Three quick things:
1. I have huge problems with authority. Therefore, when people demand updates from me, it produces a desire to not update. That said, there is no danger of this story being abandoned. If you have made such a demand; no worries, we're still good. ;D
2. An old favorite shows up in this chapter, but I prefer his comic book version so I described him with that in mind (short, not tall).
3. I'm bullshitting the nipple erogenous zone thing; it does happen sometimes to people that get nipple piercings but tattoos? No idea.
Work it
The sun has yet to clear away the clouds or the light drizzle when Erik's phone starts vibrating in the pocket of his sleep pants. He pats himself down until he finds the right pocket and hits the snooze button. Normally he'd clear the alarm, but normally he would be awake before the alarm even came on. His internal clock is usually reliable.
His crossfit class is in forty-five minutes but his body is telling him to go back to sleep. It's a simple question; deny himself by snapping up and getting ready for a brutal workout or give in just a little bit? Thursday was hard, after all; he went through far more emotional hoops than he's used to. From the euphoric realization that he brings good things into peoples' lives, to anger at Raven for not telling him how serious the situation with Charles could be, to the strange episode on the roof with Charles.
It's the last bit that galvanizes him.
G-tt in Himmel, he thinks to himself, better work out.
He turns over on the couch, tugging the blanket from his shoulders as goes, and swings his legs down and his body up. And promptly discovers Charles sleeping propped against the couch's side. Even in the summer, Erik's concrete floor is cool and he's sure that cool surface will lead to aches in Charles' muscles.
Without trying to wake him, Erik slips from the couch and scoops Charles up. He swiftly deposits him in the lingering heat he's left in the couch's cushions. Charles squints, grimaces sleepily, and brings his hands into a sloppy guard position. Erik laughs at the sight under his breath.
"Go back to sleep, Champ," Erik says and pulls the blanket up over him. "I have a fitness class this morning; I'll be back around six-thirty."
Charles' response is an unintelligible murmur that only sounds vaguely like English syllables. The blanket is unceremoniously pulled partway up and under his cheek to act like a pillow. Erik finds this amusing as well, but picks the pillow up from the floor and tosses it behind Charles' knees.
His morning routine is easy enough; carbs, protein, and vitamins, change his clothes and check his messages while coffee brews. He has messages from several people at the show last night; Ororo, Darwin, and Raven are the only ones he checks. Ororo is interested in having Raven show at Incubator, Darwin wants to know what the hell happened, and Raven has sent a host of verbose apologies and a sparsely worded warning that Spain and Russia have erupted into war.
Erik glances at his couch. Obviously Charles was better off staying the night. Shaking his head, Erik goes back to the kitchen for his coffee.
At his class, Erik drives himself as hard as he possibly can and is alternately jeered and taunted by their coach, Logan. Logan is always particularly hard on Erik; he's Jean's ex. Erik thinks Logan only puts up with him because he actually liked Erik's suggestion about how he and Scott could settle the tension between them and Jean.
Between squat jumps, medicine ball sit-ups, handstand pushups, and a whole host of other exercises that push everyone to their limits, Erik is finally able to break free from the lingering tension of Raven's show. When it's time to cool down with yoga positions, Erik easily relaxes into a meditative zone; he doesn't even care that Logan has come close to shadow him or that his chest is aching from Charles' attack.
When it's all over, Erik gulps long pulls from his water bottle until he renders it empty. He drapes his towel over his head to cover his eyes; in the dark he reaches out and touches the calm that comes to him when he's exhausted.
"Trying to kill yourself this morning, Lehnsherr?" Logan's voice pushes back the calm, if not the dark. "It's fine, if that's your thing but don't do it in here; the sport's rep is bad enough."
The calm fades, but it lingers in the edges of the workout's lethargy and endorphins. Erik looks down his cheekbones to the concrete floor and his bare feet, with the towel limiting his vision, though, he can't find Logan. Grudgingly he pulls it back just far enough that the hem skims his eyelashes. He looks up from the floor, gaze traveling Logan's legs, hairy arms, and chest, and finally his face. Erik isn't sure what he sees on Logan's hard face, but it isn't the usual sarcastic expression. "Worried I'll beat your time for your own workout of the day?"
"Nah," Logan says and shifts his weight, "I can always make it harder for you. But maybe I think you had some drama last night and maybe I don't hate you enough to see you dead just yet. Your money's always on time."
Erik drops the towel to his shoulder to get a better look at the sturdy trainer. Logan is physically intimidating in every way but height; he makes up for that by being thick, feral-looking, and riddled with hard muscle. His resting expression is a scowl and his hair is styled to emphasize the hard cut of his face. It isn't a face that takes well to empathy, which explains the tortured expression.
"Logan," Erik sighs, "take your misplaced concern and Jean's gossip and fuck off."
Logan's response is a slow grin that shows teeth and a bit of a manic spark in his eyes. He claps Erik's shoulder and gives a short bark of laughter. "Fuck you, too, bub. Glad you're the same old asshole I've come to enjoy riding. But Jean ain't said shit; it's the scratches that made me wonder. Somebody got you from behind at that show last night, eh?"
Erik rubs his towel over his shoulder where the unwanted sting of Logan's massive hand tingles. He's caught between self-flagellation for giving up information and a squirming sort of appreciation that Logan is letting on that he cares. "I like you better when you're a dick."
"Whatever, Lehnsherr," Logan replies and turns one foot out to step away. "You keep outta trouble and I won't even ask Jean what went down last night."
The calm fades, but the pleasantly unpleasant feeling accompanies Erik the whole way back to his loft. It hums along in his gut as the rain patters lightly on his jacket's hood. Even as Erik vaults up the stairs to his floor with his bicycle over his shoulder and a trail of rain water behind him, he can't help but wonder at it. He knows he has friends in Raven, Darwin, and Kitty, but could it be other people have invested in him? If so, does it mean he has a positive effect on more than Raven? Maybe Kitty?
Kitty's penciled in for informal lettering lessons after the London show or Pesach, but even before the lettering show she's always preferred to make his coffee and she loves drawing on his takeout cups. If Kitty isn't busy when Erik or Raven call in orders, she'll even bring them up.
The calm stays where it is, but the bizarre feeling sends out feelers of warmth that have nothing to do with rage or hatred. He rarely feels this way; he hasn't been so… satisfied? So grounded? He hasn't felt so good about himself in years. It's hard to believe that Charles, of all people, started this tiny, pleasant little revolution less than twenty-four hours ago.
Erik lets himself into his apartment and is greeted by the smell of cooking; eggs of some kind. He grabs a towel off the bicycle's hook and starts wiping the rain water and street dirt off the bike.
"Good timing; I've got breakfast going," Charles calls from the kitchen. "I hope you like French toast!"
