Work Text:
The first light of dawn was filtering through the gauzy curtains, illumining the room and the man beside him.
Charles had yet to stir -- he was never the best of morning persons, though he could function if given sufficient time to wake. But he didn't wake at dawn -- ever.
Hard to believe it had been ten years since they had met, fallen in love, tried to save the world, so nearly lost everything.
But they hadn't, and now life was almost unbearably sweet.
Charles' face was buried in his pillow, and his chestnut curls were tousled, the dawnlight making the threads of silver at his temples glow softly.
The sheet was pushed low across his hips, and Erik took the time to appreciate the lithe muscles of his back and shoulders. It was a beautiful back, marred only by a jagged twist of scar tissue just visible above the edge of the sheet.
The scar still gave Erik a moment's pause every time he saw it. While Charles had forgiven him almost from the beginning, Erik still struggled to forgive himself, even ten years later.
Erik slid the sheet down to Charles' upper thighs, baring the work of art that was Charles' ass, ivory flesh dusted with tawny freckles. It wasn't as firm or as plump as it once had been, ten years and paralysis both exacting their tolls, but it remained a thing of beauty.
Reverently, he slid his hand across one cheek, feeling rather than seeing the downy fuzz of dark hair. Charles' skin was satiny soft, and his flaccid muscle yielded to Erik's gentle touch.
Erik let his hand drift upward, not wanting to linger where Charles wouldn't feel his touch. As it settled between Charles' shoulderblades, Charles stirred, head turning, one blue eye cracking open. "Hmn?"
"Morning, Schatz." Erik wrapped his arm around Charles' shoulders and kissed his cheek.
Charles mumbled something that might have been "Morning," smiled happily, re-closed his eye, and went back to sleep.
Erik slid closer, snuggling tight against Charles. As he did so, his cock nestled against the side of one magnificent cheek.
Perfection.
