Warnings/Tags: some mentions of abuse/domestic violence

Charles sat on the porch of Logan's inn looking up at the night sky. The day started out so promising. Max had begun avoiding him after that kiss days ago. Charles had felt hurt but did not move to close the distance between them. Then Max came back and Charles accepted him, deciding to put the kiss behind them. He still valued Max's friendship even if the alpha didn't want him the same way Charles did. He had managed to corral his inn-mates and take them on a picnic to a perfectly scenic meadow. Genosha was so gorgeous, even more beautiful than Westchester. Charles was sure in his youth he thought Salem was the most magnificent city on the planet, but after his father died, nothing appeared so bountiful. Maybe it was the fresh start that Genosha offered or that it was his first exposure to the world after years of forced physical and mental captivity, but everything seemed just that bit more dazzling.

Things had gone well. Max was close with him again, flirting with him in the way he did. His gestures and closeness confused Charles, but maybe he didn't notice the mixed signals he was sending. Still, Charles was horribly mystified and ill-prepared for the fight between Max and his daughter. He couldn't hear what they said when they stepped away, but he knew it was intense. Anya had cried in his arms when she returned while Max looked like he was hit by a sledgehammer. Even after he calmed Anya down, nothing he did seemed to pull either out of their sour moods.

The rest of the day was a quieter affair. The silence between Max and Anya remained frigid and absolute. Charles tried to engage the two in a conversation multiple times but found himself unable to bridge them. He turned his attention to the younger children instead, frolicking in the flowers with the twins and David until the sun threatened to leave them without light in the dark forest.

Anya walked at the head of the group while Max stayed at the back as they made their way to Logan's inn. Charles kept looking between them with curiosity and concern, but said nothing, regaling David, Wanda, and Pietro with old stories his father used to tell him and Raven about forest nymphs and unicorns instead.

Logan was still gone, so they returned to an empty inn. Anya said nothing as she absconded to her room. Max would've usually reprimanded her for that kind of behavior, rare as it was, told her to wash up first, but he did not. Charles watched him retreat to his room with a helpless gaze.

"Daddy is mad," Pietro offered unnecessarily.

"Anya is mad too," Wanda added.

David looked up at Charles wordlessly, giving him a questioning nudge with his telepathy. He gave him a smile and soft kiss to the forehead, which seemed to satisfy him. It was times like these when Charles wished he had much less of a moral control of his power because he was clueless about the strife that seemed to have emerged out of nowhere. He wondered if he was the cause. They had been talking about him staying in Genosha after all. He didn't think Max would have protested that, but his actions said otherwise. Maybe he still wanted to maintain distance after the kiss. Maybe he only sought to reconcile with him because Anya talked him into it or because Charles was the only other adult present.

He felt a surge of disappointment. He didn't think he was imagining everything. Sometimes Max looked at him in a way that made Charles think he wanted him. He'd seen the look enough in his life to identify it: desire and arousal. There were times when he could even smell it on the alpha. And Max had kissed him back, that was not just in his head. Max had also walked away. Charles should be grateful for the alpha trying to put some distance between them. It wasn't the right time, nor was it appropriate for Charles to go down this road, not now when things in his life were still so nebulous.

Maybe in another life where Charles was not running away from trouble and was simply a man who got a biological divorce in much less scandalous circumstances and met this widowed blacksmith, they could be together and who would ever bat an eye? Who would care? There would be no one searching for Charles, no target forever looming over his head. He could be safe and happy. He could be bonded and married and it would be his choice. He would wear the mark of his alpha proudly, not in bruises painting his skin with abuse but as evidence of a match both consented to. Maybe, one day, he would even fall in love and it would be something out of children's stories. His mate would hold him like he was something precious, someone to be cherished and not broken. They would look at him with eyes that knew precisely every minute detail of who Charles was, not as the son of Lord Xavier or the ex-mate of Cain Marko or a Gifted omega to be claimed, but Charles as a person. If Charles was able to inspire a fraction of the emotion he had felt shared between Gabrielle Haller and Suzanne Dane, even just a tenth of it, that alone would be enough for him to allow things in his life he had previously written off, like marriage and love.