Erik is ambivalent about French toast, though his mother—
There's a squeak of flesh over paint as Erik's hands twist around the bicycle's frame. He closes his eyes against the memory. No, he's making progress. He's making progress and thoughts of that other time can't be part of it; they are two worlds that can't exist together. Even if he believed and a Jubilee year was miraculously possible in his lifetime, Erik knows he can never free himself.
He hangs the bicycle on its hook and sheds his raincoat onto one grip, the towel is dropped on the floor to catch the drip. It feels like an escape when he enters the bathroom for a quick shower to drive away sweat and road dirt.
The sky isn't much brighter when he comes from the bathroom in his sleep pants with a fresh t-shirt stretched over his torso. The light coming through the arched windows is a blend of orange streetlight and cool, cloud-filtered sunlight. It makes a strange dichotomy in the living room of orange and blue-ish light and shadow. The kitchen though is warm with artificial light and the smell of Charles' cooking.
Charles is already seated at the kitchen island where, not many days ago, Erik saw him flinch at the drawing of a kitchen knife. One of Erik's cheap plates sits on the kitchen island, piled high with French toast; Charles has already mostly devoured the slice on the plate before him. Just across from him is an empty plate paired with a steaming cup of coffee.
"All I could find was decaf," Charles says tentatively. Charles is usually sure of himself, if not unbearably arrogant; the uncertainty in his voice is baffling.
"Good," Erik replies. "Does that mean you dumped the coffee I made this morning?"
"Of course; it was at least an hour cold by the time I found it." Charles bites his lip and hunches over his plate. "Was it the last of your regular coffee?"
"No," Erik says with an amused shake of his head. "But I would have reheated it. Is that why you look worried?"
As if noticing his pensive body language for the first time, Charles straightens up and pushes his shoulders back slightly. Strangely enough, Charles wearing the shirt he slept in, but the jeans from the day before.
"You were so quiet when you came in," Charles says, lightening up. "I thought maybe you didn't like French toast. I made sure it was Kosher before I started."
Erik rolls his eyes at that, but doesn't fight the smile pulling at one corner of his mouth. He picks up his fork and stabs one of the slices of bread and brings it to his plate. "Everyone likes French toast, Charles."
"But you never seem to like anything," Charles returns, his apprehension replaced with cheek. "You identify with the Grinch."
Erik uses his fork to cut off a corner of the toast and spears it. He holds the roughly triangular piece up and looks it over critically. "I have cinnamon. Huh. There's ginger marmalade in the fridge that might go well with this."
"I was hoping you'd say that." Charles immediately vacates his seat and goes straight for the item in question. Erik takes advantage of Charles' turned back to put the bread in his mouth; it's better than expected. Yes, he definitely has cinnamon and, even more surprising, vanilla extract. Maybe he can attribute it to all the times Raven came over to use his kitchen.
Charles returns with the ginger marmalade and happily opens the jar and spoons some out onto his toast. "I know you said I could get into anything, but I've heard that before and still managed to aggravate people when I did exactly that."
A nod is all Erik gives Charles in reply. He'd much rather stuff his mouth with more breakfast. Even though it's not a dish he usually seeks it's better than any he's had in years.
While Erik directs his attention to making steady inroads into breakfast, Charles spends most of the time watching him. "I've been thinking a lot."
Of course he has. Erik nods and swallows another well-chewed bite. "I know; you said you would."
Charles' gaze drops down to his plate and the morsel of toast he's soaked in marmalade. "About Raven, of course, but I thought about you, too."
Erik forces himself not to hesitate; he glances up casually from his plate and lifts his brow in question. "Oh?"
"Yes." Charles looks up from his toast and catches Erik's eyes; there's no hesitation left in Charles' gaze. "Does your red tattoo cover both sides of your arse?"
No hesitation, but plenty of mischief. Charles pops his bite of toast in his mouth as if punctuating the dot at the bottom of a question mark.
"Subtle." Erik rolls his eyes and answers anyway. "It stops two thirds of the way across."
"Did it hurt?" Charles asks after swallowing his toast.
"Don't be stupid," Erik says, voice flat with long-suffering. If he's heard this question once he's heard it thousands of times. "I had needles puncturing my skin over and over."
"Which one hurt the most?" Charles is smiling over his fork like he knows exactly what he's doing. Maybe he does.
"My nipple." That had been no joke; he'd been relieved when Raven's design placement cleared the other one. Covering his nipple was probably the truest test of a pain threshold Erik can imagine. It's not something he recommends.
"At least you came out of it with an erogenous zone." Charles glances significantly to Erik's tight shirt where, sure enough, his nipples are showing through.
Erik's not sure if Charles is trying to seduce him with cheesy dialogue or if it's actually working because it's just that terrible. There's a certain charm to be found in a handsome man or woman that can spin out kitschy lines with confidence in their purposeful badness.
"If you're angling for a fuck," Erik replies and fights back with bluntness, "then your timing isn't very good; I usually have to take a shit about half an hour after I eat."
It works; Charles' nose wrinkles in disgust. "If I was you'll never know now."
Amused despite himself, Erik continues to eat Charles' cooking. Charles doesn't lose his appetite after Erik's crudeness, either. They eat in comfortable silence and then Charles follows behind as Erik clears their dishes and takes them to the steel sink. There's a dishwasher, of course, but Erik only runs it enough to keep it maintained. Charles says nothing at first, but he loiters just behind, watching Erik fill one side of the sink with water and a splash of dish soap.
Perhaps Charles grows uncomfortable with the lack of conversation or Erik's focus shifting from him to the dishes. Whatever it is, he begins to speak again.
"I had a few messages from Raven," Charles says. "She said Janos and Azazel are fighting. She, Hank, and Sean took Janos to a hotel for the night after Azazel left. She doesn't want me to stay the night there tonight unless things with those two get better or Azazel leaves town."
Erik nods; he knew something of that already. "What about the two of you?"
If not for the water running, Erik thinks he would hear Charles' sigh. "She's going to come by later to pick up the Frontier. We'll talk then, but I don't think we'll need to talk about it much."
Erik reaches out and pushes down firmly on the water lever to turn it off. "What does that mean?"
"It means…" Charles takes a breath and Erik grabs one of his white dish towels and turns around. Charles' is staring down where he's laced his fingers together, both palms face his midriff, thumbs pointing up. Erik can't read his expression; is it vulnerability? Embarrassment? Defensiveness? All of the above? "It means I'm convinced I've been doing something very wrong with Raven. I've been thwarting her agency by punishing her every time she chooses something I disagree with. I've been playing parent and we both very much need me to stop doing that."
Charles' fingers are rigid, bent at their middle joints to form the peaks of a bony mountain range. He's still looking down, but Erik thinks that if he's looking at anything it isn't his hands.
"That must have been hard." Erik leans back against the kitchen bench with the towel and slowly dries his hands.
Beyond Charles, on the other side of the windows, the morning has deepened in shades of orange. Erik spares a thought; there must be a gap in the clouds to the east. He's wanted Charles to come to this point since the first day they met, but now that Charles seems to have arrived, so to speak, Erik feels uncomfortable. It's not easy to be the one Charles talks to first.
