Argh, I hate finals. But they're over now! Yay! I hope you enjoy the update, and I can't wait to hear from ya'll! :) Thank you so much for all of the wonderful reviews so far!
Chapter 8
Now
Charles is spread beneath him, gasping and keening in time with Erik's thrusts, moaning in pleasure, and today is the first time in years and it feels more right than it ever did before. They've been in this bed for hours, alternately resting and claiming each other, never out of each other's grasp, and it still isn't enough.
Nothing will ever make up for twenty-five years of being oblivious, but they sure as hell can try.
"Erik, ah! God…Erik, harder. Please…" Charles trails off and cries out again, fingers buried in the sheets. Today is the first time he's asked for it that way. Or let himself do it, anyhow.
Today is different, so different, almost like it's the first time they've made love at all. Before it was all for a purpose. Only functional, even though it was still pleasure—for Charles too, because Erik did everything he could to get them to that point—and it wasn't like this. They'd needed it, physically, but never had they needed each other like this. Never had they needed it because they needed each other. Or at least they'd never thought of it that way. Not until today.
Not until they knew that they couldn't live without each other.
That they were in love.
God, are they in love. The feeling in Erik's chest is like nothing he's ever felt before. He never knew he could feel so warm, so content. Loving and being loved and knowing it all for certain…he's sure now that nothing can compare. Nothing else could make the world fall away so completely.
Charles begged him for this, before Erik relented, before Erik picked him up and carried him here, into the bedroom, and gave it to him. Re-claimed him. Charles begged him; Charles told him he needed him, and Erik gave in because, in truth, he needed Charles too. As much as Charles needed Erik inside him Erik needed to be there, to know that he wasn't dreaming and Charles loved him and that this was the way things were going to be from now on.
They've always been there for each other. Always. But now, Erik knows, they are finally truly one.
Always…
The beautiful voice is in his mind, confirming everything, and Erik grins to himself and answers his husband's request, thrusting harder, as hard as he can, and Charles groans loudly in response, in pleasure. His hands shoot up, gripping Erik's shoulders tightly because he's found the spot inside that makes Charles tremble.
(The first time around was for being gentle, going slowly, memorizing each other anew and building pleasure in slow and loving gestures and doing everything as right as they could manage it, whispering to each other, just loving. They needed that. But after that, after they'd rested briefly the first time, all bets were off.)
"Erik!"
Charles calls his name again, fingers in his skin now, and Erik knows he's close but Erik is close too. He can't let himself lose track of that. He can't come inside Charles.
"God, yes, Erik! Almost, I—"
Oh god, he's on the edge. Picking up the pace for Charles sent him there more quickly than he thought it would. It's too much.
"Sorry," Erik gasps. He pulls out, coming over his husband's stomach, groaning. But when he has his wits about him again he reaches quickly to take Charles's cock in his hand, to bring him the rest of the way that way before too much disappointment spreads over his face.
It doesn't take long. Quick stroking for a moment or two and Charles comes in his hand, gasping, and finally letting out a satisfied breath as he relaxes. Erik lets himself tip over, rolling onto his back at his husband's side and reaching down beside the bed to find the towel he'd had to run to fetch after the first time because they forgot about it before they began. Because they were so eager.
Erik cleans them off in silence, drops the towel to the floor again, and settles back into the pillows. Charles slides closer, nestles into the crook of his shoulder and lies against him.
Erik doesn't look at him at first, embarrassed now. "I'm sorry, I…"
"Nonsense," Charles says. "It's all right."
He'd done what had to be done. To keep Charles from any danger.
"We could try this the other way around, you know," he says after a moment, thoughtful, and looks at him.
Charles blinks back, the quick movement of his eyelashes almost dizzying because their faces are so close. "You wouldn't mind that? You know it would hurt for you, at first."
"There's no functional purpose anymore anyway, so it doesn't matter how we do it. This is for us. And of course I would do it. Anything to keep you safe."
Charles smiles some, a bit sheepish. "I certainly would not be adverse to the idea. We can do that, but we did this the same way for twenty years and I wouldn't want to give it up entirely. I would miss having you inside me. I need that."
Erik would miss it too, he knows. He needs it too. He growls quietly. "I wish we didn't have to worry about it."