As it was, Charles could ruin Max's reputation. Maybe that was why Max did not want him to stay. Maybe this was all down to biology and the only reason Max was attracted to him was that he was an alpha and Charles was an omega. A simple matter of pheromones reacting. Maybe Charles was a terrible temptation that Max wanted no part in, and the sooner he was gone, the better for everyone involved.

Dinner was no more of a jolly affair than their evening at the meadow had been. Pietro still tried to launch his food at Wanda and David while Charles chastised him, but Anya kept mum, not starting any of her usual conversations about books or songs or plants. Max also said nothing, which wasn't unusual, but the stormy look on his face was. Charles washed up the dishes as he usually did, got David cleaned, and put down for bed. Max was in the nursery doing the same with the twins, but neither spoke. Charles eventually retreated to the back porch, looking out into the night.

The sky was lit up with a tapestry of stars settled amongst black, blue, and purple. He wasn't sure he ever saw such a sight in Westchester. Genosha was truly one of the most beautiful places he ever had the fortune of seeing, and he might have to leave soon. This village was hardly the only one in the country. Anya mentioned that the Eisenhardts' home was in Krakoa, which he knew was the capital. Surely he'd be able to find employment there. And if he happened to wander into Max's smithy every now and again…

But no, he shouldn't make plans. Max didn't want it. But it was so hard not to indulge in childish fantasies. The longer he was away from the Markos, the more he realized that he could have a life. He didn't need to spend every waking moment looking over his shoulder, did he? If he found a place and carved out a life for himself, if he buried himself and David in it, wouldn't that be better than hiding in Logan's inn forever? Kurt and Cain would be looking for an exiled noble bumbling his way through life haphazardly. Maybe they thought Charles, as unskilled and helpless as they perceived him, would be using his Gift to make a living. He could become a teacher, never tell anyone about his telepathy, maybe even change his name, and no one would be the wiser. Then he could stay with Max and the children. The two men would be free to explore the tension between them, and…

He shook his head once more, trying to dispel fanciful notions. It was doing him no good to lie to himself.

Charles turned and looked behind him as the door to the cottage opened. Max stepped out and faltered when he saw Charles sitting there. They stared at one another for a long moment before Charles glanced away, turning his gaze back to the sky. He expected Max to go back inside, but instead he approached him and sat down, his scent filling Charles' nostrils.

They were quiet for a while, each taking in the sight above them.

"I'm sorry," Max said suddenly.

Charles gave him a curious look.

"Today, the meadow, you shouldn't have seen that."

"What exactly was that?"

Max sighed deeply, a put-upon expression on his face. When he spoke, his words were chosen very carefully.

"A little while ago, after my sister died, I did something impulsive. I thought it was necessary to get justice for her death. I didn't really want justice though, I wanted vengeance. Anya saw me in a low moment and it still affects her. I fear her trust in me may be irrevocably shaken."

"My friend, you must know she loves and trusts you above all else."

"It seems she is quickly coming to trust you more."

Max didn't sound bitter, merely resigned, as if it were a fact.

"You are giving me entirely too much credit."

"You're not giving yourself enough credit. So much for not having any tricks of the trade, eh? All my children are besotted with you."

"Well, David's half in love with you."

"David is an angel compared to my children. I've seen them reduce weaker people to tears. Anya has run less strong-willed people off with her opinions on the latest art trends alone, but here you are. It's like you were meant to fit in with us."

Charles felt his heart flutter at those last words, even though Max said them so quietly he didn't think he was meant to hear.

"I'm like a shiny toy is all. My newness gives me an appealing veneer. But you? You're her father. The trust a child can have for their father can be boundless, even when they stumble, even if they're wrong. Trust me, I know from experience," Charles counseled him, growing more wistful.

Max gave him a distantly questioning look. He wouldn't push if Charles asked him not to, but he wanted Max to… he wasn't sure. He just knew he wasn't ready to let him go. If that meant giving away a small piece of himself, he was willing to do that.