"It was a bit," Charles says with a sigh. He unlaces his fingers and clutches instead at his elbows. "You said it a couple times, more or less, though; that I already knew but hadn't admitted it to myself. I guess I suspected several months ago when Raven sent me copies of her bank statements, but then you told me how she made other sacrifices and then I saw some of that with my own eyes."
Even though Erik's hands are dry, he finds himself rubbing the towel back and forth against his hands longer than necessary. Erik says nothing, he doesn't need to, so he nods and watches Charles struggle and occasionally glances out the windows where the red brick building across the street glows with morning sun reflected off unseen clouds.
"But, maybe worst of all," Charles continues. He finally looks up, his eyes zeroing in directly on Erik's face. "Last night I have no idea what I thought I was going to do. Cover her up? Hide her away? Store her in the attic of some ivory tower? And I was so consumed that I lost all control. I behaved like an animal. A very sick animal that attacked a… complete bastard, but perhaps a good-hearted one."
A soft snort of laughter leaves Erik at that, but he doesn't rise to the bait. He looks back at Charles and drops his hands to his hips. Charles is still looking at his face, specifically the scratches near his eye.
"I'll have to be very diligent not to repeat the same mistakes," Charles says quietly, "because I don't think my instincts will ever change. I've been like this for over twenty years already."
Erik fills his lungs with a deep breath of air and tosses the white towel behind him onto the bench. He pushes off and walks forward to stand within reach. Charles' looks away, but doesn't give up ground. It's all the permission Erik needs; he reaches up and lays both hands on Charles' strong shoulders. "You can't do this kind of thing alone, Charles. You need help."
Charles' focus comes straight back to Erik; his chest fills with air and pupils dilate in obvious interest. "Oh?"
"Yes," Erik replies. "I know one of the best psychologists in New York. She can refer you to one of her colleagues, maybe even someone in Oxford."
Charles deflates at Erik's offer; his eyes close and his shoulders fall. "Right. That's sweet of you, Erik, but I don't think it's really necessary. I know quite a few psychologists myself. Though," his eyes open again and he smiles a very little bit, "is this psychologist someone you've tattooed?"
"No," Erik says, and now his voice has lost its previous strength. "No, we were introduced."
"Girlfriend?" Charles asks, in a tone Erik remembers from the night before, on the roof.
"No, never," Erik replies in automatic distaste. No, Dr. Frost never excited him, not knowing her the way he did. "She's beautiful, though."
Charles reaches up to Erik's hands and lifts them off his shoulders and draws the fingertips to his mouth. He kisses them, lips soft and gentle. "Yes, you were right earlier; my timing is indeed off. However, why don't you come take a nap with me after you finish the dishes? You don't have any appointments today, do you?"
Erik takes his hands away from Charles only to lace them together at the back of Charles' neck. Even with Charles' shoulders relaxed, he can feel tension in him. "Not until tonight, but I still need to clean the shop. There's probably wine and champagne sticking to the floors and trash dumped in the vase by the door. And even if I could, I can't sleep next to anybody; I move too much."
Charles shakes his head and takes Erik's arms away again. "Fine, I'll wash your dishes but you really should take a nap; you look like you need the sleep."
"It's almost Saturday; I can nap at Quicksilver," Erik says, but Charles widens his footing and then places his hands on Erik's hips and forces him toward the living space. With Charles' lower center of gravity, destabilizing grappling point, and strong legs, Erik would have to resort to full body contact to resist Charles' advance.
"Erik, seriously, my friend," he says. "You need some sleep. Go. I'll wake you by 9am."
Erik shakes his head and backs up quickly to maneuver out of Charles' grip. He raises his hands in acquiescence. "Fine, fine. I'll set my phone for half an hour. Don't come wake me up; if I sleep through then I needed the sleep."
Back in his bedroom, Erik sets his phone's alarm and throws himself down on his bed and turns his face to the wall. Something comes to mind as he lies there, drifting between sleep and contemplation. He thinks back to Raven and what she said about giving up one-night stands for commitment. Not many people are capable of choosing to go for the sort of change it sounds like Charles wants to make. If Charles can do that and bring positivity into Erik life, then maybe that day at Multnomah wasn't a fluke.
Erik sighs and looks at the shadow his body casts on the wall before him. Maybe Raven's right and he told Charles about sex with her because his subconscious wants to try commitment.
As soon as Erik has left the kitchen area and his quiet steps have faded from hearing, Charles turns to the sink. He plunges a hand into the sink full of dishes and pulls out the stopper to drain the soapy water. Taking a calm grounding breath in through his nose, he opens the dishwasher and starts loading it. It's a pleasant surprise that they've not only avoided any arguments this morning but that Erik has even capitulated to Charles' advice that he get some sleep.
It's been remarkably pleasant and genuinely intimate between them. It's just too bad that Erik thinks he needs a shrink; nothing is further than the truth. Now that he's accepted the problem, he can work on reversing his behavior on his own. It would be nice if Erik had offered to be the person to aid him instead of foisting some New York charity worker at him. Erik might be an internationally-known tattoo artist, but that will never make him a scholar and that means Erik has no idea the sort of people in the psychology field Charles can tap.
But he means well. Erik means well and Charles is sure that offering this contact was no small matter. Erik has given him shelter and care even after Charles physically attacked him. Even after hearing about Charles' childhood and insecurities, Erik still sought clarification on Charles' sexual overtures. No, Charles thinks, sometimes sex isn't so casual. The sex he is considering with Erik isn't the casual kind; it's the sort of sex that is terrifyingly intimate. If he's decoding Erik correctly, there's a chance that's what Erik wants, too.
How did Erik know a psychologist though? He must have been a client back in New York; maybe for anger management that came of an assault charge. From everything he's heard and read about Erik, he's actually much tamer now. Perhaps the psychologist did him a world of good. Charles is just glad he doesn't have the kind of problem that would require psychologists or therapists.
Charles finishes loading the dishwasher and starts going through the cabinets for the machine's dish soap. When he finds the small, barely-touched box, he pries out a few chunks with an expression of distaste; why even have detergent if you aren't going to use it? All the same, he puts the chunks into place and sets the machine to run.
Charles wanders to Erik's couch and drops the pillow and throw into his lap. He takes out his phone and checks his phone for the time; he wants to wait fifteen minutes before he sets his next plan in motion. In the meantime he rereads Raven's messages but only decides to reply to one from the night before.
I loved you even when you weren't as beautiful on the outside as the inside, but I've done a terrible job expressing that. I'm both looking forward to (and dreading) seeing you; it's hard to admit my mistakes.
A reply comes five minutes later while Charles searches the couch's upholstery for any sign of dumpster living. Embarrassed even though he hasn't actually been caught scrutinizing Erik's furniture, Charles looks at the message: I love you no matter what and I know you love me, too. I'm scared but hopeful! See you later today.
