A/N: Okay, so this is kinda… weird. I have no idea where this came from. It's basically oldguy preslash. I can honestly say I never imagined I'd be writing this. Or that Erik would be so inhibited.

Takes place sometime in the X1-X3 era.

Erik rested his chin on his hand thoughtfully. Charles didn't disturb him… and in fact, might even have been helping a bit; the noise of the park around them seemed to have disappeared for him, leaving him quiet to think in.

Their chess games had gotten slower and slower over the years, but no less exciting. He frowned at the board. Damn Charles for still, somehow, at this late date managing to surprise him.

His thinking was interrupted by a piercing shriek and he jumped. He whipped around to see what was the matter…

But it was nothing – just a too-thin young man in too-big sunglasses who was holding his arms out and shrieking in delight as another young man ran into them. Erik scowled at them for their noise, but they didn't appear to even notice – they were too busy hugging and kissing and carrying on.

He heaved a sigh and turned back to the chessboard. "Kids these days."

They both laughed. Charles watched the young men over Erik's shoulder, followed with his eyes as they made their way to a bench with their arms wrapped around each other's waists. "It's a brave new world, old friend."

"Mm." Erik took another peek and felt very old. "That would never have happened in our day."

"Indeed. Fortunately things have changed, in so many ways. Ah, they're looking at us." He nodded politely and then turned his attention back to Erik. "Go on."

But Erik had been too far distracted from the game to make a move now. He stared down at the board, centering pieces within their squares, and said, "You know, Charles… when we were younger…" And that was as far as he was prepared to go.

But Charles chuckled softly, and without hesitation or surprise teased: "Only when we were younger?"

That, Erik had not been expecting. He recoiled. He very nearly left his seat. At the last second he managed to govern the impulse and stayed put, staring determinedly off to the side. "You knew?" His voice was harsh.

"Erik-… Erik, no." Charles leaned all the way forward to tug on his sleeve. "Don't be upset. I never knew anything, and I would certainly never violate your privacy by trying to find out. Please. Look at me."

Erik looked hard into his eyes, silently demanding an explanation, and Charles finally went on: "A few looks you've given me over the years, that's all, the way you've said my name. Or sometimes when we touch. Most men don't touch at all, you know."

Erik looked down and realized that his hand was still on the table and Charles's hand was resting on top of it. A common, familiar contact between them… and one which apparently said…

He pulled free, feeling the heat of anger in his cheeks. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd felt this exposed. Or this stupid. He was about to get up and go when Charles sighed and said: "Erik? May I show you something – please?"

It wasn't Charles's fault he was an idiot. He nodded stiffly, and didn't move away when Charles wheeled around the table to him. "Look."

Erik was pulled into a memory, an old memory. A hotel bathroom. He recognized it before long as one of the filthy little motels they'd shared on their glorious recruitment trip, right after they'd met, when they were both still young and driven and hopeful. The setting alone was almost too much to bear. But then he nudged the bathroom door open and peeked out. He saw himself – younger, much younger, beautifully muscled back then – still asleep and snoring. I do not snore, he thought firmly, and felt Charles chuckle from somewhere. I'm afraid you do, my friend; you snore like a bear.

Then he turned back into the bathroom and looked into the mirror. Charles, standing, all pink and dripping after a shower. He had a towel around his hips but that didn't help much; his eyelashes were long and his lips pouty and the smile he gave himself was positively indecent.

Erik yanked himself out and refused to make eye contact, but he knew it was too late – Charles was a telepath; you couldn't hide your reactions from him. Damn him for-…

"Erik. Look at me, old friend." Charles's voice was gentle and amused. "I'm flattered – and more. As you see there have been many times I've thought of you in the same way. Sometimes I still do."

"What?" The fact itself was not entirely unexpected; in liquor there is truth and Charles had gotten quite handsy a few times when drunk. What Erik had never imagined was him admitting it aloud – and sober, and forty years too late.

"Yes." Charles sighed. "It took me some time to catch up to myself… and by the time I did, things were… different between us. The moment never quite seemed right." Fair enough. They were always too busy trying to damage and sabotage one another. "But it does now. Would you kiss me?"

"What?"

"We've been many things to one another, Erik. Allies and enemies… teachers, saviors, albatrosses and friends…"

"And now for some reason you think we should become lovers too." Erik snorted. He couldn't believe this. He was getting romanced by Charles Xavier, practically in his dotage, in the middle of Central Park on a Saturday afternoon.

"For your information, most people think we already are lovers. And all I was asking for was a kiss." Charles shrugged. "Never mind, then. Forget I said anything."

"I'll do nothing of the kind and don't you dare make me," Erik said breathlessly. "My memories are my own. Even the-… bizarre ones." Bizarre or not, he sensed that this was an opportunity he would not have again… and he might well regret passing it up. He reached out and determinedly took Charles's hand, lacing their fingers together. "Do you honestly want to be kissed? By me?"

"Yes, I think I do."

So Erik slid out of his chair and put one knee down on the ground. He put his free hand to Charles's face, tilted it, and kissed him.

For a moment it was just lips, but then the touch of Charles's mind washed over him and at once it felt familiar, natural, as if this was something they had been doing every day for the past forty years.

Maybe we should have, Charles thought at him. His mouth was open, encouraging Erik to take, and if Erik had ever imagined kissing Charles this was exactly what he would have imagined it to feel like.

After a bit Charles pulled back. He placed a hand on Erik's neck, holding him still, before thinking: Don't look now, old friend, but we're being watched.

"What-" Erik started, but wasn't allowed to pull away.

"Shh. It's all right." Charles was smiling. "The blond just told his boyfriend: I told you they're an item. They think we're sweet."

Erik peeked over at the young men, who were sitting twined up on the bench together pretending to look at something else. The blond was getting his hair pet. "I should go over there and teach them to mind their own business," he growled. He wasn't yet regretting kissing his best friend, but he'd already begun to wish they hadn't done it in public.

"Sh-sh." Charles gestured for silence. His gaze was distant. "Let me listen." After a moment he laughed softly. "Oh, dear. One just said maybe that'll be us in a hundred years. Do we really look a hundred?"

Erik huffed. "That's it. Now I'm really going to-"

"Oh-… This is priceless." Charles put a hand on his arm and leaned close. "They're thinking we must have the secret to making a longterm romance work out."

Erik had to laugh. "Well, we know that guns and helmets are not the way. And that abduction rarely achieves its desired results. Does that qualify as a secret, do you think?"

"And they're joking about coming over to ask us for relationship advice."

Relationship. Erik noticed that Charles's hand was still on his arm and they were still close enough to feel each other's breath. The closeness was entirely pleasant. He glanced once more over to the young couple, who had started necking again, and then looked into Charles's eyes. "Perhaps we should go over and ask advice of them." He was fully prepared to laugh it off if he had to.

But Charles didn't say anything to make him think that retraction was necessary. He raised Erik's hand to his lips for a moment and flooded his mind with something warm and welcoming. Then he pulled away and wheeled himself back to his side of the chessboard.

"It's your move, Erik."

The End.

So… they finally sort of ask each other out, when they're old. Awwww.

I have a short ficlet in mind for the human-seatbelt-on-crashing-plane thing. That should be up next...