Chapter 5: Naiveté

Gray-green eyes were stormy when Charles entered the room. He winced when Erik stared hard at him, the firm set of his jaw belying the tension eating at his countenance. The guard whose name Charles couldn't remember at the moment - dazed as he was by his and Erik's unexpectedly close proximity - asked him if he wanted the door shut.

"Yes," Charles answered, eyes not leaving Erik's.

He waked slowly towards the inmate, the excitement of solving the mystery of Sinister's attack diluted by the pregnant silence heavy in the room. Clearing his throat, Charles sat down primly across from him. He heard Erik shift, the tiny clink of the metal cuffs deafening in the quiet while Charles shuffled the papers in his hands.

"I wasn't aware I was to see the good doctor today," Erik said, his tone deceivingly light. The sun ignited the doctor's blue eyes so that they were pale as glass shards. They shone out of his slender face, which was clean and white under the sun's harsh glare. Charles looked at him for a moment too long before clearing his throat again.

"Are you aware of the assault that occurred earlier?"

Erik sat up straighter, ears piqued. "Assault?"

"Yes. I'm afraid I can't discuss the details, but I wanted to ask you about another incident that could possibly be related to this one."

His eyes narrowed slightly. There was a slight blush cresting the psychologist's cheeks. Erik cocked his head. "What incident, Xavier?"

"The one that gave you that lovely set of stitches, " he murmured, nodding towards the wound. Now the inmate's expression shifted into something totally unreadable. Charles took a deep breath. "I'd like to know, Mister Len-"

"My name is Erik," he said flatly.

Charles pursed his lips. To his right he could see the guard standing outside, peering in. Though it was for security he only hoped the guard was unable to hear them. "I thought you understood that we should not -"

"What happened between us cannot be erased," he whispered vehemently, eyes darting to the door then swinging back to the psychologist's face. "Don't play the shrinking violet, Charles. I don't care that my rights have been stripped from my person, it was mutual violation if you are intent on thinking of it that way -"

"Erik," he snapped. "I am here about your involvement in the incident that resulted in your stay at the infirmary." The words bit at the air harshly and Erik's eyes showed a flash of hurt before going deceptively flat.

"It's too stuffy in here," he observed.

Biting the inside of his mouth, Charles said tightly, "Oh?"

"Much too stuffy. Feel like I can't breathe." He made a show of blinking invisible sweat out of his eyes and shook his head. "I'm afraid I can't recall too much - I'm very sensitive to atmospheric pressures."

"Atmospheric - good lord, Erik," Charles groaned. "Why is it that when something is truly urgent you decide to act like a child?"

"I am the child? Charles, only a child would pretend like something didn't happen when it very well did. If you really want to play that game then I suppose the amnesia you prescribed me also includes this incident you speak of." Smugly regarding Charles as the psychologist's face flushed, Erik couldn't help but grin widely.

A sharp click cut the tension and Charles jerked his head towards the door.

"Is everything all right here?" The guard wasn't looking at Charles; instead he was shooting Erik a suspicious glare.

And in the ringing silence that followed as Charles considered whether he should just find another, more cooperative inmate to grill about Mojo, he heard Erik's voice whispering at the edges of his mind. That happened often around other people until Charles either wiped the sound away or focused on it. Deciding to hear the mutant out, Charles listened without turning his head.

'You're talking about Mojo. He did something, right? Charles, I know the answers you want to hear. Don't send me away.'

"We're fine," Charles said. "Thank you."

'We want to go to the roof.'

He glared at the other man and sent a very clear message back. 'Don't you try to pull mind tricks with me, Erik.'

'It's too stuffy in here.'

"Um?" The guard frowned at the silent exchange. The two men were staring at each other intently, their expressions communicating a full conversation, though he wasn't aware of either of them talking.

'Do you know what happens if I help you? The other inmates won't take kindly to it. I'm putting myself in danger for you, Songbird.'

'Not my name, Erik.' Mulling over Erik's sensible point, he finally sighed. 'I will acquiesce. It better be worth it. And I can't stop them if they want a guard posted up there with us.'

The guard actually fingered the trigger when Erik Lensherr loosed one of his fabled grins, every tooth visible and eerily sharp.

Charles sighed, brow knit as he didn't break his gaze from Erik's face. "I would request that we move this to the roof."

This odd appeal took a second to sink in. "Sir? I don't think that would be very secure."

