Saturday morning, Erik woke up one bleary, painful, nauseous blink at a time and didn't recognize the feel of the sheets, the quilted comforter, the mattress, or the body beside him in bed.
FUCK was his first coherent thought.
How had he managed to pick up a random girl last night when all he had wanted was Charles? Had Charles been there when he walked off with this trampy woman? Why had he let him? He must be fucking pissed...he had to call him, quickly, before things could get any worse.
But this thought of action coupled with his body-wracking panic was more than his hangover could handle and he had to close his eyes and focus on not throwing up rather than on extricating his arm from under the heavy weight of his bed-partner. He realized that, by the feel of it, he was not wearing any clothes and tried not to let this send him into another wave of panic and nausea. What the fuck had he done last night and how much had it ruined anything he could hope to have between him and Charles?
The week had gone by so well: Charles stopping in every couple days for a drink and to chat about where they should go for their night out (neither of them called it a date-something that irked Erik a bit-he never should have teased Charles about it; he had obviously created a complex). Emma had left him well enough alone. Raven hadn't come back to the cafe to scream at him to stay away from her brother. Charming Moira had not seemed to hurt his chances, either. When Friday night had rolled around everything had gone perfectly smoothly: they met at the cafe at ten, neither of them dressed particularly fancy, and had started off with beers and bar food at the local pub ("if you could call this a pub," Charles had said, more disappointed than bitter). From there Erik's head got hazy...they had stopped by the cafe again to check up on the kids before closing, then gone to another bar...shots had been involved somehow...copious shots...Logan was there, Erik seemed to remember. Thinking was giving strength to his already invincible headache, though, so he stopped.
As soon as he was up to it he dragged his arm out from under the life-ruiner in bed beside him, not caring if he woke her or upset her. The movement upset him more than anyone though. He didn't think he'd ever been so hungover, was perhaps even still a little drunk: exactly enough to be in the worst spot between two worlds. The wrenching of his arm was just enough to wake his date and more than enough to make him feel certain his stomach was not going to be with him for much longer.
The mass in the comforter next to him let out a miserable groan and groped a hand to the nightstand for the clock there and Erik hyperventilated. Because both the groan and the arm were absolutely, positively not female. And, somehow, having ditched Charles for some random guy was one-hundred percent worse than ditching him for some girl. A girl maybe he could explain away-Erik counted himself as perhaps 60% straight, after all, so the occasional girl was bound to turn up. But to pass up the man of his frequent nightly dreams in order to go home with some completely random guy from a bar he was at with the guy of his dreams was just too much.
Erik looked around anxiously, trying to figure out where the bathroom might be, because he was certainly going to be sick.
"Erik, no way. No way am I getting up at 8 in the morning on a Saturday. Go back to bed," the boy beside him groaned, and Erik felt both better and incredibly worse at the same time. Because he recognized that voice.
"Charles?" he hissed, but it sounded weaker and more sickly than that.
The brunet pushed the comforter off his head and eyed Erik with those amazing blue eyes, barely open in the glare of the early morning light, hair tousled and gorgeous and everything.
"Yes?"
Erik just stared, too shocked to speak, head feeling like shit and mouth tasting like shit and body aching like shit.
"Did we-what did-Charles, what happened last night?"
Charles' eyes widened and he leaned up onto his forearms, looking tired but certainly not very hung over-he didn't look as if he were dying at least, which was exactly how Erik felt. He did look very naked though, which made it ten times harder for Erik to focus on anything, such as not throwing up.
"You...you don't remember?"
Erik's heart started beating in his mouth instead of his chest and that was really unfortunate because it was greatly adding to his nausea. Remember what?
"Erik I-we..."
But Erik was beginning to get the idea: Charles' apartment, Charles' bed, no clothes.
Erik didn't even have time to explain himself before he bolted up out of the bed, stomach in his throat.
He threw open the first door he got to but it was a closet, so he lunged for the second, shoulders already jumping, and barely managed to shove the toilet seat up before he started throwing up, although he somehow managed to kick the door shut behind him.