Charles brushes a thumb over the message, highlighting it through the nature of the touchscreen. His thumb goes back and forth, portions of the message are selected and deselected via his warm touch. He sits quietly for several more minutes before he drops the phone onto the couch and stands up.
Locating Erik's phone is simple enough; he's placed it on his desk in his crowded, yet strictly-organized, room. A new book has appeared beneath it; one of Erik's many sketchbooks. Charles picks the phone up and walks back out of the room to place it on the couch with his. He drops the throw and pillow on them for good measure.
Back in Erik's room again, Charles looks around, disgruntled; it isn't much of a bedroom for all it holds a bed. It's certainly one of the most ruthlessly organized artist rooms he's ever slept in but the only really personal touches it holds are the references pinned to the wall in front of the drafting table and the dings and scratches in the wood of the desk.
The bed is probably an IKEA buy; if Erik put him on a dumpstered mattress he'll be furious. But, no, it smelled and felt fine. The pillow was a little flat and the mattress firm, but the smell of Erik's shampoo was the only thing he really noticed.
Erik is lying on the bed, nose once again tucked toward the wall away from the growing light outside. The indirect light waxes and wanes, giving evidence of a partly cloudy sky; Charles hopes it stays sunny like the last couple weeks he's been here.
It's sad to finally realize he does indeed have growing feelings for Erik only now that he leaves in a few days. Perhaps, he thinks, he should push his flight back a week or so to explore those feelings.
Until then, though, he closes the gap between them until he's standing right next to the bed, his shadow thrown over Erik's hip. With considerable caution and his boxing reflexes standing by, Charles eases his weight onto the edge of the bed. It's a good mattress; none of his movements are transmitted across it's width to Erik's sleeping form.
Charles pulls his shirt up his torso and drops it next to the bed. Slowly, as slowly as his muscles are able, he leans over to lay down on the edge of the bed beside Erik. It's risky, but he counts on Erik not being in such a deep level of sleep that waking up won't unleash some kind of horrible primal reaction.
Those calculations pay off when Erik turns from his side to his back and turns his head to look blearily at Charles.
"It's been about thirty minutes, go take your shit," Charles says quietly.
Erik's brow furrows in confusion. "I slept through my alarm?"
"Shush," Charles says, because he suddenly feels very averse to telling an explicit lie. "You kept asking me about casual sex last night. Honestly, last night, it was little more than me just using your interest as a convenience. But I'd like to have, I suppose, if you're interested, not so casual sex with you. I would prefer that last night was more of an outlier. You don't have to do anything, I'd be happy to do it all."
Erik lifts a hand and rubs at his eyes with his knuckles. "Not so casual sex? Is that formal sex?"
Charles slaps Erik's stomach lightly. "You prick, I'm trying to be sensitive and caring here."
Erik takes the hand from his eyes and looks at Charles again. "I gathered. Thought it was a strange dream."
"Bastard," Charles says fondly. He watches Erik's face carefully for clues and sees Erik's lips compress, the lift at the corners of his mouth. He wonders if this is what J.M. Barrie meant about having a kiss hidden in the corner of one's mouth.
Eyes focused on Erik's lips, Charles watches them part to say, "I'm willing to give it a try dream-Charles."
A small breath of laughter escapes him at that. "Tell me you have condoms and slick, dream-Erik; I want to give that great protuberance of yours a go."
"My protuberance?" Now Erik's lips have stretched wider, his teeth are showing in his smile. "You reached into the thesaurus of your mind and selected protuberance?"
"Oh, come now." Charles rolls over to overlap Erik's side and look down at his face. The scratches don't look so bad now that he sees them up close. "It's your dream, I can't be blamed for anything I say."
"I can't decide if I should wake up," Erik says and carefully moves Charles up from his chest, but slips a leg between Charles' and lifts his knee between Charles' thighs. "Or bear with the terrible dialogue for the sex."
"I think you should try to suffer through." Charles leans down, weight on his elbows, Erik's hands on his pale chest, and gently kisses one of the scratches. "Because dream-me is very invested in doing things right."
Erik says nothing and the smile stays in place, though it becomes more subtle and fond. He takes one hand from Charles' chest and lifts it to run through Charles' hair. He tugs on the ends lightly. Charles pulls against Erik's grip, enjoying the tension on his scalp until Erik releases him.
"Does this mean you're open to a wet dream?" Charles says into what feels like a comfortable silence. "There may be nocturnal emissions, you know."
That prompts a small snort of laughter that in turn fills Charles' heart with warmth and pride. Teasing out Erik's sense of humor is all the more pleasurable for its rarity. "Since the real you is probably on my couch with your phone, I think I can clean up with none the wiser."
"Excellent." Charles presses his lips in a quick peck against the tip of Erik's nose. "Though I guess these would be diurnal emissions since the sun is up."
"You're using plural," Erik replies and shifts up to push Charles gently to his side again. "I'm glad dream-you is so optimistic."
"Me, too." Charles tugs at Erik's shirt. He wants to see Erik naked, a colorful work of male beauty against the white canvas of the sheets. "Take this off."
With a nod, Erik sits up and draws the shirt up and over his head. The ripple of muscle, even the creases of skin at Erik's waist as he bends, sends a cavalcade of lust from Charles' heart and groin. His eyes dart immediately to the dragon and then to the heart and back to the dragon again. There's something off about the dragon and the colorful wash of mist. The wounded dragon looks darker; it has a darker, mottled sort of purple halo.
"That's where you hit me," Erik says as he lies back again. "Not as noticeable as the scratches."
The spread of warm, smoky lust fades away at the sight. For once Charles says nothing; he glances up at Erik's face and then he slowly places his fingertips against the dark purple mark. "In the course of playgrounds and boxing I've given and received plenty of bruises, but it was always intentional. This, though, wasn't intentional; this was madness. God, Erik, I am so sorry."
Even as he's speaking, Erik takes hold of Charles' hand and presses it flat over the bruise. Charles can feel firm flesh and a heartbeat. Oddly enough, Erik's expression isn't dark or aggressive; his eyes are piercing as ever, though, and drive into Charles with the intensity and precise nature of a laser. "You fucked up and you hurt me and that's something that should hurt you. You deserve that. But it isn't the most noteworthy part of us knowing each other."
Charles can't help but look away. It's true, he knows it's true but the worst part isn't knowing he's done wrong, it's knowing that Erik is clearly not going to hold a grudge. That's harder to deal with; it's a foreign thing, this decency from somebody he thinks he wants. He doesn't look for decency in his lovers, after all, he just looks for…
He doesn't know what he looks for. The absurdity of the realization is sobering. If it wouldn't hurt his image he thinks he really might consider a shrink.
"You can think about it later when I wake up." Erik's voice brings Charles out of his self-castigation. "Are you going to give me that wet dream or not?"