"My father, Brian Xavier, wasn't perfect. Everybody learns as they grow up that nobody is perfect, but he was close to it. My mother, she didn't… I don't know. I don't think she wanted the life of an omega. I can understand that in some ways. I certainly know firsthand some of the worst-case scenarios omegas can face. Knowing that makes it more mystifying to me now that she was so apathetic towards us. Sharon didn't have it half so bad when he was alive compared to life with my stepfamily. But that was okay, because my father and I had each other and then we had Raven too. It was just the three of us making life something worth living together. Like I said, he wasn't perfect. He trusted too easily. It's strange, isn't it? An alpha who never saw the merits in challenging other alphas he met."

"Never?"

"No, not even when he was younger. He made friends with people like Logan, who the world saw as abominable, but in always giving everyone the benefit of the doubt, he inevitably trusted the wrong person. That person led to his downfall, his death, and made my life and my sister's a living hell for entirely too long. Sometimes, if I'm of a mood, I blame him— my father. I would think, 'he should've known better, been a better judge of character, he should've protected us'. That is only rare, low moments because I know he loved me. He showed me every day. He was not without faults, but if he could've, he would have protected me. I know that. Anya knows the same about you. I don't need to know exactly what happened between you. You have faults, everybody does. Children learn their parents aren't infallible. It is a part of growing up. That doesn't mean they love you any less or that you're any less worthy of their love and admiration. If she didn't love you, she wouldn't keep her true feelings inside for so long. She didn't want them to hurt you, I suspect. That's not an indication of a lack of love, my friend. It's quite the opposite as far as I see it."

Charles was not sure where all that came from. He didn't know he had to get that off his chest until he said it. It felt natural to say those things to Max. He trusted him. He probably shouldn't. They hadn't known each other long, had they? Time felt strange at Logan's inn. Charles could not account for the passage of it. There were lovers he had had for months on end, almost a full year, and he never felt compelled to share anything so intimate with them even after he had given over his body to them. This felt more sacred. Maybe it was because it concerned his father and Charles didn't talk about him to anyone, not even Logan, but Max…

Max was staring at him with an expression that Charles couldn't pinpoint. He looked like he had been bludgeoned and was ogling Charles perplexed and bewildered. Charles began to feel guilt. Maybe he overstepped. Maybe he put his foot into something he had no business inserting himself into. Whatever issues existed between Max and Anya, Charles was hardly going to clear it up with a diatribe about himself and his father, was he? He thought to apologize, but Max finally recovered from his daze.

"You…" he shook his head, trailing off into a sharp laugh of bafflement.

"What?" Charles asked, well and truly confused with the alpha's behavior.

Max looked up at him from beneath his eyelashes.

"You are just… beautiful."

A blush colored Charles' cheeks and he glanced down.

"That's not true at all. I'm still too thin, I'm short, and everyone always says my nose is too big. I probably look as if I'm slowly wasting away or recently infirmed."

Max reached out and lifted his head so their eyes met.

"You are a temptation I am finding it harder and harder to resist."

Charles' breath hitched in his throat and he was now the one rendered flummoxed. It figured Max needed only one sentence to make him inarticulate while Charles needed an entire speech. When Charles said nothing, Max's brow furrowed in worry.

"Charles?"

"Then don't."

"Don't?"

"Don't fight it. I don't know what… I've never… it feels fast, too fast, but I know this, whatever it is, it's not wrong. So, don't fight it."

Barely a second after the words had left Charles' lips, Max was on him, their lips pressed together brashly. Max's large hands encased his face and held him there as their mouths moved against one another. An involuntary groan escaped Charles as Max nipped his lip before diving back in. He wrapped his arms around Max's neck, pulling him closer. His heart was stuttering in his chest, a flush of heat ravaging his body, a tingling in his stomach, longing in his loins.

