21. Apron.
In the kitchen, Charles pours Emma a glass of a white Zinfandel, and she hums at the delectable taste as she goes to join the others. Charles stays behind, in the kitchen, and slips on his cooking apron to protect his clothes, the apron itself being goldenrod and a hair frilly, and was given to him as a joke from the kids on Mother's Day this year. He had snorted and blushed at the time, saying they were all juvenile but thoughtful, and he does wind up using it, because it comes in handy.
He moves about the room as carefully as he can. He assembles the finishing touches on the mashed potatoes, he retrieves the rolls from the rack in the oven, and then bastes the turkey one more time where it rests atop the stove, keeping warm and staying juicy.
He's turning off the heat on the broccoli when a voice cuts through the silence (oddly quiet, since Charles is purposely blocking the use of his abilities). "You know, they never did get anything for me for Father's Day."
Charles shouts, spins around on his cane, and holds a hand to his heart. "For Chrissake, Erik, you startled me!" and he laughs breathlessly. "But you know, I assume they didn't want to embarrass you by doing that. They were only joking with me, and you aren't known for a sense of humor for something such as that. Plus, if they had done so, it would have insinuated…"
"…That you and I are like a married couple?" Erik smirks as he comes up near Charles and casually dips a finger into the potatoes to take a taste. "Mm. Well done, Charles. But a little more salt or white pepper would help balance out the garlic."
The telepath shrugs, turning back to his task of buttering and salting the broccoli. "Then add it yourself, if you're the expert. I have other things to attend to." And he's glad he isn't facing Erik any longer, because he feels like a foolish schoolboy for blushing minutely over the concept of being… what? Erik's housewife? Ridiculous. And humiliating. And sadly, something he's caught in one or two minds of the younger mutants in his home from time to time.
While Charles' back is turned, Erik sizes the other man up with his eyes without thinking about it. It's an unconscious act, almost, to take in Charles' frame, still lithe despite being in a wheelchair for nearly two years.
And Erik must admit, that apron suits the slightly younger man quite well. His eyes fall to the knot, a messy bow, around the lower-middle of Charles' back, right above his ass. Erik's eyes dart away. Yup, the apron definitely suits the telepath in an odd way.