shortened hair, cut closely to hide the improvised 'haircut' Shaw had given him.

"Then I remembered the day in the carnival… and it all came back. I tried to get to you sooner, but a mutant attacked me. I… pulled out a metal plate he had inside his skull. It was ugly, but I had to get to you," he continued. Still, Charles said nothing.

Erik sighed. "I escaped, and I knew I had to find Raven. If I could help reclaim her memories, the others would be more easily found, and I would be able to somehow bring them back.

"She was not easy to find, let me tell you. I dug her out of some seedy bar, where she nearly scratched my eye out. I showed her that stupid toy –" he gripped the melted, twisted thing in his hands "—and I told her who you are, and I told her who she really is. She didn't believe me at first. It took heckuva lot of convincing. I still don't know how I did it."

Charles squeezed his eyes shut as he let Erik's voice wash over him. He knew everything.

XXXX

The first week he arrived home from the hospital, in his weakened state, his usually impeccable control had slipped, and he had allowed thoughts and emotions to enter his mind unblocked. He had also inadvertently read his students minds, and saw everything that happened leading up to his rescue.

But he wouldn't—couldn't – deal with it now. He couldn't even deal with looking at his own body in the mirror - he felt disgusted, repulsed by himself.

He found himself washing his body with soap over and over and over. He scrubbed his scalp so hard he felt like he was trying to scrape it off with his nails.

But no matter how many times he washed, he could not get the stain of Shaw out of his skin.

All he felt, as he slept at night, was the monster's hands on him. The cold, clammy wetness of his tongue. The hot, thick hardness that gave him so much pain. Sometimes he woke up, sweating, afraid that Shaw would come back, and touch him there again.

He told himself repeatedly that Shaw was dead, he should just man up and get over it. Erik had been rough with him all this while anyway. But he knew Erik's rough hands were pure love, while Shaw's were pure evil. He couldn't bring himself to tell Erik though. He was too ashamed, but Erik had somehow known to give him the space he needed.

Charles didn't think he could love the man any more than he already did, but there it was.

For Erik's part, however, he was slowly being driven insane. He wanted nothing more than to kiss Charles and never stop. Maybe sneak in a little sex here and there. He wanted to comfort his lover, wanted to hold him and smell that soft skin.

But every time he moved closer to Charles, he would stiffen suddenly, and move a fraction away. He tried to brush his callused hands against Charles's embarrassingly soft ones, but Charles snatched his hands away like they had been burnt.

Erik was going mad with desire, lust and - goddamnit he was horny as hell.

But he loved Charles too much to risk losing him – Erik knew forcing himself on Charles now would mean losing him forever.

The very idea terrified him, and stayed his hands from touching Charles here, there, every so often, like he always would. Erik didn't know what he would be without Charles – possibly a madman looking to destroy everything in his path. He needed Charles to be there to bring him back from the brink of insanity and revenge.

So he stayed away. He would slip into his own bed at night and unknowingly mourn the loss of the warm body next to him. Some nights he couldn't sleep at all, and would sneak into Charles' room and watch him sleep, hypnotized by the rise and fall of the thin chest (he still hadn't quite put on the weight lost), hypnotized by the steady breathing.

As Charles struggled to recover, something changed between them. No longer fueled by the passions of sex, Erik proved to be capable of heart-breaking gentleness.

He anticipated Charles's needs, he bathed Charles's wounds every night. He brought Charles a blanket when he saw the man was shivering in the cold (before everything happened, he would have merely assumed that Charles needed heating up, and would proceed to stimulate hot, sweaty sex). He rubbed Charles's sore neck and shoulders.

And most of all, he waited. He waited for Charles to be okay again, for Charles to love him again, for Charles to be Charles again. He waited patiently, fearful that if he rushed in headlong he would hurt the telepath perhaps irreparably.

It did nothing for his temper, however. He found himself going off by himself for hours to punch walls or tree barks. He would run, for miles, heading nowhere. He ate. A lot. Anything to get his mind off Charles, and the way his lips curled at the edges at a hot cup of coffee…

But still, he waited.

XXXXX

Charles had still not turned around from the window, where he had stood as if he was carved in marble. Erik continued to tell him what had happened, but Charles wasn't really listening.

"Erik?" His voice was rough, unsteady.

"Yes, Charles?"

"Why haven't you touched me?"

Erik was stunned. "What?"

"Why haven't you touched me?" Charles could not bring himself to turn around. His eyes, he knew, would betray him.

Erik sat silent, for what seemed like forever. "I didn't know you wanted to be touched."

"No. I asked why."

Erik couldn't answer. How could he? How could he reveal the real reason without exposing all his fears, his insecurities? How will he tell Charles he had wanted to, so badly, but he had been too scared?

Charles finally turned around. His pale skin was lit by the light cast by the fire, his blue eyes were two bright sapphires in the shadows.

"Erik. Answer me."

Erik exploded. "I was scared, okay? I didn't know how to touch you anymore! I didn't know if you would want me to anymore! I don't know what Shaw did to you! How can I possibly—."

Erik hurled the glass he was holding to the floor, where it splashed amber liquid all over the carpet.

In three great strides he crossed the distance between them and pinned Charles to the wall with his body, his palms flat on the wall.

He crushed his lips to Charles's and kissed him with everything he had held back for over a month. Every frustration, his grief, his worries, his fears, his love – he put into that one kiss.

He didn't care that Charles's hands were on his chest, pushing him away. He had to taste those lips… Then suddenly Charles seemed to relax, and Erik reached inside his shirt to touch a nipple –

Charles gasped, arched his back. Erik, emboldened, undid the buttons and trailed kisses down his neck, his collarbone. Breath hitching, Erik was aggressive, his pent-up desires almost too much to bear. Charles could feel Erik's arousal, against his stomach. He tried to quell the rising bile – it's Erik, not Shaw, oh god – then Erik's hands went to undo his pants -

"NO!" Charles pushed hard, hard enough to throw Erik off balance, and fall on his back.

Erik stared at Charles for one short, intense split-second, then with a roar of frustration he stormed out the room.

"ERIK – wait please!" Charles called out. Erik froze at the doorway.

"Erik, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I can't. I can't wash him away from my skin. I feel him inside me, on me, all the time. I'm so sorry."

Erik couldn't trust himself to speak, so he didn't. He turned and saw the desperation, the agony on that beautiful face.

"Tell me what you want Charles. I can't keep playing guessing games. I can't read your mind, damnit!"

"I don't know, Erik. I don't know!"

Erik turned away. He never cried. He despised tears in a man. He would have his eyes ripped out before he let tears fell from his eyes again. He hadn't cried since the day he saw his mother die. He refused to be weak. If he cried it would be nothing more than a knee-jerk reaction from pain, or from laughing too hard.

But as he walked away from Charles, as he walked along the hallways, as fast as he could, to get away from Charles, he cried.

He heaved gulping sobs as he stumbled down the hall. His body felt like it was too tight, too restrained, like his grief was going to explode out of him. He burst out of the main doors, and took in the cold night air. Even as the wintry air threatened to freeze his bones, he cried.

Because he really didn't know what else to do.

XXXX

Erik is putting too much sugar into my coffee as I put too much salt on his eggs. I watch him toss spoonful after spoonful into my coffee. He grunts when I smile at him.

"Someday the sugar is going to catch up with you."

"I know. You'll love me even if I'm fat, yes?"

Erik laughed. I savour the sound, I don't hear it enough. He pecks me on the cheek, and whispers in my ear.

"Always."