A/N: FLUFF ALERT.

Warnings: Erik/Charles, language, mentions of violence, pissed-off!Erik, one very suggestive remark. XD Set during First Class.

Disclaimer: If I owned X-Men, Erik and Charles would get married, live happily ever after, and rule the world, kthnxbye.

Oh, don't give us none of your aggravation,

We've had it with your discipline.

Oh, Saturday night's alright for fighting,

Get a little action in.

'Saturday Night's Alright for Fighting', Elton John.

Erik is seething. As in, literally seething. His teeth are gritted, his hands clenched, and he is seeing red – although that might be because the cut on his eyebrow is bleeding.

Charles is fretting, of course, even though there's a pretty nice shiner blossoming under his eye. "Oh, Erik," he says, using his handkerchief (really, Charles? An embroidered handkerchief? – Oh, do shut up about the handkerchief!) to blot the cut. "I can't believe you started a fight."

Erik looks at Charles, outraged. "Me? You were flirting with that tart!"

"How was I supposed to know she had a boyfriend?"

"Perhaps because you can read minds?"

"Shh," Charles hisses, looking around. He's kneeling in the street in front of Erik, who is sitting on the curb. Behind them, the bar they were just unceremoniously thrown from thumps out a muffled guitar riff. "Let me rephrase that. How was I supposed to know that she had such a large boyfriend?"

"Why you didn't know she had such a drunk boyfriend is a better question." Erik is understandably quite upset – it's not every day your sort-of-lover ends up getting decked in a bar-room brawl (he himself is rather used to being punched in the face – but it comes with the job of Nazi hunter). His gray-green eyes meet Charles's deep blue ones, and he frowns at the sight of that swelling red bruise – part of him wants to kiss it better, and the other part of him wants to slap Charles senseless for daring to look at anyone in the first place.

"Come now," Charles soothes, lowering his now-reddened handkerchief. "You know I wasn't really interested in her."

"How do you know what I know?" Erik spits back automatically, feeling rather like a child as he does so.

Charles gives him one of their Looks (and later Erik will find it vaguely amusing that he's come to refer to the glances they exchange as Looks-with-a-capitol-L). "Perhaps because I can read minds?"

"Ha-fucking-ha."

Charles raises an eyebrow. "Such language."

"Such language is more than deserved, Charles. I'm drunk and I just got punched in the face trying to yank some brute off of you. He's lucky I didn't bash him over the head with a bar stool . . . they were made of metal, and quite sturdy, I noticed."

Charles is suddenly smirking. "Well," he said. "At least there's one good thing that's come out of this."

Erik gives him an icy look. "Oh, no, there are two good things. My forehead and your eye will both be looking positively lovely tomorrow morning."

"No, not that," Charles says, rolling his eyes. "Although I do think I look a bit more threatening with a black eye."

"You do. I'm sure small children will be absolutely terrified of you now."

Charles gives him a look that clearly reads shut-up-before-I-decide-to-give-YOU-a-black-eye. "Aaaanyway. Just so you know, I found it incredibly sexy when you dove on that man in there."

Erik gives a sarcastic laugh. "Kinky, but –,"

"Don't be stupid," Charles says. "You know what I mean. You looked very . . . tough. Protective. Possessive."

"So that's what you're in to, then? You telepaths, honestly."

"Erik, you only know one telepath."

"And that's more than enough, thank you," Erik says, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "You really liked it when I jumped in to save your arse?"

"Yes. Although you didn't save my arse –,"

Erik pats him on the shoulder in what is supposed to be a reassuring motion. "Yes, of course, you could have fought him off. You're a big, bad mind-reader."

"And you're an intimidating, drunk . . ." Charles pauses. "Erik, I think I may have some sort of head trauma. I can't think of any witty retorts for that."

"You know what will help your head feel better?" Erik queries suggestively, not even bothering to glance around them to ensure that they're alone. Instead he pictures something rather lewd, and delights in the look on Charles's face.

Charles's eyes widen. "That certainly won't help my head."

Erik grins. "But it involves head. You see the connection, don't you? Because I certainly see a connection."

"You're disgusting."

"I thought I was intimidating and drunk?"

" . . . That, too."

A/N: I swear, they just write themselves like this. XD Reviews make me smile!