"Oh, it will," Charles chirped, suddenly seeming brighter. "We'll just chain him good and tight to one of the steam vents." 'Nice and snug' he added with a smirk. The shark-like grin faded from Erik's face and Charles smothered a chuckle.

...

"Cute," he grunted, rolling his eyes as the psychologist chortled at his discomfort. His back was pressed against the column of the steam vent, hands bound above his head. "Isn't this a bit inhumane, Charles?"

"Nothing you can't handle, I'm sure. Anyway, it's either that or you get tied to one of the pulley holds, which would have you kowtowing."

"You sure you wouldn't like that?" Expression very clear about his feelings on the matter, the psychologist sat cross-legged in front of Erik. They were about three feet apart, but the inmate couldn't help but marvel at how the natural light surrounding them infused Charles' blue eyes with a hue of near-alien intensity. "Did you get your eyes from your mother or father?"

"Not exactly pertinent, Erik," he lectured, unable to keep a small blush from spreading over his cheeks. "If we can please settle business first-"

"And then pleasure later," he snarked, having fun with the colors of Charles face. Just like the first day he'd heard him sing, the psychologist was a beautifully arrayed bouquet of blue, red and white. Juniper's harsh lighting washed the color away like a seeping beige stain. That was the true source of Erik's irrepressible desire to scale the walls and be in the full sun. To see beyond the vague stretch of horizon seen from ground level and catch sight of dancing clouds kissing the line where sky meets the sea.

"Please," he beseeched the inmate, "There's more to be done and despite your apparent impression that I have ample amounts of free time-"

"One of your patients is in the infirmary. Doesn't that free up time?"

"How did you know that?" he asked sternly. Before, in the session room, Erik gave no indication of knowing about the attack.

"I know more than you do, Charles," Erik said cryptically. "But I'm going to be honest with you now. Being on this roof is only worth so much information. I try to avoid trouble with the other inmates. What happened to Sinister..." As he trailed off, Erik couldn't help but sweep his eyes over the psychologist, trailing over his brown hair, tweed jacket and then under to the sky blue sweater covering a crisp white shirt. "You're getting into dangerous territory."

"Mojo."

He nodded solemnly. "This incident," he started, glancing up to indicate the stitches on his head, "is nothing new. What he did to me he's done to others to incite conflict. For fun. That's the just the way he is. But with Sinister." A shadow crossed his face. "None of us knew he was capable of that."

"Erik," he said carefully, subconsciously leaning forward. The cement was cold under his palm. "I need you to tell me what you know. If we don't get to the bottom of this and he does something worse-"

"But how will you prove it?"

"That depends," he mused, fingering his lip, "on what you tell me. Erik, why did you throw the first physical punch?"

Curling slightly into himself, Erik dropped his eyes and stared hard at his knees. "He put images in my head."

"What images?" Charles' voice was slightly breathless. He knew it, he knew Mojo had that ability.

Still not looking at him, Erik huffed, "Does it matter? The fact is that he put those images in my head. I punched him to stop them."

"Do you think Mojo is capable of coercing someone into doing something using these mental images?"

Now Erik bit his lip, worrying it between his teeth. "I think so. Have you spoken with the inmates who went after Sinister."

He deflated slightly. Before visiting with Erik he'd gone with Hank to check over the attackers. When he'd looked into their minds it was a confusing jumble of fear and flashes of the attack. Like a scratch on a record, he couldn't get a clear signal. "They both swear they don't know a thing and are feigning a lapse of sanity." His eyes snapped up. "The one thing I am absolutely clear about is that they were terrified. I honestly believe they don't know what happened or how, but I also suspect they have an idea." Leaning back to run a hand through his hair, Charles added, "One of the guards also reported that he was very quiet beforehand."

"Concentrating." Their eyes met.

"You think so too?"

"That still doesn't answer why he would bother with the whole in the first place." He caught the minute flicker of trepidation in Charles' face. "You're not saying something."

He laughed humorlessly, fingers back at his mouth, running over them as he stared off into space. "I think it was a test."

"A test?"

"For me." The inmate went silent at those words and Charles looked up grimly. "I'm afraid out last session was rather tumultuous."

"He wants to hurt you?"

Charles' eyes widened in surprise at the severity of the black tone that delivered those words. "I don't think the intent to harm is personal. I do think that he wants to play. This recent trouble has me convinced that Mojo's abilities have been grossly underestimated due to his own steadfast stewardship towards that idea." He was speaking more to himself than to the inmate, the thoughts tumbling into cognizance at a dizzying rate. "I need to get back."