"Perhaps we won't have to, soon enough," Charles says. "I can ask about the surgery again, and if they would still rather not perhaps there is something they can give me. I'll go to the infirmary tomorrow."
Erik raises an eyebrow at him, and then smiles mischievously. "Alone? Because I was thinking I might not show up for work tomorrow either."
Charles smiles. "As much as I would like that, you should go. Goodness knows how long it will take at the infirmary anyhow. And the weekend is after that…"
"Not soon enough," Erik sighs. He holds Charles even closer, kissing the top of his head and breathing in the scent of his hair, letting the softness brush his face.
Charles chuckles. "Have you always liked my hair so much?" Erik makes a deep sound of affirmation. "Would you still love me if I lost it all?"
"Of course; don't be silly," Erik murmurs. He kisses Charles's head again, his forehead, his temple, and pushes a hand gently through the mostly dark brown hair and Charles suddenly looks uncomfortable. Erik knows what his husband is thinking without the need of telepathy. "What? Are you worried about the gray?"
"I'm only forty," Charles mutters, disgruntled.
"Some people are all gray even before then."
"Yes, well…"
Erik shakes his head and runs his fingers through Charles's hair again, kisses his scalp again. "Don't worry about it. God, do you have any idea how sexy it is?"
"'Sexy?'" Charles echoes incredulously.
He isn't lying at all. It is. "God, yes. It didn't start until after Bobby and Kitty were born, and it's made it that much harder not to tear your clothes off until now," Erik admits in amusement. He nudges Charles's chin up, and finally Charles smiles again. "You know I'm not just saying that."
"Yes. I know," Charles grins. He claims Erik's lips, and for long minutes there is just each other. Erik's arms are around his husband's shoulders at first, but one hand makes its way down and around to cup Charles's ass, then to tease at the warm edges of the hole that has probably been abused enough for one day.
Charles groans against his mouth in something between discomfort and want, and breaks away. "Erik, we can't. Not again. The children will be home soon." It comes out a bit breathless.
"You're sure?"
"Yes," he says more firmly, pushing away farther and into a sitting position. "We need to get out of this bed now, or we never will," he sighs.
Erik lets out a breath and sits up with him, and Charles is already climbing quickly from under the covers before he can surrender. He stumbles as he gets to his feet, a hand going to his head, and Erik frowns.
"Charles?"
"Stood up too quickly, that's all…" he answers, wincing. He steadies himself and plucks fresh clothes from the shelf by the wall. "We need a bath," Charles says, making another face as he pulls the clothes on. "I suppose that will have to wait for tonight." Momentary concern forgotten, Erik lights up at the idea, and Charles looks at him quickly and shakes his head. "Tonight, Erik." He rifles through Erik's clothes next, and tosses him some. "Clothes. Now."
He catches them, and looks at them as if they were foreign objects. "Clothes? What are clothes?"
Charles laughs, and Erik relishes the sound because he hasn't heard it enough in recent months. He gets out of bed and he dresses, because they still have to be parents, and he doesn't mind that at all. It's the reason they're here, really.
And Erik loves his children. He and Charles both love them, more than anything. The children are the only thing that make the past twenty-five years not seem like a waste now. Erik knows now that he couldn't live without Charles but he couldn't live without them, either.
They emerge from the bedroom together, and as soon as Erik sees that no one is there yet he tugs Charles against him by the hand and kisses him soundly. Charles responds for a moment, but then pushes away.
"Damnit, Erik, I swear, if I have to move laundry all the way up to tomorrow…"
Erik chuckles. "You'll what?"
"I'm a telepath. I'm sure I could think of something." But then Charles is the one kissing him. It lasts much longer this time, and this time Charles falls away more than breaking away purposely. He gasps in air and makes a small strangled sound, and Erik has to hold onto him tightly to keep his legs from going out from under him completely.
"Charles?" he asks, more urgently this this time.
Charles leans into his chest, and his fingers are pressed to his temples. He tries to chuckle. "Sorry, I uhm…I didn't mean to scare you. I suppose I wasn't thinking enough about air. Just dizzy. I—ah…"
Erik grips his shoulders tighter, keeping him steady. "What's wrong? Your head?"
"It's just a headache, Erik. Perfectly common for me."
