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Windchimes twinkled and whirled dancing on the breath of zephyrs. The sun’s rays banished the moon’s scared darkness as it reached higher and higher in the sky crossing the voyage of the 12th hour of the night. As one part of the world slumbered another awoke for a brand-new day full of possibility and hope. Buds of uncurled tiny of vibrant green of not yet sprouted leaves leaped toward the sunlight following the sun’s path in the sky guiding it toward growth and renewal.
Tree’s spores of willow, mountain cedar, elm, and ash mixed and sifted across small cars outside on the street without the protection of the garage, covering it in green pollen as if it was a fresh layer of snow. Causing a sneezing fit for Pietro. Blue jays sang poetry to impress their future mates in high screech chirps. That neighbor who showed off his muscle builder physique bare chested mowed the front lawn before the sun reached peak in the afternoon becoming too hot to bare. The teenage dog walkers trying coordinate a pack full of yipping dogs of all different variety: a Dalmatian, golden retriever, and several poodles and bull dogs; sniffing every new smell and pulling in every direction. The runner training for a 5K blasting Bon Jovi from wireless earbuds and focusing on the cusp of her breath.
Sweet gum spiked ball seeds, crisp and brown, from the neighbor’s yard still left over from winter with help of wind and blew into Erik’s yard. Like land mines for the soft sole’s Pietro’s running feet. An absolute menace for Erik as a father. Once, the metalbender threatened to chop the tree down as the unseen terror for dogs, runners, and children. Consequences be damned!
The harsh and unforgiveness of the silence of winter was yester’s memory. Crunch of hard packed snow long since past as the world was made anew and new life as spring bears its teeth. There were warmer days ahead, until the apex of summer as the day became longer and time leaped ahead. Kicking of water sprayed from sprinkler systems automatically coming on and wetting the concrete and making rivers in the streets that one could kayak with its velocity, riveting toward the drainage system.
Sunlight diffused in from the outside displaced by the curtains, shifting as the sun rose dancing into the room. The ceiling fan twirling out chilled air, off kilter needed to be fixed, but the inhabitants welcoming the sound that it made; creating a constant breeze and kept the air moving in the room.
A chess game left unfinished, both sides equally matched in strategy and conviction. Though black was more aggressive and willingly to sacrifice lesser pieces for a greater victory and the white valued its pieces, even its pawn. Besides the chess board was Karl Marx highlighted, and corners folded and well-worn and often sighted by the reader. Wrappers of peanut cups thrown on the floor and the empty plastic container. A whisky tumbler with a thirty-year scotch light as amber honey, clumsy sat on the edge of the counter of the dresser beneath the wall mounted flat screen TV. But the spherical round ice cube since melted into the amber liquid diluting it; the smell of violet and lavender mixed with all spice and nutmeg followed by candied pear and lemon finished with notes of ground ginger, dark chocolate, and expresso; burnt sugar and a warming cinnamon. On the other side of the room was the glass bottle, half empty, under a side table where all knickknacks, keys, coins found themselves at as not be lost or forgotten out the door to work or to school.
On a paper plate, from the local grocer of brie, sharp cheddar, cuties unwrapped from peel, fig jam with the knife still in, Kalamata olives brined and salty, grapes from the vine entirely eaten only leaving the bare stems behind and strawberries gone entirely leaving the juices remain, two or a slice of soppressata and fatty prosciutto.
A thick dark gray woolen sweater, how it could be worn in this type of weather only the user would know. Comfortable, yet formal, it was well used by Erik for many years and never had it failed him was thrown onto the carpet. Along with a light-washed faded jeans and a pair of shark patterned boxer, which were chosen by his son with much persistence while at JCPenney in the mall. Accompanying it was another set of clothes: a pair of dark brown pants, a pullover woolen sweater and its partner a pallid blue button up shirt. The other set of dark green boxer hidden under the bed in a tight ball.
In the on-suite bathroom, a martini glass kissed the edge of the double sink quartz countertop. Not quite evaporate droplets from an early morning and sporadic shower. A heavier drop slides down on the surface of the glass taking with it collided drop and sinking toward gravity. A royal blue washcloth lumbered over in a bottle of shampoo, thrown haphazardly.