Unknowingly arching towards the brunette when he realized he was leaving, Erik asked, "What can be done if he's that powerful?"

Charles was already standing, signaling to the guard. The guard disappeared over the edge to arrange the escort. "I'm sorry, Erik. I fear that - yet again - I've overstepped a boundary with you." He paused. "Now, Erik, I want you to remain calm."

Something flipped in his stomach and he was sinking into those blue eyes. "Yes, Charles?"

"It's not that I don't believe what you've told me."

And that's when Erik felt the strange slip, like silk over his hair, of Charles pulling from his mind. Then he felt a slight push and all of a sudden the vivid image of Charles – red, blue, white – began to fade. The words they'd just spoken began descending into a drawing whirlpool of echoes. He thrashed, shaking his head.

"What are you doing?"

"Erik, as an inmate you cannot be privy to classified information." His face twisted slightly in pain. This was against his moral code, but Moira had been adamant. "I'm sorry, Erik."

"Don't," he growled through clenched teeth. "Charles. You have no right! You can't just erase my memory!"

His gut twisted, feeling sick as he flexed his mental fingers, finding and plucking out the words nestled in Erik's mind that came from his own mouth.

"Stop," he begged, deeply disturbed not only by the sensation but the very fact of what Charles was doing to him. The metal at his wrists began to heat up.

Stumbling back, Charles cut off the extraction. His eyes were red-rimmed. He couldn't do it, not when Erik begged him not to. Charles would never ignore someone the way he was ignored when he had begged. Clutching his stomach, he dropped to his knees. "I'm sorry, Erik. I'm sorry."

"I might just be an inmate," he bit out, "but my thoughts are my own, even if you are part of them. My mind is private." The metal cooled around his wrists, but his glare was still seething.

Taking a shaky breath, willing away the nausea, Charles said, "I have a job at Juniper, Erik. My abilities come into that."

"So the other night," he hissed, "Was just you doing your job?"

"What was I supposed to do, Erik? You were posing a threat. Was I supposed to let a criminal finish his escape because you consider it rude?"

"Don't kid yourself, Charles," he said meanly. "You sought me out."

"I did not-"

"You did. Out of the hundreds of minds, you found mine."

"If you are implying that I targeted you, you are seriously mistaken," he snapped waspishly. "I touched many minds that night."

"I see," Erik snarled, raising his voice. "So it's not only me you seem to have no boundaries with. You just parade around our minds like some mental rapist."

He was angry. He was so angry. "H-how dare you-" he choked, vision blurring into red as he glared at Erik. "You have no idea what you're talking about, you have no right-" The world tilted, rage like he'd only felt once washed over him; after his attackers left him bleeding and beaten on the floor. Blood, their fluids all over him. As his spine screamed, his inside torn to shreds, Charles had felt the stirrings of the blackest rage so strong that he'd passed out. Now it was growing in him again – to be accused of the same monstrous act - how dare he.

Erik was about free himself, concern for the other man overwhelming the anger he felt. Charles' face was twisted into such an agonized look out of outrage that Erik was afraid he'd burst. But then a voice rang out and Erik sunk blankly back against the vent as three guards ran to Charles' side, arms sliding around him to steady the slender body as he swayed. Clenching his jaw, Erik watched them lead the man away, his faint protests lost to the wind.

Though Erik mentally called out to him, hoping that somehow their minds would connect, Charles didn't look back.

…

When the black hood was thrown over his head, Mojo knew his little gamble had paid off. The sweet little doctor was good. What he didn't count on was being pushed into a human-sized dumbwaiter and lowered down what felt like hundreds of feet. The guard standing next to him undid his binds to the point that he could walk and maybe scratch an itch, shoving him unceremoniously off the platform. Then the crank of the dumbwaiter resounded eerily off wet-sounding walls and Mojo ripped the hood from his own head.

Yellow eyes shown with cat-like brilliance in the dark. He stared up into pitch black, a swaying gray smudge the lift's shadow high above his head. Mojo looked around him. If he wasn't mistaken, he'd been put in the bottom of a goddamn well. Wrath flaring, Mojo threw back his head and bellowed, his voice warped and thrown to inhuman heights as the walls embraced and shattered his cry. Still, the name was unmistakable as it rang out like the low foreboding toll of a bell.

"XAVIER!"

...

"You think I'm upset with you," Sinister observed casually, clipped accent posh and haughty. "Though most would agree I have every right to be, I must say that being away from the rabble has somewhat been a relaxing experience, Xavier."