Given an obvious out, Charles looks back at Erik's face with gratitude. "I'm not so sure I want you to wake up now."
"You talk too much," Erik replies and pulls Charles' face to his by the back of his head.
Introspection driven away by the promise of sex, Charles pours himself into kissing Erik. He closes his eyes and surrenders to the feel of Erik's tongue slipping back and forth at the seam of his lips. It's an intense sensation; Charles' lips are sensitive. He parts them and licks out, catching the underside of Erik's tongue with the tip of his own.
Then they tilt their heads and the kiss grows immediately deeper, heated, and wet. Teeth only rarely enter into the exchange but air is caught, heated, and shared freely.
Slowly, while Charles sucks at Erik's tongue in gentle suggestion, Erik pushes forward and Charles allows himself to be guided back to the mattress. When Charles is on his back, Erik lifts up on his elbows and looks down, eyes dark with the growing diameter of his pupils. Charles licks his lips and smiles.
"I'm going to get condoms and lube," Erik says. His voice is quiet, decisive, and even though it's a relatively neutral sentence and delivery, Erik's gaze transforms the words into a statement of purpose.
"Can you take off your pants first?" Charles tries for bashful but he's not sure he can pull that off believably. "I want to see what your tattoos look like when you move."
"Bullshit." Erik says as he slides from the bed. "You just want to see me naked."
"I'll get that either way!" Charles retorts, but he can't help the grin that's pulling at his mouth.
Erik complies, though. He slips his thumbs into the waistband of his pants and pulls them down his legs in one swift movement. Charles groans because of course Erik isn't wearing underwear. Charles forgets the tattoos instantly, his eyes drawn immediately to Erik's penis. It's a long, thickening affair framed with pale skin on one side and the black stripe that runs down Erik's body on the other.
"No, you just wanted to see my dick," Erik says by way of correction.
"One track mind, I'm afraid," Charles replies sweetly. His eyes stay trained on the circumcised length; he licks his lips again like he can already taste it. "It's a very nice dick, Erik."
"Unfortunately," Erik scoffs.
"Unfortunately?" Charles can hardly believe his ears. How would anybody be unhappy with the lovely specimen Erik has? Unless maybe he's hurt past lovers who weren't properly prepared?
"Most of the men I go to bed with turn out to have an inner size queen," Erik explains. "And I wouldn't trust a one-night stand to peg me, so I do most of the fucking."
A rush of heat from embarrassment and desire tangle and then spread down through Charles' chest and up across his cheeks. "Guilty as charged, but give me a moment to think of a compromise."
Erik's brow rises in curiosity, but then he turns around to head into the bathroom. For a moment Charles' intended train of thought stalls out, because at long last he finally beholds the full view of Erik's ass. There's more muscle than padding to be found which is a shame, but still, his ass is glorious and the red paint stripe does indeed cross over one ass cheek and then ends half way across the other. Ah, but how deep between the valley of Erik's ass cheeks does the stripe descend?
It only takes a few steps for Erik to vanish into the bathroom and when he does he closes the door behind him. Deprived of the sight of his soon-to-be lover Charles closes his eyes and replays Erik's movements in his head. Erik's back has more tattoo coverage but it's the red stripe that has captured Charles' attention. He finds himself longing to grip each lean ass cheek and pull up on them to test the weight on his palms. Maybe that would be a nice option if he does, indeed, fuck Erik.
And that's when the perfect plan presents itself to Charles; the perfect plan that involves both of them, particularly Erik, getting what they want.
Erik's in the bathroom longer than Charles expects and doesn't emerge until long after the toilet flushes. When he comes back he brings a basin of hot water, two towels, and carries a strip of three condoms in his teeth. He looks good walking naked to the bed, his flaccid cock swinging back and forth with the motion of his long thighs.
"Three?" Charles asks as Erik sets the hot water down on the floor with the towels. Bobbing along in the water Charles spies the mentioned lubricant; it's a nice touch since the water will heat the slick up. Cold lubricant can be nice sometimes, but he's not in the mood for it now.
Erik drops the strip on the bed. "One for each of us and a spare if one of them rip."
"This is a level of preparedness I don't often see." Charles picks up the strip of three and separates them out. "Do you think we'll be trading places?"
Erik shrugs and remains by the bed, hands moving to rest at his hips. "I don't know what you have in mind as a compromise."
Charles sets the condoms aside and sits up to take Erik's wrists; one tattooed and the other not. "You, my friend, are going to fuck me. But," he squeezes Erik's wrists gently but firmly, "there's a good reason for that."
Erik's lips thin, but he nods along. "You have my attention."
Charles pulls at Erik's wrists until he sits down on the edge of the bed. "You are going to fuck me exactly the way you would like to be fucked." Charles releases Erik's wrists and reaches up to press a hand to one side of Erik's face. "And then tonight or tomorrow, whenever you like, I am going to give you exactly what you give me."
For the space of a single heartbeat Erik's expression stills and Charles' stomach uses that heartbeat to drop in panic. But then Erik turns his head and kisses Charles' palm.
"Charles," Erik's breath is hot and humid in Charles' palm, "I like rough sex. Are you okay with that? That's how I like to give it and, when I have a chance, that's how I like to receive it."
"I am nothing if not adventurous," Charles says and runs his fingers over the smooth contour of Erik's upper and then lower lip. Erik opens his mouth and bites down gently on Charles' middle finger as it reaches the center of his bottom lip. "And very experienced."
A little too experienced, Charles thinks, because he doubts Erik has anything up his sleeves, textile or ink, that can possibly surprise him. That's the only part of his sex life that he can really call a shame; there's not much in the way of new territory. Those thoughts skitter away when Erik's teeth close a little harder and his tongue strokes in firm little flicks on the captured fingertip.
Well, so much for no new territory to be explored, Charles thinks and then his finger is released and Erik's palm is on Charles' chest. He's pushed firmly back. Charles allows himself to hit the mattress with enough force to bounce slightly. He laughs softly as Erik smiles down at him in a manner that is heartwarmingly boyish. His long-fingered hand remains on Charles' chest, hot and steady.
"I like this idea," Erik says. It's all the warning Charles has before Erik grabs the top of Charles' expensive jeans and pulls them down with his underwear over his hips, thighs, and knees.
To Charles' further surprise, Erik leaves the denim at Charles' knees and lifts his hands up to palm the pale skin of his thighs. Erik digs his fingers in, and while it is a little strange, it feels undeniably pleasant to have Erik's massage the thick muscles. "If these are more than just for show," Erik murmurs with unconcealed hunger, "you'll make me very happy when you return the favor."
The comment sends blood rushing down to Charles groin but also releases a shaking sigh straight from his chest. "Ah, yes, I guess you'll see."
