Chapter Text
Erik followed Charles up the grand staircase into an even grander room lined with bookshelves and at least four antique globes.
"Nice digs," he commented, looking around at the mahogany panelling and frankly enormous windows.
Charles twitched, embarrassed, and then pointed to a large oil painting of a miserable man in a fur coat that was hanging above the fireplace.
"That's Erasmus," Charles said.
"Cool," Erik said. Then, "so when do you need me to blast open a drawer?"
"Well," said Charles, before he closed his eyes and put one hand to his temple.
Erik tried not to tap his foot while he waited.
"Oh bugger," Charles said, opening his eyes again and looking at Erik with a grimace. "Marko's got his telepath watching the door to the office where he keeps his accounts."
Erik's eyes widened.
"Does the telepath know what we're planning?" he asks quietly, while carefully building an image of a iron-wrought gate in the forefront of his mind.
"Oh no," Charles said. "I've managed to block her from reading us."
Erik tried not to look as impressed as he felt.
"Can't you just... stop her from seeing us at all as we get past?" Erik asked.
"I could try," Charles said. "It would require a great deal of concentration on both our parts, but I think that's our best bet."
"Alright," Erik said, with uncharacteristic team spirit. "Tell me what you need me to do."
Five minutes later, Erik and Charles left the study with only socks on their feet and holding hands. According to Charles, it was easier to only have to focus on manipulating someone's vision without worrying about their hearing as well, which was why they decided to discard their dress shoes. Erik noticed that Charles wore lifts in his shoes, but he decided not to comment. Apparently, it was also easier to protect someone from telepathy if they kept physical contact, which was why they were holding hands. At least, that's what Charles said, and Erik wasn't going to argue with him.
Together, they walked along the corridor in silence, until they turned a corner and saw the telepath, who was leaning elegantly against the door of the office. There was no way of opening that door until she moved position.
Bugger, thought Charles.
Emma?! thought Erik.
The telepath's head whipped around.
"Erik?" she asked, and, yep, it was definitely Emma Frost, except four years older than he remembered.
"Emma," Erik replied, with a polite nod.
"You know each other?!" Charles exclaimed.
Erik flushed.
"Um, yeah, we actually dated for two years in high school," he said, kind of sheepishly.
"Two years?" Emma repeated, with a familiar high laugh. "Try one year and five months."
Erik felt his face grow even warmer.
"Yeah," he said, eloquently. "Anyway, Emma, you're looking well."
"You too, Erik," Emma said, with a perfect smile. "But why aren't either of you wearing shoes?"
Erik glanced down at his black socks, one of which had a hole where his big toe was sticking out.
"Uh," he said.
"We just had sex," Charles said, suddenly.
WHAT THE FUCK, Erik sent to Charles.
I'm sorry, I-
You know I can hear your telepathic conversations, right? Emma interrupted, her smile growing wider.
Erik hadn't even thought it was possible for one's face to be as hot as his was right now.
"Anyway," he said, suddenly aware that he and Charles were still holding hands.
"I'm glad that you found each other," Emma said. "I should have known you were gay, anyway. You were a terrible lay."
Erik was two seconds away from taking the buckle from his belt and driving it into his own skull.
"I was seventeen!" he retorted, indignantly. "And there is such a thing as bisexuality, you know?"
Emma shrugged, still smiling.
Charles made a sound like he was trying not to choke.
Erik closed his eyes and prayed that a huge chunk of metal would suddenly appear from the ceiling and crush him so he would be spared this indignity.
Wait...
Charles?
Yes, Erik?
Are all the windows on this floor the same size?
Yes.
Erik looked up at Emma, who looked curious and had obviously been eavesdropping on their mental conversation, and smiled.
"It was lovely seeing you again, Emma," he said, courteously. "But Charles and I have to go now."
Emma narrowed her eyes.
"Alright," she said. "Go have your weird defenestration sex on another floor though. I've had more than enough Erik Lehnsherr sexual experiences for one lifetime."
"I was seventeen," Erik growled, before taking the high road and Charles' hand, and walking hastily back around the corner.
"Charles," he said, as they descended the marble staircase into the front hall. "How much do you value your childhood home?"
"I care about one of the trees in the back gardens and that's pretty much it."
"Good," Erik said with a grin, before reaching into his pocket and shoving the Bentley's keys into Charles' hand. "Now, would you please be a dear and bring the car around?"
When Charles had ran to the car and driven it up the driveway, Erik was still standing by the front door, looking particularly zen. He had taken off his tuxedo jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his dress shirt and was standing with his eyes closed and his arms slightly raised. Charles pulled the car into park and rolled down the window.
"Hey, Erik?"
Erik opened his eyes and looked at Charles with a serene expression.
"Could you please open the sunroof of the car?"
Charles obliged and tried not to think about how much this entire situation turned him on.
Luckily, a distraction arrived in the form of a great smashing of glass, followed by a great steel cabinet flying out of one of the first floor windows. The cabinet descended towards the car, slowly, and Charles was dimly aware of the fact that he could get crushed any second. There was a loud crack, and Charles flinched, only to be answered with a cascade of paper hitting him in the face.
"Ouch!"
"What the hell was that racket?" shouted a voice from inside.
The documents seemed have stopped flowing, and Erik gave the steel cabinet a few sharp shakes before tossing it aside onto the manicured lawn.
"Get in the car, Erik!" Charles yelled, as he sensed a large group of people make their way from the reception room to the driveway.
Erik threw out an arm to open the passenger door and took the car at a run, practically throwing himself inside.
"Floor it, Charles!"
Charles floored it.
Charles drove in silence for the first few minutes, as Erik caught his breath from the exertion of hovering a huge office cabinet made of reinforced steel.
Then,
"I really hope these documents aren't more fucking autographed pictures of George fucking Bush," Erik muttered quietly. Charles probably would have crashed the car from laughing unless Erik hadn't used his powers to keep the wheel steady.
It was around eleven by the time Erik and Charles had arrived at the newspaper headquarters.
"Are you sure Shaw will still be here?" Charles asked, as he peered into the dark, empty lobby.
"Yes," Erik said. "I am sure."
They took the lift up, both clutching an armful of bank statements and print-outs of various emails between Marko and clients. Erik hadn't had the time to look through all of it, but it was definitely very promising.
When the lift door opened, Erik and Charles walked straight through the communal area into Shaw's office, where Shaw and another reporter Erik didn't recognise were apparently having a meeting.
"Metal man," Shaw greeted. "What do you have for me?"
Erik didn't respond and, instead, dumped his pile of documents on Shaw's desk. Charles followed suit.
Shaw flicked through the pile of papers with a slow grin.
"Good work," he said. "I'll have Janos write up an article tonight."
Erik furrowed his brow.
"Shouldn't I be writing the article?" he asked. "Since I was the one who collected the information."
Shaw barked a laugh.
"This is still your first day!" he said, convivially. "I don't just let any graduate upstart write my breakthrough articles. I'll have you doing some filler crime articles later this week. And put on some goddamn shoes while you're at it."
Erik swallowed, but otherwise didn't reply. In fact, he didn't speak until he and Charles had left the building altogether. He glanced at his watch.
"You know, Charles," he said. "It's still technically your twenty-first birthday. Do you want to go drink some cheap beer?"
Charles smiled.
"I'd like that."
"You know, Erik," Charles said, later that night. "Either Emma was wrong, or you've really improved your technique in the last five years because wow-"
"Charles," Erik interrupted. "Please don't talk about my high school girlfriend when we're in bed together."
And then he pulled Charles closer and neither of them did much talking for a while.