Charles cracked a smile. "I'm glad to hear that Mr. S."

"My own company is much preferred to those other miscreants. And I get pudding." He held up the cup, which he was happily eating out of. His arms trailed IVs and his head was wrapped in gauze, but Mister Sinister appeared nothing but content. "You know," he said wonderingly, spoon halfway to his mouth, "I always requested solitary confinement. But this is much, much better."

At first Charles had been concerned about this upbeat attitude. If his file and record were anything to go by, Mister Sinister was a narcissistic nihilist. Maybe a knock to the head is what we all need, Charles thought jokingly. Of course, he'd given Sinister a knock inside his head.

"And though I find myself luxuriating - as much as one could - there is a certain clinging doldrums about the place."

This time he gave an audible chuckle and reminded the mutant, "This is a prison, Mr. S."

"A mutant prison, yes. And the mutants don't even get books," he finished morosely. "Though that would be the antidote for this depressing state."

Charles ran through his memory and realized that he hadn't seen any sort of recreational outlets for the inmates besides the yard and the occasional class. And as far as Darwin had told him, the classes were only ever short lived.

"I would argue that books would be far more appreciated here than in a human prison," Sinister continued wanly, "where reading is a grudgingly accepted form of entertainment. After all, we as children were much more prone to shutting ourselves away to read than normal children. Characters in stories are always just a bit more special than the average person. Like we are." Sinister's expression was thoughtful as he considered the spoon of pudding freshly scooped from the container. "I was never given pudding of this caliber downstairs."

"So, is it books you want?" Charles asked. Soft beeping from the machines monitoring Sinister's vitals was his only answer as Sinister close his eyes, apparently deeply savoring his pudding. "Mister Sinister?"

"Hmm. Yes, is that asking too much? The only books I've seen since coming here are from Juggernaut's collection." Pausing, Sinister's crimson eyes moved over Charles contemplatively. "He likes you. I saw him on his way back, smiling. Though don't take that the wrong way, the gentle giant prefers the fairer sex."

"I wasn't worried," he assured the mutant with an easy smile.

A certain sharpness was in Sinister's gaze as he said his next words. "It is kind of you not to directly question me about my attack, Xavier. But I am no shrinking violet. Nor am I stupid." Another spoonful of pudding occupied him while Xavier reacted. The young counselor had leaned forward slightly and Sinister stole a glance down the gap between the collar of his shirt and his shallow chest. He'd just been curious - ah, no chest hair.

"Can you tell me what you mean?"

"You are aware that I am also a mutant with telepathic abilities?"

Charles' mouth lifted in a smile. "Not just that."

Looking pleased by the implied praise, Sinister hummed, tapping his lips with the spoon. "I can listen, Xavier." Settling back into the bed cushions, Sinister held up the now empty pudding container. Xavier hesitated then took it from him, rising to toss it into the wastebasket. "A part of me fears I've become the mother who cannot handle her brood. You see," he continued matter-of-factly, "I've built myself into the mutant I am today. Since I was a young man - organically young, not as I am now - I've been perfecting my personal menagerie, if you will. Of course, we all must meet capacity some day."

"And have you?" he asked. Sinister's pale skin stretched with a wan smile.

"I'm here, aren't I? It's a sad story, maintaining my youth requires so much energy that my other abilities have suffered. I'm battling time. Unlike mutants with originally sourced regeneration, I am living on a second-hand version." Sighing, his eyes moved over the IVs trailing from his arms. "Everything is still inside of me, as you saw I am sure. Yet if I should tap into those powers and summon the energy required, I am left like this." He chuckled. "Not that your quite impressive attack did not aid in my presence here." His laughter grew until he coughed, hands going to his head. "I should be thanking you, Xavier. Now all of my peers believe I was just caught off guard. I much prefer that embarrassment to the rather dangerous knowledge of the truth: that I am too weak now to sustain an active defense. Fear does an efficient enough job."

"No one will know," Charles promised him, "It would probably hurt security more than help if the other inmates knew about it."

"That, however, does not keep me from playing the fly on the wall." Closing his eyes, he said, "You have an interesting theory that it was Mojo who orchestrated this little stunt."

A chill went down his spine. Who knows what else Sinister had been privy to within Juniper's walls. Swallowing uncomfortably, Charles narrowed his eyes in thought at Sinister. The man gave no indication of anger or urgency. "We have not confirmed anything as of yet."

"Please don't think me some brute that will go out of my way for revenge," he said, opening his red eyes again. The medicine pumping through him was making him drowsy. "I'm far too feline for such a thing."