Then the denim is pulled off and Erik climbs straight back up his body to lay his mouth over Charles' once more. The kissing heats Charles' blood, but fire warms his veins when Erik lowers his hips to press his lower body against Charles'. The brush of Erik's pubic hair against his hardening cock is titillating but Erik's dick caressing the sensitive skin of his thighs is maddening.
Charles pushes up into the kiss, driving his tongue against Erik's and Erik puts a hand on his shoulder and presses him back down. He licks at, then scrapes his teeth over, Charles' lips. God, his lips, how had he known that his lips were so sensitive?
Hoping to distract Erik from this exploitation, Charles' runs his hands up Erik's stomach to his chest and rubs at his nipples. The following gasp for air frees Charles' mouth to suck open-mouthed kisses at Erik's cheek and bite ungently at his jaw. The pressure on his shoulder abates as Erik reaches between them to pull Charles' hand away from his unmarked nipple and down their bodies, over Charles' lifting cock, and to Erik's.
Charles hides a smile against Erik's jaw. He heeds the unsubtle hint and maneuvers Erik's cock up from the press of his thighs. It's a formidable thing even though it isn't completely erect; Charles wants it in his body; mouth, ass, whatever. For now he plays with it; drags his fingers up the length in lingering strokes and ends each motion by running his thumb along the head's flared circumference. Whether it's the attention he's giving Erik's nipple or dick, said dick is definitely hardening fast.
Above him Erik leaves off hunting Charles' lips to close his eyes and bite down on his own lower lip. It's an endearing expression of pleasure. Charles leans up and runs his tongue over the indentations Erik's teeth are making in his skin. Poor man, they're not even fucking yet and he's already enduring a sensual two-pronged attack.
"You're so expressive," Charles whispers. "Beautiful. I can't wait to see your face when you're in me." Will Erik bite his lips raw? Charles heats up even more with the thought.
Despite distraction Erik slides his fingers around Charles' shaft and pulls it up between them. He carefully manages Charles' foreskin so it doesn't fully reveal the sensitive head too soon and begins to stroke. For a man that has no foreskin Charles gives Erik points for knowing how to use one in bed. Charles groans as Erik uses the delicate skin as a barrier for rubbing a little more firmly with his thumb.
For good measure Charles pinches Erik's nipple even harder. Unexpectedly, Erik curses and rears away. His hand leaves Charles' cock to the push against the bed and support himself over Charles' torso.
"Too hard?" Charles asks, hand now languidly stroking at Erik's dick. It can't have been too horrible; Erik's growing erection hasn't diminished in the slightest. "I thought you wanted rough?"
Erik shakes his head. "I like to work up to the rough stuff. But that's not it. It's still sore from last night."
Charles' gaze flicks to the black skin and he makes a face. Of course. It doesn't look sore because it's not red, but looking between the two he can see the nub of Erik's tattooed nipple is swollen in comparison.
Charles releases Erik's cock and pushes himself up on his elbows to lick the tender surface. The silky skin is warm and tastes faintly coppery. Erik relaxes back into Charles' space; he exhales a labored breath. It must hurt but it's probably the good kind. As an extra measure of care Charles closes his lips over the nipple and gently swirls his tongue around the abused flesh. When he finally pulls away, Erik's eyes are closed again and his nipple is shiny with saliva.
"I'm sorry," Charles says and means it.
Erik's opens lust-dark eyes and nods. His gaze travels down Charles' body, perhaps to take an inventory of what Charles' body has available. This time his appraisal stops at Charles' cock rather than his thighs. He reaches for it again, closes his fingers around the shaft, and begins to stroke. Charles makes a noise at that, it feels good, but keeps his eyes on the vision of Erik jacking him off. The warmth and friction of Erik's skin rubbing against his brings tiny sounds to Charles' gasps which increase in volume as Erik proceeds.
Feeling weak with the continuing stimulation, Charles falls back onto the bed. Erik shifts up and quickly moves into the space Charles left behind. He kneels over him and drops one of the condom packets onto Charles' chest. There's no hesitation; Charles tears it open immediately and withdraws the condom.
"Me or you?" he asks between pants.
Erik doesn't reply. He takes the condom out of Charles' hand and backs down Charles' body. When he's over Charles' thighs again Erik's lips form a dark smile that remains in his eyes when he places the condom in his mouth. One hand anchored on Charles' thigh and the other on the base of Charles' cock, Erik ducks down and administers the condom orally.
Charles answers his own question with helpless abandon. "Oh God, it's me. Oh fuck, yes, it's me."
Erik's mouth is hot and wicked and graduates Charles from breathy gasps straight into moans. Erik's sucking is firm and sure. The condom is no barrier whatsoever to the heat of his mouth or the pressure of his lips or tongue.
"Fuck, Erik," Charles gasps, lifting up on his elbows again to watch Erik's mouth slide up and down the darkening length of his cock. He's not sure he's ever had a lover that was quite this commanding in his blowjobs. Erik's hand is hard on his thigh, fingers digging in, as he levers himself up and down Charles' dick and sucks him like a passionate machine.
The heat, the friction of skin, the sight of Erik's cheeks hollowing out on every backward stroke; it's so good Charles can feel his groin tightening up and his skin flushing fast with heat. "Oh fuck, oh Erik, God. Is this—" He cries out with a jolt of piercing pleasure when he feels Erik's thumb rub circles against his perineum. "Ah! Is this how you like it?"
Erik pulls off Charles' cock with a hard suck that leaves his lips and chin wet with saliva. "Yes."
As he speaks, Erik reaches for the bottle of lube that had been floating in the warm water and hands Charles another condom packet. "If at any point you're uncomfortable, you stop me."
It's all Charles can do to tear his gaze away from Erik's swollen lips in order to open the second packet. "I will, just please fuck me." He holds out the condom but Erik doesn't take it yet; he's too busy applying lube to his fingers and then slathering it under Charles' balls, onto his very willing asshole. Charles can't help himself, he pushes against Erik's fingers when the opportunity presents itself.
Erik smirks at that and slaps his thigh. He takes the condom and quickly rolls it down his cock. "Turn over and get up your knees or however's most comfortable for you."
Charles is quick to roll onto his stomach and fling his knees wide. He keeps his forearms on the bed so his ass is high and open. His cock is hard and his balls ache; he shivers in desire as the loft's cool air hits his sac.
Even though he'd prefer Erik to rush through all the preparations, has done so himself in his weaker, selfish moments, Erik's pace is maddeningly efficient. He massages Charles' anus with one patient and thoroughly lubed thumb before he places it on the opening and presses. Thinking himself clever, Charles pushes once again and this time takes Erik's thumb inside right down to the second joint. Even though it really isn't enough, the sensation of finally taking hot flesh into his body makes him gasp. When Erik doesn't pull away, Charles moans wantonly and rocks back and forth, fucking himself uselessly on Erik's finger.
Charles only gets a few strokes in, enough to underline just how unfulfilling it is, when Erik pulls his hand away.
