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Charles rested back against the soft grass under him, throwing out his arms and soaking in the way the warm sun was beaming down on his face. It was a beautiful summer day, the sun high and bright in the sky, the breeze softly blowing by and making it cool enough to be a comfortable warmth, and Charles was pleasantly sore from a long run with Hank. Now, he was taking a break by resting out on the mansion's fields, laying in the overgrown grass and far enough from the house that as long as he didn't focus, the thoughts of the others were nothing more than a soft murmur along the edges of his consciousness.
Being in the city was one thing. In the apartment he and Raven had shared during Charles' doctorate research, there had been so many minds around that they all blended together into a constant murmur of background noise, like a radio quietly playing a song you knew which faded into nothing. The CIA base had been much the same, packed full of agents and guards and scientists. None of them had roomed near their “mutant” wing, but they'd all been close enough that their thoughts were a low tin in the back of Charles' mind.
Being out in Westchester was so, so different. The first night after they had all made the trip to his old house and settled in, Charles had been kept up by the roaring thoughts of the handful of people in the house with him, all so, so loud because there were so few of them. It was easier to block out a senseless roar of noise than it was to block out only a handful of loud conversations. It was something Charles had fallen out of practice with and so he’d been working, in his free time, at thickening his shields in certain places to keep out the stream of others’ thoughts.
It was much easier to do miles out, laying in the middle of a grassy field and only barely able to hear the minds throughout the mansion. He was busy working at his shields, placing brick over glass windows, pouring cement into empty spaces, all to strengthen the towering walls he kept constructed around his mind while he soaked in the sun. He was so focused on his task that he nearly didn't feel Erik approach, his mind so intently working on keeping others out that he nearly missed the one mind he was connected to on a deeper level than he'd ever been connected to before.
“I've always wondered what it would feel like to fly,” Charles mused aloud when Erik was close enough to hear him. A shadow passed across his face and he blinked his eyes openly lazily, gazing up at his lover with a small smile curling his lips up.
Erik was wearing the grey tracksuit, damp with sweat with his hair clinging to his forehead. Charles figured it shouldn't be such an appealing sight but Erik was such an attractive man that it didn't matter what he wore or the state of his hair. His face looked carved from marble with the sun shining from behind and cutting his face in sharp shadows that only made him look more attractive.
Erik raised an eyebrow at him, and Charles snorted at the look on his face. “Not in a plane,” he explained, pushing himself onto his elbows, “I want to fly, Erik.”
Erik watched him for a moment with a look that Charles couldn't read, even though he'd gotten quite efficient and parsing out Erik's facial expressions during their time on the road. It was something that looked partly considering while also looking incredibly mischievous. Charles raised an eyebrow right back at him, waiting him out and keeping his mind to himself unless Erik invited him in. Then, suddenly, Erik's body began hovering an inch above the ground, just enough that Charles gasped as he stared up at him. Before he could even begin going through the list of questions that immediately sprung to mind, Erik was smiling at him with a rather charming smile and holding out a hand.
“Would you like to fly?” Erik asked, his smile only growing when Charles clamoured to his feet and threw his arms around Erik's neck in a tight hug, kissing him fiercely as he pulled him back to the ground.
Erik's hands landed on his waist and held tight, and together they soared.