Cocking his head to the side, Charles glanced at Sinister's vital signs. They indicated he was stable. But Charles had become worried again about his mind. "Are you down on lives?"

"Oh no, I meant curiosity. You see, mine is strictly feline. I'd like to see how all of this plays out, Xavier." His words nearly slurred, posh Victorian cadence relaxed from the drugs. "It's not as if I have any better source of entertainment."

"Ah yes, the books," Charles said, nodding. His gut was twisting. How much did Sinister know? "I'll try and set something up with the Captain."

"Taking up the cause, are we?" he asked, voice nothing but a sleepy murmur. "Don't become a martyr, dear doctor. I can think of a couple of inmates who would be very sorry to see you go." Like a light going out, the vibrant red of Sinister's eyes glazed over and he slipped off into a drug-induced sleep.

Charles stared at the sleeping mutant, mind buzzing. Biting his lip, he craned his neck to see out the hall. Empty. He let out a whoosh of air, nervous shivers racing over his skin. If Sinister wasn't bluffing, Charles could be in serious trouble. Erik, also. Frowning when he thought of the other man, Charles gave himself a shake to clear his mind before placing two fingers on his left temple. Then he reached out and did the same to sinister with his other hand. And as he had done with Erik-or had begun to do-Charles gingerly reached into Sinister's vulnerable mind and started to strategically tidy up his thoughts and memories. The guilt gnawed at his gut, but the overwhelming drive to protect... what? Himself? ...Erik? Grimacing, he moved like an erasure over a blackboard filled with chalk markings, smudging here and there to make the writing unintelligible.

...

Logan was playing a rousing game of tic-tac-toe against himself when Charles poked his head into the office. "Hey, doc," he grunted, foiling himself and ending in a cat's game. Not bothering to look up as the young man came up to his desk, Logan began another game next to the first. This time he'd beat himself for sure.

"Is Moira in?" Charles asked, leaning sideways to see the makeshift game board Logan was so carefully drawing with the aid of a ruler. "I always like to start in the center space on any of the outer sides."

"Tic-tac-toe is a game of instinct, not smarts," Logan insisted passionately, drawing his Xs and Os with gusto. "You need to let the squares speak to you."

"Suit yourself. I'm just going to slip in to see her then?"

"Have at it, Xavier. I'm off in a minute anyway."

Moira was seated at her desk, meticulously poring over budget reports. Idly she picked at a lunch of mashed potatoes and certified mystery meat. When Charles entered after a soft knock, she put down the reports and her spork, focusing all her attention on him. "Charles? How was your visit with Sinister?"

A pang of regret wheedled at his mind, but he resolutely pushed it away. "Fine, much better than I expected. Though I actually had another subject I wanted to discuss."

Not even ten minutes later Moira was shaking her head. "I'm not sure where you got the idea that we have either the space or the funds for this venture of yours."

"It just seems a bit unbalanced that there is so much here for the guardsmen and next to nothing for the inmates themselves," he argued. "I'm sure it would do a great deal to raise Juniper's morale."

"So would filet mignon. And dancing girls. Look, Charles," she said, not bothering to hide her exasperation. "You seem to have a lot of room in your heart for the inmates here, but we just don't get much of a budget to make their lives interesting." Considering her mashed potatoes before taking up the spork and stabbing a glob of it, Moira reminded Charles that Juniper was the only facility that not only housed prisoners, but the guards too. "As far as quality of life goes, Charles, the guards are the priority. They've done nothing wrong, remember?" she added with an amused twinkle in her eyes.

"I understand that," he agreed. "That is why I am willing to do this on my own. It won't cost Juniper a cent. If there are costs I'll cover them."

Frowning, Moira drew jagged lines through her potatoes with her utensil. "Though zero cost to Juniper is music to my ears, there's too much red tape around the idea of a staff member paying out of pocket for a service at our prison."

Expression unwavering, Charles leaned his hands on the desk. "I promise, the books will be donations. I think everything else that we'll need is already lying round the place," he assured her, thoughts flying to Louise. If materials weren't already here, she could bring them and no one would be the wiser.

Her expression was doubtful, but Moira smiled nonetheless. "I can't find any reason to tell you not to try, though I will have to personally approve each book in the collection. Also, this remains under wraps until it is a viable project, pending my approval."

"Of course," he gushed, excitement building in his chest. "So is this a yes?"