The telepathy, he means. Thanks to that he has always been more susceptible to headaches, and Erik knows it. So it isn't unusual for Charles to have one, but is it just him or have they been more frequent recently? Maybe worse, even. Maybe he'd been largely avoiding Charles, trying not to give in to what he wanted, but that doesn't mean he didn't notice.
He voices his concern, and Charles looks up at him through eyes that are squinted now and sighs. "No, you're right. It has been worse. I've already asked my doctor about it, actually. Last month. I was told that if it persisted I should go back, and there were tests that could be run. I suppose it's fortunate I plan to go tomorrow anyhow."
"Good. Make sure you mention it." He pauses. "Are you sure you don't want me to stay home? Go with you?"
"No, no, I'll be all right. I'm hardly a child, Erik. I can visit the doctor on my own." He smiles in amusement, and Erik relaxes a little.
"All right. But I want a full report as soon as I'm home."
Charles's raises his eyebrows. "Yes sir." He chuckles a bit and squeezes Erik's hand before he moves away. "Anyhow, I ought get something on for dinner, though it will have to be a much quicker fix than what I'd planned to make."
Erik follows him, but before he can open his mouth Charles turns on him again. "And don't you dare say a word about it; I am perfectly capable of cooking with or without a headache."
"I wasn't—"
"Of course you were. And I appreciate the sentiment, but—"
"I can do it. I taught you, in case you didn't remember."
"I remember perfectly well, but I'm all right."
"You always say that."
"And?"
Erik lets out a breath and moves in close again, pushing a clump of hair out of his husband's face. He smiles fondly. "And this…" He motions to the two of them. "This isn't going to change your level of stubbornness in the slightest, is it?"
Charles smiles back. "No more than it's going to affect yours."
"Just as long as we're clear."
Erik kisses him again, and Charles lets him. It's Erik who pulls back this time, and Charles groans.
"We're going to need ground rules," Charles sighs.
"Like what?"
"I honestly haven't any idea, but I'm afraid that if we don't have them nothing will ever get done."
"Dinner's in danger, isn't it?"
"I'm afraid so."
"Headaches don't slow you down much, do they?"
"I try not to let them."
Erik laughs against his husband's neck, already nosing into his hair again, planting soft kisses across his neck and ear. Charles is simply holding onto him, though one hand is slipping under the turtleneck he thought he'd tucked in.
"Maybe I should cook tonight."
They both startle at the voice, Charles yelping and jumping back against the counter and Erik pulling in sharp breath and twisting into the edge of the table and jarring it. Only a quick snatch of the lamp with his powers keeps it from crashing to the ground.
Jean is in the doorway, lips twitching up into a smile.
And WHY didn't you sense her coming? Erik asks silently.
I was a bit preoccupied…
"Jean!" Charles says aloud. "We, uhm, that…"
She closes the door behind her, shrugging. "Don't worry about it." She raises an eyebrow at him. "So you want me to cook?"
Erik clears his throat and tucks his shirt back in, and Charles shakes his head quickly and tugs his own sweater down in front to straighten it.
"No, thank you, I uhm…I was just about to start dinner, actually, though you're welcome to help me."
"You're sure you don't want me to do it?"
"Yes. Quite sure."
"Okay. Just checking. I'll be upstairs." Jean retreats, grinning to herself, and Charles lets out a breath when she's gone.
"Well. I suppose it was foolish to think we could keep anything from that one for long," he says.
"How much does she know?"
"I don't think you really want me to answer that…"
It takes more than a little effort to convince Erik that they should actually get a bit of sleep that night, and in the morning it's still difficult to get him out of bed. But he goes to work as he's supposed to, and once Ororo is off to school and Charles is sure that Jean can watch Bobby and Kitty while he's gone, he heads into the center of town himself.
"This was the worst winter yet, Charles; no, I don't think surgery is the best option. I'd rather try medication first," the doctor tells him.
Charles mentions that the headaches are still worse and more frequent, and the doctor asks for more details—when they happen and how often and how long they usually last. He's frowning a bit more after that, but what he says isn't overly alarming.
"It could be any number of things. Let's try medication for that too, to start with. If there's still no change in in a month or two I want to see you again."
Charles tries not to read the man's mind, but he catches snippets of things—things he doesn't like. He tells himself the doctor is only going over every possible option inwardly and not necessarily thinking about what is mostly likely.