After his first upheaval all he felt was gritty and sick and awful, but as it continued a couple more times he felt increasingly better, so that by the end of it he was able to turn on the light in the bathroom and not completely feel as if his eyes were going to drip out of his head.
When he stood his legs felt weak and wobbly, his height too high, his skin too cold, his flesh too hot. But he thought he could face the conversation he was about to have with Charles without throwing up on the brunet. So he rinsed his mouth out from the tap and opened Charles' medicine cabinet to get to the toothpaste, chewing on some for a few seconds before rinsing it out again.
His reflection in the mirror looked like absolute death, his cheeks sunken and sallow, skin around his eyes puffy and blue-ish, but none of that could be helped so he let it slide.
Back in the bedroom the bed was made and his clothes were stacked on the edge neatly. Charles was nowhere in sight, but the bedroom door was shut so Erik assumed he was in the kitchen or something getting breakfast. The man must have an iron-cast stomach not to have been sharing the bathroom with Erik after last night's drinking. Erik sighed: Charles had indeed warned him. He wouldn't readily doubt the brunet again, that was for sure, he mused as he grudgingly got back into last night's clothes, wondering bitterly how he had managed to get out of them in the first place.
Charles was sitting on the couch in the living room in a fresh set of clothes looking as if he had spent the night grading papers, not throwing back shots. It took Erik a moment to take in how good he looked (the pale gray slacks, charcoal sweater with the white stitched patterns over what looked like maybe a purple T-shirt) before he could get his body working again. The man only glanced at him a second before staring at his hands again, though. Erik thought he must really look like hell as he walked over and sat down next to the brunet.
"I'm sorry about that," he mumbled, hoping he didn't still smell of vomit. "I can't remember the last time I got sick like that. But then again I can't remember the last time I drank so much. And I don't think I remember half of what I drank last night so..."
Erik new he was babbling, but couldn't stop himself until Charles stopped him.
"You really don't remember what happened last night?" Charles asked, sounding scared.
Erik tried to eye him levelly but the brunet was avoiding his gaze.
"Charles, - happened last night?" he asked lightly, but the other man flinched nonetheless.
"Erik, I'm so sorry-I'm so sorry," he mumbled, rubbing his forehead with his lithe fingertips. Was it the worst then? Had he managed somehow to bag the brunet and have no memory of it? Was their first time together truly lost to some alcoholic haze?
"What? What did we do?" Erik asked, gritting his teeth against the answer. Charles eyed him for a moment with scared blue eyes and then ducked away and said, as if ashamed of his very words: "I...I sucked you off..."
Erik allowed his head to drop into his hands, pulling his hair in punishment for getting so drunk that he would ever forget the vision of Charles' deeply red mouth wrapped around his cock. He felt as if his heart or brain (or both) was going to explode from pure frustrated agony at the unfairness of this situation. He had been pining after Charles for months, seducing him for weeks, and the first time he got lucky he was too drunk to even remember it.
"I'm so sorry, Erik!" Charles gasped, sounding as if he were about to cry, too. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry."
Erik's head snapped up-the brunet really was about to cry, eyes wet, eyelashes already clumped together with tears.
"What are you sorry for?" he asked in shock.
"I-I've never raped someone before! I've never done something like this, so awful. I'm so miserably sorry-and I know that doesn't make up for it, and I'll never drink again, and I know that doesn't make up for it either-nothing will ever make up for it," Charles started to wail, but Erik didn't let him continue.
"Charles, for God's sake, you didn't rape me!"
The other man stared at him in watery-eyed surprise before biting his lip anxiously.
"But you're so upset..."
"I am upset-but not because you gave me a blow job, Charles, God! I'm upset because I don't remember it!"
Charles eyed him for a shocked moment, still looking reticent, as if Erik might be lying.
"You...you're not mad at me?"
"No! If I could remember it at all I'm sure I'd be absolutely thrilled with you. As it is I'm just incredibly pissed that I managed to get anywhere near drunk enough to not remember that," Erik said not a little bitterly.
"You want me to suck you off?" Charles asked in a thin voice, as if he couldn't believe his luck.