"No, it's more of a vote of confidence," she said. "I'll need to see what you can do before I confirm anything, do you understand? I mean that everything will have to be figured out before I can give you my stamp of approval. I'll also have to run this by Commissioner Stryker."

Careful to keep the look of distaste off his face, Charles gave the Captain a tight nod. Stryker was a notorious anti-mutant pundit. Really it was no wonder the mutants had next to nothing with which to fill their days. If it had been up to Stryker, mutants everywhere - innocent or not - would be locked up and left to rot.

"I see," was all he let slip past his lips, fighting to keep the rest of his thoughts in his head where they couldn't do any damage. "That's a perfectly reasonable process."

"Oh, and Xavier?" Moira had shoved the potatoes to the side of her mouth to keep her voice intelligible. "I'll tell you this now; unlike other prisons, you shouldn't bother providing legal text for the inmates." Her expression was carefully impassive. "There are no loopholes they can possibly find. They're mutants."

Gut clenching, Charles could easily see the tumultuous thoughts behind Moira's eyes. She obviously did not agree with her own words, but was bound by duty. As painful as it was (and how degrading) Charles only gave her a bitter smile.

"Also, who would be your librarian?" she asked, changing the subject with as much tact as she could muster under the circumstances; about the equivalent of a bull in a china shop. "You certainly won't have the time once the patient rotation is set. None of my guards can be spared, and we just don't have the budget-"

"Mister Sinister. He expressed interest." This wasn't exactly true, but Charles was sure the mutant would jump at the opportunity to spend time away from the other prisoners.

Her lips thinned. "Without supervision."

"Almost everywhere in this place has cameras, he'd be watched."

"Cameras help in the aftermath. They don't prevent. Sinister has every reason to be out for revenge." There was no way to hide the disapproval on her face. "It would be nothing short of idiotic to leave him to his own devices."

Taking a breath, Charles gave the Captain a beaming smile. "Hank and I will be working on solving that very real issue." His voice was a persuasive purr of conviction. With that tone he might even fool himself. "By the time plans get approved we'll have completed a sedative strong enough for Sinister."

"Fine, Xavier," she said, exasperated. "You really know how to wear a person down. Your enthusiasm is exhausting."

"Isn't that why you hired me?"

She cracked a smile. "Don't make me regret it."

...

The jacket was barely off his shoulders when Logan took the sleeves and twisted them, trapping his hands in a gentle knot. Lips slid along his ear, igniting chills down his spine. Panic he expected never came and Charles felt almost as much of a thrill from that realization as from the roughened caress of Logan's stubble scraping across the back of his neck. Hungry tongue and teeth worked the prickling skin under his ear and Charles leaned heavily against the broad chest he'd become so familiar with.

Though Logan's masculine scent and caring touch was exciting and arousing enough that Charles was already straining in his pants, it was nothing like the forbidden rush of confusion-laced desire he experienced with Erik. The butterflies caused by Erik had spikes on their wings. Frustrated, he pushed thoughts of the mutant away, still upset about their parting words.

Playfully tugging Charles' jacket off, Logan maneuvered the younger man against the wall. Grinding slowly against him, careful to keep from gripping a slender waist too tightly, he licked slow, scalding lines over Charles' pale throat. He tasted clean and warm; there was a hint of peppermint soap. With a curl of his tongue he drew back, grinning at the other man. The psychologist was flushed, pleased, and breathing heavier than when he first walked in. A Cheshire grin split his face. "Hello, doc."

"Hello, Logan," he returned, voice deceptively articulate despite the drumming of his heart. Hands trembling as they pressed the firm square of Logan's chest, Charles drew soft designs over defined pectorals, fingers feather light over dusky nipples. Logan jumped slightly, a low growl rolling along Charles' throat as he bit and sucked the doctor's heated skin.

"Again," he husked, shoving Charles harder against the door. They both were panting at this point, Logan keeping their clothed erections in contact, rubbing in slow circles as he leaned his upper body back, one hand slung loosely around Charles' neck. Waiting expectantly, he arched an eyebrow while the psychologist reached tentatively forward, blue eyes fixed determinedly on Logan's chest.

Gaining confidence, Charles moved forward, leaning down to draw his tongue over a perked nipple, hitching up against the cock jabbing into his hip when Logan jerked him closer, that erotic growl rumbling in his ear. "Again," Charles mimicked teasingly, dipping his head to catch the skin between his teeth, rolling it gently with his tongue. Logan arched into his touch, hands unsteadily gripping his hips. In the back of his mind Charles knew Logan was holding back out of concern for him. Intoxicating lust drunkenly flowed through his veins and Charles suddenly caught smooth lips in a biting kiss. They moaned into each other's mouths, tongues twining, teeth nipping at already swollen lips. The kiss turned animal, fingers clawing off clothing or into bare skin. Angry red marks striped Logan's chest like battle scars. Charles eyes followed their path, dazed by the heady rush of pleasure and the distinct lack of fear.