He gasped in surprise as Max pulled him onto his lap. He could feel the evidence of his arousal pressed up against his ass. He flushed and then felt foolish for doing so. This was not their first kiss and he had had lewder encounters in the past. He was no blushing maiden, but there were five years between his hedonistic teenage escapades whereupon he and his well-bred conquests retreated to feather beds adorned in brocade sheets and satin pillows. At worst, he found himself in some lord or lady's lavish gardens hidden among lush flower beds and extravagant centerpiece fountains. He was used to soft hands removing expensive fabrics from his body with no care because money was of no consequence. All the lords and ladies drowned themselves in so many perfumes and oils that he could never be sure what was their scent and what was manufactured, not that he ever really cared. Every encounter was hollow and meaningless with people he barely ever liked. It was never about them. They were tools meant to be waged in his silent war against his stepfamily. He could dance and talk and sleep with them all night and indulge in their fantasies about a future together, make himself receptive to their claims that they would marry him, but there was nothing in him for them.

Here he was, on the porch of a defunct inn with a blacksmith who didn't put on any airs, wasn't pampered and perfumed, but smelled intoxicating all the same.

He felt downright virginal, melting into the feel of Max's fingers inching past his woolen shirt to splay against the blemished, scarred skin of his back, carefully caressing his sensitive ribs with calloused palms. He ground his hips down against Max's groin, trying to get some control back. A growl rumbled in Max's chest and Charles shivered at the sound, feeling pride that he was still able to make someone make that noise of his own volition. He ground down again, reveling in the feel of Max's length pressed against his backside. He could feel the heat moving down to his groin and his ass, could feel himself getting wet and hard as Max moved them once again. He stood up, prompting Charles to wrap his legs around his waist, grunting as his back hit a wall of the inn. Max nosed his way up Charles' face, his stubble burning a path up his cheek before he captured Charles' ear lobe between his lips. A helpless whine escaped him.

"Max…"

The other made a grunt that Charles read as discontented. Max's hand moved to his ass and adjusted him so their groins were pressed together. Charles let one of his feet hit the floor so he could grind against Max properly. His body flushed with another wave of fire. He knew he wasn't going into heat. He remembered what that felt like, but he was getting wetter and his desire was ratcheting higher and higher. In that moment, he didn't care about Cain or Kurt, didn't care about his uncertain future or his painful past, didn't think of his sore ribs or the marks on his body that still said he belonged to another, the only thing he could think of was Max. He wanted him on top of him, under him, inside him. He wanted to be wrapped in him, clothed in the scent of iron and smoke, sandalwood and petrichor and forget himself in it.

"Max, I need you."

Max pulled back and looked at him. His pupils were blown and dark, but Charles could see conflict in his eyes. He got a horrible notion he was going to walk away from him again. He didn't think he could take it this time. His body did not feel like it was entirely his own. He never felt hunger of this magnitude before. He was irrationally terrified that the yearning would rip him apart unless Max kept touching him.

"Please," he begged, pulling him into another kiss filled with lustful pining.

Max pulled away and pressed their foreheads together.

"I shouldn't, we shouldn't. We can't—"

"We can. I know I'm disgraced. I cast my honor to the wind long before my divorce. I am not chaste or pure—"

"I don't care about that. There is so much about me you don't know."

"It doesn't matter."

"It matters more than you know."

"It doesn't. There is only one thing I need to know right now. Do you want me? Not as a willing hole to abuse, not because you haven't had a good shag in a while, not because you want to try out an omega, but because… because there's no living person you'd rather be standing here with right now. That's how I feel about you. There's no one, Max, no one else. And if you don't feel that way, we can stop. I will never bring it up again, we'll go our separate ways, and that'll be that. But if you want me—"

"Charles—"

"If you want me, then don't walk away again. Please, stay. Do you want me too?"

"Charles, please—"

"Max, I need to know. Do you want me?" Charles asked, his desperation seeping into every syllable.

Max pressed a kiss to his lips that was not the frenzied embraces of before. It was softer, languid and meaningful. Charles' heart thudded in his chest. Heavens above, he was gone for this man. It was too soon and there was so much between them, but that didn't make it any less true.

"I want you more than I could possibly tell you," Max admitted.

"Then nothing else matters."