Erik would have laughed at him, but he didn't think his stomach was quite up to laughing yet so he just smiled and reached out to re-tousle Charles' soft brown hair. "Frequently," he replied, not sure if he meant he frequently wanted it or he wanted Charles to do it frequently. Either way, Charles seemed to finally believe him because he smiled hugely.
Suddenly, though, Charles was leaning his face towards him, and Erik had to pull back to keep space between them, putting his hands securely on Charles' shoulders to really keep himself from being kissed breathless.
The brunet looked up at him, surprised and not a little afraid again.
"Charles, did we-did we kiss last night, too?"
Charles broke out into a rather sheepish smile, nodding. Erik groaned, letting his head drop forward till it landed on Charles' shoulder, the wool scratchy against his forehead.
"Is that so bad?" Charles asked in a thin voice.
"I just was really hoping to be there for our first kiss," Erik explained, depressed. He was missing out on all the good stuff. Not acceptable. He was never going to get drunk again, he vowed; not when this was the punishment.
"Well, all the main actors are still on hand. We could always recreate it," Charles murmured into his hair and Erik shivered. He wasn't completely sure that this wasn't due to his massive hangover though.
"Maybe we can recreate it when I haven't just thrown up," Erik requested and Charles laughed, which seemed to be an acquiescence. To reinforce it, Charles wrapped his arms around Erik's shoulders. It was incredibly comfortable here pressed to Charles, even with the scratchy wool, but he still agreed when Charles suggested "Perhaps you'll feel more romantically inclined once you've gotten some more sleep. 8AM on a Saturday really is ungodly."
"Are you joining me then?" Erik asked hopefully.
"I would," Charles frowned back. "But I can never fall back asleep once I'm up for the day. I'll play the good host though and go get you some tried and true hangover cures from the convenience store down the street."
Erik frowned. The only hangover cure he wanted was a bed full of brunet.
"You can borrow some pajamas and I'll put these through the wash," Charles offered, sitting Erik on the edge of the bed and unbuttoning his shirt.
"You should let me do that," Erik said around his heavily beating heart. "I'm not well enough to deal with what would invariably come from you undressing me."
Charles eyed him joyfully, blue eyes sparkling. "Feel better soon, because it's maddening not being able to kiss you."
As Erik climbed into bed in borrowed pajamas that came just above his wrists and ankles, he asked, "Is Raven home?" He didn't want this to be his first formal introduction to the blonde girl he had so unceremoniously kicked out of his cafe.
"No," Charles said slowly, and his voice was filled with worry. "Probably she met some guy or something...but normally she would have called me by now...or at least texted..."
"Hm. I'm sure she's fine. She's a big girl," Erik chuckled, remembering the testy way she had handled him.
"I'm sure you're right," Charles sighed, leaning over him and kissing his temple. "That doesn't count as a first kiss, right?"
"Nope, feel free," Erik mumbled, closing his eyes to the increasing sunlight brightening the room. Charles laughed and kissed him again just above his ear and Erik reached up drowsily to stroke his hair. Charles caught his hand, kissing his knuckles before getting his keys and heading to the door.
"I'll be back soon. Get some sleep."
But Erik was only just going under when someone started knocking on the door.
He tried to ignore it at first, but then they started ringing the buzzer, which was named disgustingly aptly: it was a shrill, insistent buzz that settled into the spot directly behind Erik's eyeballs and refused to leave. So Erik shoved himself up and stumbled along to the front door, throwing it open angrily.
To none other than Raven.
She looked just about as hung-over as he did, and seeing him on her own doorstep at 8:30 in the morning apparently wasn't helping her.
"What the fuck are you doing here?" she shrilled, but then took in her brother's pajamas on him and seemed to get the picture based on her sudden glare. "You're fucking kidding me."
"Normally I'd be all about having this argument with you, but today I'm just not feeling it, and you don't look like you're up to it either, so let's just call it a truce until neither of us is suffering from alcohol poisoning," Erik suggested hopefully, but maybe accusing her of not being raring to go with this thing was a mistake because she suddenly set about making herself look every bit ready for it. She drew herself up to full height, straightened her crooked skin-tight dress and stepped into his space with a finger fully ready to start jabbing into his chest. He backed up hastily to avoid it, knowing what stabbing apparatuses women's index fingers could be.