Eyes darting to his cot before returning to Charles' eager expression, Logan hesitated. "Are you good?"

"I'm good," Charles answered too quickly, licking his lips.

"What about... when we were watching the tape? You weren't okay then," he said, the breathless quality of his voice a comedic juxtaposition to the raging hard-on currently tenting his boxer briefs. "You have to be sure."

He didn't want to talk about this now. If they stopped he'd remember. "I want this," he said with more force, boldly gripping Logan between his legs. "I want you, I want this." His eyes shone with sincerity as he looked at his friend, "I trust you."

Stepping forward to pull Charles into his arms, Logan kissed him slowly, his hand moving down to join the doctor's hand between his legs, guiding their movements. As the smaller man reached in to pull out his cock, Logan caught those blue eyes one more time. He pushed Charles' slacks, already undone, further down his hips. Blue eyes never left his face, and the psychologist jerked him faster as Logan began to caress Charles' erection. Closing the space between them, Charles gasped as Logan groaned when their heads touched and slid, scorching hot skin a mess of sensation.

"More," he murmured, pulling Logan into another kiss, tongues flashing between their meshing lips. He hitched a leg up on Logan's hip, thrusting shallowly against him, moaning wantonly into his hot mouth, "Give me more."

"What do you want, Xavier?" he asked, nosing up under Charles jaw to nip at his neck.

...

It took almost no effort to manipulate the metal pipes within the walls. The prison had undergone so many changes that there were whole piping systems that had fallen out of use-at least to the staff. On the other hand, one metal bender could find an endless array of uses for the labyrinthine mass of pipes scaling Juniper's interior. Now, as he pretended to be doing wall push-ups lest a guard come wandering by, Erik was busy molding the equivalent of a voice pipe. Long ago he'd found the location of the guard dorms through the ever-informative vibrations of metal. Currently navigating the walls, Erik formed a fanned opening at the mouth of the thinnest pipe, resembling the mouth of a gramophone. He pressed it to the wall hundreds of feet away from himself, listening carefully for the distinct cadence that belonged to Charles Xavier.

His spine stiffened when he heard a muffled cry that sent a familiar, microscopic shiver over the metal in the room. Melding the pipe to the wall, Erik listened, ear now pressed flush against the cold stone of his cell, guard be damned. Was Charles hurt?

No, quite the opposite. Erik heard the creaking of metal springs, felt the definite rhythm of bodies - two of them - moving together on the bed. Closing his eyes, reaching out to feel the metal of the cot, Erik could practically see them, Charles and another man. Eyes narrowed to burning slits, Erik clenched his fists. Vicious little songbird indeed. His voice was just as pretty as Erik had imagined, breathy and urgent as the other man touched him. The springs spoke to the metal bender as an unknowing Charles rolled into a kiss, shifting to grab the other man's erection. Blood stung, bitter on his tongue as he bit through his lower lip. His heart was pounding so hard as to break free from his chest and Erik almost pushed energy into the metal holding the bodies upon it, shifting it into a giant hand to crush the man touching the psychologist. Then what would he do? Drag Charles to him; explain that no, Charles' touch was his - did he not realize it yet?

...

Jerking away from Logan, Charles sat up abruptly, hands gripping the disheveled sheets. Crackling dredges of a murky mental presence had danced at the corner of his mind. Brows furrowed, Charles shushed Logan when the man opened his mouth to speak. Listening carefully, Charles stretched out his mind, brushing like a broom into the corners of the room. Looking down, suspicious blue eyes slowly moved over the bed frame. He wouldn't have noticed the presence if he hadn't felt the bed... thrumming.

"Xavier," Logan groaned, scowling when Charles ignored him, blue eyes fixed downwards.

"Did you feel that?"

"If you mean your lovely hand on my cock, then yes I did," he remarked sourly. "Missing it right now to be honest."

"No, the bed," he murmured distractedly, pressing his palms down to watch the mattress give normally under the pressure. "I felt something - it was the bed. And then..." He trailed off, squinting. Someone had touched him. Or he overheard their thoughts? It wasn't rare for telepaths to be summoned into someone's mind, like answering a phone call. If the will was strong enough. He shook his head, running hands through his hair. "Maybe Sinister?" he guessed wonderingly to himself, jumping slightly when Logan's hand came to rest on his thigh.