When the doctor tells him before he leaves to thoroughly report any other symptoms the next time they meet, Charles tells himself again that the man is just covering bases.
Still, rather than spend the entire walk home lost in thought, he runs into a friend instead. The taller, larger man isn't hunched over as he walks by—he never hunches—but something in his face makes it seems as if he is.
"Logan?" Charles calls. He pivots to catch up to the other mutant and Logan slows and stops, looking at him silently when he makes it to him. "Logan? How are you?"
Logan only shrugs at Charles's question.
"We haven't seen you in weeks. You are still welcome in our home at any time," Charles tells him gently.
"Yeah, I remember," Logan nods. "Just been busy. Look, thanks, but I gotta get to the market. Running low on everything. Don't know why I always wait 'til the last minute to restock, but there it is."
"Right. Well…"
"See ya around."
Then Logan is gone, and Charles watches his retreating back for a moment before turning around again to make his way back to the house.
Eight Months Ago
It is mid summer and the weather is as nice as it ever is, but the happy blue of the sky is deceptive. All it offers now is dry weather for the small funeral being held at the edge of the city.
James Logan, who prefers to be called Logan, is the survivor of the deceased. He is a relatively recent addition to the settlement and the newest friend of the Lehnsherr family.
He and his partner, Kayla, came to the city gates nearly a year before. They had been content on their own before that, but they sought the nearest settlement and help when it became clear that Kayla was ill. After extensive testing with what medical technology there is now, recovered since the war—barely enough to be sufficient, in Kayla's case—it was determined that she had developed an aggressive form of brain cancer from prolonged exposure to the remaining nuclear radiation. It had taken much longer than it would have in a human, but it had happened anyway.
It's disconcerting, knowing that not even mutants are entirely safe from the radiation. Granted, it has caused other medical problems already, and they knew that to some extent, but here, at least, there has been nothing so dire. Not as far as Charles knows. He stands close to Erik through the short and simple ritual, taking comfort just from his husband being there.
At some point Erik's arm slips around his shoulders, almost protectively, and maybe it's only in reaction to what's happened but he lets himself be warmed by the small gesture anyway.
"Logan…"
He speaks to their friend when it's over. Logan won't move from the graveside.
"I was the loner," Logan says quietly. "Not her. She stayed out there because 'a me. She could have found one of these places a long time ago—lived a normal life, gotten away from the worst of the radiation. It's my fault."
"No…it most certainly is not. You mustn't think that. I may not have known her for long, but I do know that she wouldn't want you to blame yourself."
"Think so?" he asks gruffly.
Charles nods. "I'm sure of it." He swallows. "You did it for her. Not coming here before. Staying away you were able to be together, and I'm sure she wanted that more than any longer, lonely life she could have lived here."
Or any life tied to a stranger she might have been miserable with, which would have been more likely here.
Charles wonders, achingly, if such a choice as Logan and Kayla made long ago—to stay away from the settlements and remain free of the pairing system—might be the only opportunity for his children to be happy with those they want to be with.
Logan nods at what he says, seeming to understand, and Charles hopes he does. For a while Logan comes for dinner once every week or two, but then he just doesn't anymore.
Now
Charles makes it home feeling more down than when he left, even though he has what he went to the infirmary hoping to obtain. He cooks, and then he washes clothes early anyway, just to keep himself busy. Jean doesn't say anything. When the afternoon grows later she offers to take the twins to visit Sean and Alex, and he lets her and asks her to intercept Ororo leaving school and bring her along as well.
Jean nods in understanding and promises to do just that. Charles helps her get Bobby and Kitty's coats on, and then she takes their hands and they're off and Charles is alone.
He isn't alone for long.
The moment Erik is through the door Charles goes to him, latches onto him, and Erik returns the embrace tightly.
"Charles? What is it?"
"Nothing. I uhm…nothing."
He fills Erik in on what his doctor told him, on both counts.
"Apparently we'll still need to be careful for a bit, until it takes effect, but after that…" he finishes.
"Good," Erik grins down at him, and Charles is beginning to feel better already. He pulls himself closer again, breathing in his husband's warmth. Then he takes Erik's hands and backs up once more, smiling a little now, and it doesn't take much tugging for him to understand and follow Charles to the bedroom.