"Where the fuck is my brother, you bastard?" she shouted, making the both of them wince. Erik covered his ears and rushed back to Charles' room, locking himself in. This only gave her something to pound on, though, so he had to change his plan, deciding that, sick as it would make him, he was just going to have to shout her into compliance. It had kind of worked to his favor when telling her to fuck off out of his cafe. Maybe he'd get lucky.
In fact, he got more than lucky, he got a miracle. Because as soon as he threw open the door and before he started shouting in turn, the front door opened again and Charles walked in on Raven's current death-threats.
Erik looked at him for one surprised moment and then put on his absolutely most pitiful face and slumped sideways onto the door frame, whining "Charrrrlllessss!" in a winningly pathetic voice.
This was all that was necessary.
Charles immediately threw down his convenience store stash and started shouting at his sister.
"Raven-what on Earth is wrong with you? Can't you see he's sick-leave him alone! You better still be drunk, acting up like this! You need to go to your room and sleep off this bad attitude of yours. And keep quiet! Erik needs to rest!" he started demanding, pushing Raven upstairs to where Erik assumed her room was located. Charles relented enough to give her one of the Gatorades he had purchased, along with some Saltines, though.
Then he ran back to help Erik to bed again.
"I am so sorry about that-she isn't normally like this with my friends," he apologized, coaxing him back under the covers.
"What about your boyfriends?" Erik asked as his head hit the pillow again.
Charles stared at him a second before blushing, smiling shyly. "This is a bit more typical of her boyfriend behavior," he allowed. Erik smiled back. He wouldn't mind taking him up on that first kiss recreation now.
But instead, Charles pressed a bottle of yellow Gatorade into his one hand and some Tylenol and Dramamine into the other before kissing him on the forehead and running to the kitchen to warm him up some chicken broth.
It was hard just to get the pills down without retching them back up, but he managed it, getting the medicine aftertaste out of his mouth with a Saltine that was just as difficult to keep down. He felt ten times sicker by time he was done, but closed his eyes and hoped it would pass.
Erik didn't remember falling asleep, but he did remember waking up. As soon as he opened his eyes he could tell that he felt much better. Maybe not one hundred percent: his brain still felt as if the synapses were being dampened with a wet rag, his mouth was dry and tacky. But compared to how he had felt when he woke up earlier this morning, he was ready to run a fucking marathon.
He gave credit solely to where it was due: not the medication or now-cold broth at the bedside but to the brunet in his arms.
"I thought you couldn't go back to bed once you were up for the day?" he murmured, realizing the piece of skin he was murmuring against was the back of Charles' neck, and smiling.
"I'm multi-tasking," Charles chuckled, holding up a huge manuscript tagged here and there with Charles' tilted handwriting in green pen. He's too gentle to even use a red pen, Erik groaned inwardly.
"What's that?" he said out loud.
"Hank's dissertation. I told him I'd go over it for him, and now seemed as good a time as any," Charles said, shifting in the loop of Erik's arms to lie on his back, his sweater-clad shoulder pressed up on Erik's chest. "Are you feeling better?"
"Much better, thank you. What time is it?"
Charles shook his arm free from the covers and checked his wrist watch. "Almost two."
"Damn it," Erik groaned, burying his face against Charles' throat. "I told the kids I'd be in around 12 to check on them."
"Don't you remember? You called them last night to tell them never mind. Although I think your exact words were 'Fuck that. No way. Don't expect me cuz it's not happening'."
Erik pushed up a bit on his arm, just enough to look Charles in the eye to get across his full annoyance.
"Apparently I don't remember most things from last night," he grumbled, and Charles smiled up at him in appeasement, petting his hair back from his forehead.
Erik liked the feel of his thin fingertips on his skin and scalp and laid back down, fully satisfied with his life despite his glaring memory problems.
"What's the last thing you do remember from last night?" Charles asked.