Squeezing the flesh beneath his hand with comical reverence, Logan asked him, "What about Sinister?"

"He might've just been checking up on me," Charles said, though his tone was unsure.

Making a face, Logan flipped onto his stomach, reaching down to check the pocket watch sticking out of his discarded pants' pocket. "What for?"

"Maybe about the library."

Sighing, Logan jabbed Charles in the side, chuckling when the younger man squirmed. "How about you explain everything so I don't fill my 'what' question quota in one go?"

Returning his easy smile, Charles settled back into the blankets, laying down in the curve of Logan's arm as the man rolled back over. "I'm starting a library for the inmates. My own project."

Bemused, Logan ran his free hand through Charles' thick hair. "Why?"

"Why not?" he shot back, tilting his head up to find brown eyes looking down at him with unabashed skepticism.

"Because it's a waste of time," he answered bluntly. "Unless you're planning to run a porn shop, I doubt any of these lugs would find anything interesting about Jane Austen's collection."

Stung, Charles pushed up onto his elbow, peering down at Logan with a contrite expression. "You never know."

"You should quit catering to these monsters, Xavier," he warned. "They'll take advantage of your kindness. They'll eat you alive."

"That's what you think," he said coldly, wiggling free of the brunette's hands. "You think I'm just some optimistic fool?"

"You can't save them," Logan argued. "There's no salvaging the humanity of a bunch of criminal mutants."

"They're still people for God's sake," Charles spat, cheeks stained red. Voice shaking with outraged surprise at his friend's coldness, he continued passionately, "This isn't purgatory. There's nothing wrong with caring about people who have been condemned and forgotten by a society that would see them dead anyways."

"Don't be so naive, Charles," Logan said flatly. "Your sheltered life has given you a false view of the world. It's time to take off the rose-colored glasses."

"No," Charles snapped, "I am not naive. My sheltered life -" he laughed coldly "- ah yes, I grew up in material luxury. But you know nothing of the emotional poverty that I endured as an unloved child." He didn't even see Logan anymore; he was cast back onto the family estate. The cold, beautiful gilded cage of his youth. "Mine was a home without love, and then I chanced upon the one person who loved me unconditionally - only to be abandoned."

...

Caught by the heartfelt tone with which Charles spoke, the emotion coming off him raw and bruised, Erik listened raptly. His anger both grew and was surpassed by the understanding he felt, the connection he'd known had been there between them. We are both victims, we have both been hurt. Blinking at the hot sting of tears cresting his eyelids, Erik finally closed his eyes, straining to hear every word through the tinny filter he'd created. I understand you, Songbird, he urged, Don't waste your time on others who can't possibly understand.

...

He wrapped his arms around himself, shivering as if he were cold. That same flicker on the edge of his mind was there again. Someone was calling to him; but he shook it off. Glaring at Logan, Charles said darkly, "Then I was delivered into the embrace of hatred at the Academy. You call me naive, Logan, but you have no idea what I have endured; the darkness I, too, have seen." Clenching his teeth, Charles fought the tears brimming his eyes, born from anger and sorrow. "You have no idea what it feels like to be killed over and over, brought back to a husk of your former life. And even if these men are evil, even if they have hearts of stone it is my job here at Juniper to understand them, to try and find humanity in each of them." Breathing deeply, Charles finished, "I won't just sign off on them yet. I won't."

...

Erik felt the metal door slam as Charles stormed out of the room. The other man slumped on the bed, his heavy weight communicating regret. But Erik had no concern for him. Sliding through the walls, riding pipes, railings, metal doorframes, the metal bender stuck fast to Charles' trail. Until, suddenly, he was cut off as Charles pushed out a secured door to the outside. Like a figure disappearing into deep shadow, Erik lost sight of him.

Drawing his power back, Erik returned to his cot, curling onto the thin mattress. He wanted to so badly to make Charles feel safe. Yet the same beating anger from before returned; was the affair the reason Charles wouldn't acknowledge the tension between them? Miserable, Erik closed his eyes, impatiently waiting for sleep. In the darkest corner of his mind he secretly hoped Charles would come flying to find him on invisible wings, touch his mind like he had that night in the infirmary. Then maybe he could make him understand that we wasn't alone in his pain, that Erik understood all to well.

...

-Villain