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Hank told himself that he wanted to do it.
He told himself that he wanted to so much that it was him who initiated the kissing, he who dragged Erik close, started to remove his clothes. Erik didn’t resist it. He kissed back with equal fervour, pressed close, stroked his fingers through Hank’s fur as though he did that every day – and perhaps he did. Erik had always relished physical mutations more than most. He’d always said that there was nothing disgusting about Hank’s body. Perhaps it was something that he’d always really meant. That was why he’d liked Raven so much, wasn’t it? When the rest of them had been repelled, he’d been impressed, admired. He’d loved her for herself before Hank had managed it. Before Charles had managed it.
He didn’t want to think about Charles. It didn’t matter about Charles. He wanted to think about nothing except right now, about what was happening now and if that meant Erik, that was fine, he could think about Erik. And Erik was certainly worth thinking about right now. He was clearly aroused right as he pressed against Hank, as he petted and scratched and made Hank growl in the back of his throat (the way Charles liked to make him do – but he didn’t want to think about Charles!)
Maybe Erik wanted it for the same reason that Hank wanted it. Maybe it was because it was better to think about this, to think about hands and mouths and touching than it was to think about Raven, who they had both loved and who was gone, who was never coming back no matter what. Certainly better this than to think about Charles, who was still there and yet so far away, too far to ever forgive because if Hank even thought about forgiving him, the rage and pain became too great and under that there was the knowledge that if he’d done something earlier, if he’d looked at Charles and realised that Charles was becoming too arrogant, if he’d listened to Raven and not been confident that he would know if Charles was going too far –
He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to think and so he bit Erik’s shoulder and Erik moaned and pulled his fur and Hank wondered if Erik was thinking similar things; if he was regretting and wishing and thinking how much better things could have been if he’d done something different, if he’d stayed with them, if he’d stayed with Charles because Erik loved Charles and Charles loved Erik and Erik knew, he knew things too, he knew what Charles was like and what Charles needed and he knew what it was to be angry with Charles, so angry that it hurt and you just wanted to block it out ...
The sex was good, in an angry, rough way. It helped Hank forget, for a little while. But when Erik pulled away from him afterwards and moved away, Hank saw what looked like tears on his face and he wondered just how they would cope when all of this was over and every bond between them all was shattered.