Erik wracked his memory, hoping that he would gain some sliver of vision from their first kiss, or maybe even Charles' soft red lips wrapped around him, but such was not his luck.
"Things are really muddled. I don't have a timeline or anything. I remember having problems working my phone to take a picture of something..."
"You were trying to get a photo of me in Dragneto's wig. You were easily thwarted."
"Who the fuck is Dragneto?"
"She's a drag queen. Really, Erik, she's quite famous in town. I'm surprised at you."
"I don't remember her."
"Really? You were quite smitten. I had to physically stop you from going home with her: you said she was your twin and that you were going to live with her."
Erik only shook his head in the crook of Charles' shoulder, breathing in the heady professorial scent of his throat. He was going to pretend he hadn't heard that.
"I remember going to the cafe to check up on the kids after drinks...then we went to that other bar and you said you'd match me shot for shot..."
"Actually you challenged me to a drinking contest," Charles corrected. Erik remembered it now: there had been a photo of a drunken-looking Charles above the bar in a crown and robe with a beer-beaker as tall as he was held triumphantly over his head. Charles was the King of the Beer Bong there and Erik had thought to take the title manfully away from him, but failed, and so he had challenged him to a drink-off instead.
"And then Logan showed up and he challenged your title just for shits and giggles and you beat him too! How are you alive today? Why aren't you as hungover as I am? You drank more and weigh less," Erik accused jealously.
"I must have a genetic mutation," Charles cheered.
"I remember you being incredibly drunk. We fell over on the crosswalk."
"Luckily the streets were abandoned. Although Logan did have to drag us out of the way of a bicycle deliver boy."
"We were going to swim the fountain," Erik remembered suddenly. There was a giant fountain on campus that students invariably swam when drunk or high. It was a fun-spirited death-trap.
"You said maybe you couldn't beat me at drinking but you were sure you were a better swimmer."
"I bet I am. Did I win?"
"Moira wouldn't let us. She said she'd arrest us if we tried it."
"She was there? I don't remember her."
"She stopped us on our way to the fountain and told us we had to stay off campus or she'd put us in the drunk-tank. She even put you in handcuffs-you don't remember that?"
Erik shook his head. But with all Charles' help jogging his memory Erik was gaining a few things back, most of them inconsequential: he remembered trying to punch Logan as hard as he could, square on the jaw, but he had collapsed into laughter half way through, or at least he thought he remembered doing so. Maybe they were two separate memories he was remembering conjoined. He remembered Charles looking at him wide-eyed under a street-lamp and the way the yellow glow had made his face eerie but his eyes lit up with blue. Best of all, though, he remembered standing behind Charles at the front door as the brunet fumbled with his keys, remembered wrapping his arms around the slim waist and pressing his hand hard to the crook of Charles' wishbone legs, the strong pulse of Charles' cock against his palm.
"I remember, I remember," he sighed in the present, sliding his hand there again. "At the door-I remember."
"Ah, yes," Charles said breathlessly, putting his own hand over Erik's under the blankets and pressing harder. "I remember, too."
"Is that why you-when you-?"
"Sucked you off? It was a great catalyst, I'll tell you that," Charles sighed, tensing his hips to rub himself against Erik's hand through his silky slacks.
"So...how was it?" Erik questioned, pressing his lips to Charles' throat, bathed in the warm air there, the soft scratch of Charles' stubble on his forehead.
"Do you mean...how was it?"
Erik sucked on a patch of skin in response, making Charles gasp.
"It was...very satisfactory. Very satisfying." Erik hummed a pleased noise against Charles' neck and the smaller man pressed Erik's hand even more determinedly against himself, sighing his name.
Raven chose that moment to throw the door open without knocking, and glared at the both of them knowingly when they jumped apart.
"Logan's invited us out to lunch. So stop groping each other and make yourselves presentable enough for an IHOP run."
"Thank you so much, Raven. Now get out," Charles growled, throwing his pen at her.
She rolled her eyes at him and closed the door, but not all the way.
Charles growled aggravatedly in the back of his throat and rolled over so he was on top of Erik, covers tangled and folded halfway between them. He was most of the way towards pressing their lips together when he stopped and pulled back enough to look Erik in the eye.