"God, please don't tease," Charles pleads. But then both of Erik's thumbs return, slicker than ever, and press in again. It's good, better when Erik spreads his thumbs out to stroke him inside. Charles understands what Erik is doing and, really, it's totally unnecessary to be so careful; he doesn't need to be worked open like this. "It's enough; just give me your cock."
"Better too slow than otherwise," Erik replies, voice no less strained. Thankfully, a few moments after Erik started playing with his ass Charles feels the press of Erik's slick cock.
The first thrust is mutual; Erik presses forward and Charles bears down as he's done so many times before. There's plenty of lube and he's relaxed and ready for a good fuck, but even so, there's a moment of stretch that's surprising. Charles is no stranger to big dick and larger sex toys, but it always exhilarating to feel his anus pulled taut like this. The intense sensation forces an appreciative noise from his throat right before the head pops fully within him. He just wishes he could see Erik's expression at the same time.
The following shallow thrusts slowly work Erik's cock in bit by bit. By the time he's fully seated, hips flush to Charles' ass, Charles is writhing impatiently for more. Yes, he's been filled up like this before, but there's something else to Erik's flesh invading him like this. It's different and it's good and it's so hot he feels like he's burning from the inside out.
There's no time for Charles to think and he doesn't want to anyway. Erik pulls back and then drives his cock slowly forward again, his hips barely making a noise as they connect with Charles ass. However, Charles realizes that each successive movement of Erik's hips is faster, more percussive than the last.
Not one to sit idly by while being fucked, Charles drives the pace by pushing back, countering every thrust with a push of his own. The sound and feel of his ass and Erik's hips snapping together is beautiful percussion. If Erik's neighbors can hear the slapping, Charles really doesn't care; his cries will probably drown it out soon.
His growing gasps and moans are only fitting as the dick inside him rubs faster, harder, and closer to his prostate. It will only take a little shift of his hips to bring Erik against it, but he's not ready, he still has to know just how rough Erik likes his sex. "You can go harder, nggg!"
Erik doesn't make it rough exactly, but he sets a ruthless pace, cock driving in hard, hips slapping Charles' ass hard enough to begin heating it up. It's a fucking Charles feels from the friction on the rim of his asshole to the increasing ache in his arms as he shoves back to meet Erik with his whole body. Charles is delirious with sensation, drunk on the way Erik fucks the sense right out of him. The only thing coming out of his mouth are heavy breaths, nonsensical syllables, and maybe drool.
And then one of Erik's hands is on his back and skims over his side to reach up under Charles' chest. Erik lays over him, holding Charles, embracing him, and places his lips right next to Charles' ear to say, "I want you to flip over and straddle my thighs."
Speaking is difficult but Charles manages, "You're asking a lot out of our first fuck."
"Yeah," Erik says and Charles is satisfied that his voice is equally affected, "but you're good at this."
Charles chuckles at that. "Practice makes perfect."
Erik pulls off Charles' back and slips out of his ass. When Charles turns around he finds Erik sitting back on his haunches, cock hard and red even through the condom. It's such a handsome cock; if it hadn't been in his ass he would definitely be tempted to swallow it. Fortunately it's more than satisfactory in his ass alone.
Charles climbs Erik's sweat-damp thighs and wraps his arms around Erik's neck for leverage. This isn't a position he's often been in; it takes balance as well as strength, but when done right it's intense.
Erik brings his arms around Charles' back to hold him steady and then gives a nod to Charles. "Don't hold back; I want you to come first."
This time it's Charles' actions that speak louder than words, he starts with a smile, and follows up by rising up and then sinking down on Erik's cock once again. As he goes, a shocked sound stutters from his lips; the position drags his prostate all the way down Erik's dick. He clenches hard squeezing just for the sensation of squeezing around the unyielding cock inside him. Erik responds by rising swiftly to his knees and then dropping down just as suddenly. The drop, though, is only to set up for the next thrust up and then the next drop down and Charles finds himself quickly out of sync.
It isn't until his body recalls childhood horseback riding lessons that Charles starts to catch up. Even so, even in those first awkward moments, it still feels good. As soon as he starts riding Erik's thighs like he would a horse the whole act is elevated to a level of pleasure he's never experienced with a first-time lover. Erik's every bodily thrust up is met by Charles' descent. The timing isn't always perfect, but it doesn't take much, not with the intense stimulation to his prostate, not with his dick rubbing between the two of them, for the tension winding Charles' groin in knots to meet a fever pitch. The tension within his body builds up with the heat of their friction until Charles feels incandescent with sensation. He's out on a rare precipice of pleasure and only his toes digging into the sheets keep him anchored.
The moment he thinks it's too much and he'll either go numb or cross over into pain is the very moment his body erupts into white hot sensation. He loses his rhythm instantly. With his rhythm goes his ability to control his end of the fucking; he clings to Erik's neck while his body bows back. The concussion of each of Erik's lifts and thrusts become much too much and Charles gives a long hoarse cry and comes. His cock blazes ejaculate within its condom like liquid fire. Beneath him, Erik holds him tight and pulls him back up to his previous position. His punishing thrusts don't slow until Charles' orgasm starts to weaken and his nerve-endings begin to sound a protest.
With Charles' prick going limp between them, Erik lays him down on his back, slips out of his ass, and leans over him to grab the lube once more.
Dazed and humming with endorphins and other delightful natural chemicals, Charles watches in amused bemusement as Erik squirts lube straight from the bottle onto one of Charles' inner thighs. Erik's face is a mask of absolute concentration as he caps the bottle and tosses it away only to seize the flat pillow at the head of the bed. He folds the pillow in half and shoves it under Charles' hips and then slaps Charles' legs together. Erik rises back up on his knees, pulls Charles' legs toward his shoulder and forces his dick between Charles' slick thighs. Erik's eyes close momentarily as he begins fucking Charles thighs.
It's a strange but not unpleasant feeling to have his thighs fucked like this, especially when Charles is worn out from an intense orgasm. He doesn't usually feel like he's part of the act when it comes down to it, but this time gives him a feeling of voyeurism; he can catch his breath and watch as Erik takes his pleasure from him in this unorthodox manner.
Charles doesn't keep track of the time, only knows it's brief, as he watches Erik's face screw up in intense pleasure. Charles' body rocks along, like a ship driven by storm waves; the creaking of the bed completes the imagery as Erik's hips throw him toward release.
When it comes, Erik's orgasm is glorious. The sun is bright on the brick building across the street and the orange secondhand light limns him in fire as he thrusts two, three, and four last times and shudders. Erik wavers a few seconds on his knees and then, sweaty and breathing raggedly, he lets down Charles' legs and collapses next to him.
Charles is sure he's never seen Erik look so fetching as he does when he's high on his afterglow. He turns to press his lips to Erik's cheek. "I'll clean up."
"Thank you," Erik says, his breath still uneven. But he reaches out and pushes several stray locks off Charles' forehead in what Charles reads as an affectionate gesture.