"Can I?" he asked tentatively, but after a moment Erik shook his head.
This wasn't how he wanted it: a quick and frustrated battle of mouths on the way out the door to deal with Charles' sister for the rest of the day.
Charles sighed but didn't argue, pushed himself off Erik and walked stiffly to the bathroom where Erik could hear water running (probably cold) and muttered swearing.
But when Charles returned he was chipper again. "We should go to lunch-Logan will only drag us out like his ROTC kids if we try to sit it out. Your clothes should be dry by now-I'll go grab them for you."
"Thanks. Could I borrow a T-shirt? I feel weird wearing all the same clothes as yesterday."
"Feel free," Charles encouraged, motioning to his closet before he left to get the rest of Erik's clothes.
The closet was half racks and half shelves, and Erik found plenty of T-shirts there to choose from although most looked a bit small. He chose a plain gray-green shirt that was probably a size too big on Charles but fit him perfectly. For the hell of it he pulled one of Charles' oversized grandpa sweaters over the affair: a pale gray, V-necked ensemble that was very warm and only slightly dorky.
When Charles saw him he tossed down Erik's clothes and gripped Erik by the collar of his sweater before he remembered himself and let loose. "You seriously need to get this second first kiss thing out of the way before I take care of it myself."
Erik agreed.
He had had an image of what his and Charles' first kiss would be like, but the images Charles was offering up were beginning to look good too: maybe not sick and hungover in yesterday's clothes on the couch, but what was wrong with half-dressed groping in Charles' sweater the morning after?
Once Erik got the rest of his clothes on and grabbed his effects (strewn everywhere-literally-he found his wallet behind Charles' desk, his cell phone pinned between the mattress and the headboard), Charles escorted him to the living room. Raven and Logan were already there, standing next to the door deep in conversation. Erik didn't have to guess at what they were discussing going by the looks on their faces when he and Charles came out of the bedroom together.
Raven looked as if she were developing a way to kill people (specifically, him) purely by way of glaring, and Logan looked between the two men in absolute shock before mirroring Raven's face. Erik frowned, careful to keep it above a pout: he had thought that Logan liked him. Why did he look so upset now? Erik must have been right: Logan like liked him, and seeing him with someone as unbeatable as Charles was giving him a manly aneurysm.
"I'll get the car. Lensherr, come help me," Logan growled, the sound seeming to come directly from his burly chest rather than his mouth. Erik had rather liked his Shark moniker from Logan, and was nominally saddened that they had reverted to 'Lensherr'. He also had no intention of being alone with someone who looked that murderous. Luckily, Charles seemed to agree.
"Don't be silly, Logan. Let's go," he said as if he couldn't tell that both his sister and his friend apparently wanted to disembowel Erik where he stood.
Logan drove, and Erik purposefully sat behind him, hoping that it would prevent the man from getting into a car accident on Erik's side. Charles beat out Raven for the spot beside him and smiled at him endearingly, even touching his hand tentatively on the seat between them. Erik went to hold his hand back, overwhelmed with how well things were going, when Logan swerved (definitely purposefully) and the tall man was reminded not to push his luck.
He looked out the window and tried to do the mental math of how long he had to be friends or go on dates with Charles before he was allowed to ask the man to be his boyfriend. He had never once in his life asked anyone to be his boyfriend, or his girlfriend, for that matter. In high school a girl had asked to be his girlfriend, and he had shrugged and they had dated for a few weeks, but that was it. Magda had simply informed him that they were dating, and he had gone along with that too. Three dates, he decided randomly. That's a nice, strong number. Three dates, then I'll ask him.
Erik thought a bit longer, and then decided that last night definitely counted as Date 1, since they had gone out for drinks together and wound up in bed together, which was certainly date behavior as far as Erik could gauge from TV.
IHOP counts too, Erik added arbitrarily, happy. This was great. One more date and he could ask Charles to be his own...
Logan was apparently psychic because he swerved again, glaring at Erik through the rear-view mirror.
"Jeeze, Logan, steady on!" Charles chided. Logan just grunted in response.