Charles takes Erik's lethargy as a good sign and, as promised, he rolls over to find the hot water and towels. Halfway through the clean up he discovers Erik has dropped off into sleep. He wishes he had his phone nearby; he'd love to have a picture of Erik's face captured in repose.
After they're clean and the condoms disposed of Charles is content to doze beside Erik, amused by the ache in his ass and dampness of water that's left his thighs tacky. Erik isn't the first person to fuck Charles' thighs, but he is the first to pass up coming in his ass to do so. Charles is aware that his thighs are thick with muscle; buying jeans and trousers has made that obvious enough in dressing rooms and even when having measurements taken. A few lovers have mentioned his thighs as a turn on, others were less than complimentary, but Erik is obviously a very ardent admirer.
Somewhat self-consciously, he checks that Erik's eyes are still closed and then glances down at his thighs. They aren't as hairy as his calves, but they are pale as worms. Maybe, he thinks, he could try tanning or something to make them more attractive. Perhaps adding more squats and lunges to his warms up would help define them.
Amused by his meandering thoughts, he turns his gaze up to take in Erik's tattoos once more. Predictably, he lands on the tattoo Raven gave him. It isn't as gruesome now, despite the bruising or the gory nature of the disembodied heart. In fact, the more he looks at it and the flow between the dragon and the heart the more he finds it strangely soothing. He thinks now that maybe he's never seen it for what it was at all, but still, it fits Erik so very well. Erik is a man of vast inner conflict, he does have some destructive tendencies, but he also has a powerful heart. The heart does, after all, fill up Erik's bicep. It isn't bigger than the dragon, but it's disproportionally large and it is very much penned, if not pinned, to Erik's so-called sleeve.
Charles shifts closer to Erik, knowing that he's rousing him, but not at all concerned that he is doing so. He presses his lips firmly to Erik's creased forehead first and then lowers himself to kiss the heart. Content, he rests his head against Erik's arm and drifts to sleep.
Erik isn't sure what to do when he wakes fully from his light sleep and Charles' head is still on his arm and his hand is numb. There have been more than a few lovers that have experienced nothing less than Erik's total disregard when he detached himself. Objectively, he thinks Charles is both deserving of and probably used to such behavior. It's only a small shock that he finds himself unwilling to treat Charles that way. It's hard to imagine the breadth of intellect or the depth of solitude that lies beneath Charles' placid face when his face is comprised of sleep's soft lines.
Carefully, he reaches over and gently lifts Charles' head up just enough to drag his arm back. When the motion doesn't wake Charles up, Erik slips from his bed and collects the lube right-handed, his left arm a dead weight at his side. In the bathroom he sets the lubrication awkwardly onto the bathroom counter and washes up quietly while his arm starts to wake in tingling agony. Grimacing against the feeling, Erik opens and closes his hand rapidly to speed the blood back into his arm. It feels horrible, but it does the trick.
He takes clothes from the bathroom, including one of the short-sleeve shirts he rarely wears, but puts them on in the living space. Fully clothed but for his shoes, he goes back into his bedroom to retrieve his sketchbook and phone. He intends to leave Charles a text, but the phone isn't where he left it. Erik knows he left it there; he intentionally put it exactly far enough away that he could hear but not be able to just turn it off.
Frowning, he walks into the kitchen to check if Charles might have left either phone in there; if nothing else he can call his own phone with Charles'. Another small surprise awaits him there; Charles has run the dishwasher. He rolls his eyes at that, but isn't upset since the dishes will be clean.
It takes a few minutes of searching to find both phones on the couch under the throw blanket and pillow. His alarm isn't ringing anymore, but it's clear it was never turned it off. Charles is certainly sneaky about getting his way. Normally he would be annoyed, but like the dishwasher being run, he finds he doesn't care because it's still a matter of Charles meaning well. All the same Erik thinks it will be best they talk about boundaries later; tonight if Charles is staying over. After all, Erik intends to make good on their impromptu training session.
He also intends on one other thing. Erik takes his wallet from the table next to the couch and digs out a card he hasn't looked at since he slid it inside its leather pocket. It's old, a little yellowed and weathered all the way down the right side where it protruded slightly from his previous wallet, but Dr. Emma Frost's name and number remain perfectly legible.
Seeing the card brings the old anger up through his heart to gnaw at his stomach and throat. Despite everything he'd done, Dr. Frost helped him find tools to manage the anger. She couldn't fix him but she helped him learn how to cope. Charles is different; Charles hasn't done anything that can't be undone.
Erik leaves the card and the keys to the Frontier with Charles' phone on his desk in the bedroom. Then he transfers his sketchbook to a messenger bag and takes down his helmet, raincoat, and bicycle. He only pauses halfway through the door to look back to the line of windows that lead to his bedroom. This is the first time he's left somebody in this apartment and it doesn't feel as uncomfortable as he thought it would. Perhaps, he muses, because there's nothing incriminating in the place except the business card.
Even so, uneasy threads of anger and nausea stitch uncomfortable feelings to his heart when he shuts the door and takes his bicycle down the stairs. He seeks clarity in pushing himself to make a new best time to get to Quicksilver. It's a shame rain has made way for the sun; water is everywhere and the sun is blinding on the many puddles that linger in the streets.
A line of filthy water is flung continuously against his back on the way to the shop; it happens every time he cycles in and after a rain storm. The feeling of it pelting against his back has been inspiration before and the regularity is helpful when he's thinking too much like he is now.
He leaves the Felt locked outside when he arrives at the building. The second-guessing isn't letting up, but there's the shop to clean and his back room to meditate within. He takes the stairs up two at a time and slides his key into the old door's padlock; the solid clunk of the tumblers turning over help considerably.
Leaving his helmet, shoes, and raincoat at the door, Erik walks into Quicksilver and finds a surprise has been waiting for him therein.
The shop is clean. The floors shine, the food is gone, trash taken out, the couch pulled back out into its customary place. Confused, he backs up and looks into the vase at the door. Raven's standby MoMA umbrella is the only thing occupying it.
"Scheiße," he says under his breath. Raven and the others must have cleaned for him and while Raven usually does a half-assed job of it, this looks good. It looks more than acceptable, all but sparkling in the morning light. It's such a small thing, but Erik's anxiety breaks up and away for a snort of laughter. He walks in, wood cool and clean under his feet, his body heat leaving halos on the gleaming wood seconds after he's passed.
Smiling to himself, Erik lights sticks from the lighter-scented section of his incense collection and sits down at his desk with his sketchbook. He flips through the collection of shapes and images that have been leading up to a completed first draft and contemplates quietly in the midst of sinuous curls of incense smoke. It reminds him of Raven's tattoo and the kisses Charles set upon it. Erik folds back the short-sleeve of his t-shirt and looks down at the heart there.
When his pen comes down on a virgin sheet of paper, it is propelled by inspiration.