Fresh scent of Friday’s wash day crisp white sheets with the corner’s neatly tucked into perfection. Erik wanting to sleep more, but on the edge of wakefulness and staying asleep; his body preparing to way up. The metalbender’s chest rose and fell, rolled on his right side facing away from the sunlight streaming in through the window.
Streams of hair clumping together into larger curled bands; still not completely dried off from that early morning shower. Charles watched, his vibrant blue eyes like larimar, the expanse of Erik’s taunt skin painted with bite marks, guarding his lover’s thoughts and felt the swaths of fading dreams of his son. And to think Erik thought himself a monster…when he such deep affection for the one most dear to him. Such beautiful memories.
Inching closer, Charles slid an index finger through the vex of Erik’s spine feeling each vertebrae smoothed by muscle and freshly lotion skin, soft brushed with eucalyptus, and peppermint so vibrant and refreshing and dash of dark activated charcoal with its slight metallic scent. With the faintest hint of Irish Tweed cologne from yesterday’s dinner; based with Florentine iris, sandalwood, ambergris that remined Charles of everything he loved about Irish countryside that he visited while in Scotland on day trips of the isles.
All the way down to his back and whirled his fingernail against a point of tension in sacrum. The smallest smile, soft and light glanced Erik’s face, his mind having some idea where theses touches were coming from. Erik was between states of being fully aware and awake and craving a few more moments of sleep and dream fast of unrealities. Diving into the cleft Erik’s arse cheeks, taking his time gliding downwards, deep, before grabbing the flesh where it met the upper thighs. A hard squeeze on the follow through. Erik bucked away from the hand. The Metalbender stirred, groaning, awakening fully. Giving a great yawn before saying: “I would have preferred five more minutes,” Before shifting his weight and position to face Charles, his shoulder sinking into the pillow deflating it. “Are you always this kinky in the morning?” Trying his best to be intimidating, but with his hair a bedridden mess, going this way and that and all over the place, he came across as menacing as a teddy bear, “Or you are just horny?”
Countering, “I don’t mind waking up to this.” Charles’s ocean tide-colored eyes that he drawn to like the moon without a fear of drowning; shifting aquamarine to turquoise to light emerald. In the shadow so close to Erik’s face, so close in fact he smell the stale rubbing alcohol of vodka dancing on his breath. So he waited, Erik dashed smile and combed his fingers through the long feathered strands like peacock’s tail curled and fluffy. Capturing Erik’s lips in his owns and opening his soul to him, exploring and intertwining. Pulling back, Charles took comfort in expanse of Erik’s nape and rested there.
He needed Charles in every part of his life, to be kissed, to pull his head on to his heart and hold it very close and cradle him for hours. Blessed thing.
Charles was everything that he was not but strengthening. It came from a place deep understanding.
It was a great explosion into life.
“We can always…” Charles put his fingers up to his temple and wiggled them.
Erik knew what Charles was suggesting and as appealing as it was…unwise and a bit unfair to Pietro. The metalbender sent images the telepath’s way of anxieties in which he worried about. Pietro when he got hungry. When he got really hungry is when his son got into trouble. He hadn’t taught his son how to make scrambled eggs! Just leaving the frying pan untended with oil while a stray thought caught Pietro’s attention. Woosh! The spark would fly and where there was smoke there was fire. A great pillar of golden yellow and burnt orange flames uprating from the pan. He didn’t want to put Pietro in that position. His son would be eating the countertops by the time they got out bed.
“Fair enough,”
“Pietro is going to be up soon.” Erik gave a sigh and rubbed one of his eyes. The metalbender did offer a comprise, “If you want to do anything kinkier. I suggest we go to your place and have your sister; Raven babysit Pietro.”
Knowing, deep down, that right know he could deny Charles nothing. Charles could make him do anything he wanted, no helmet, no barrier against Charles’s telepathic mutant ability. It was an act of total surrender, not of humiliation, passivity, or cruel domination; where his pleasure wasn’t important or recognize. Or a sign of weakness like it had been in the past.
He freely gave a part of himself to Charles, to know his innermost secret. Charles. Everywhere, every thing, Erik’s entire world. Around him and above him and inside him, and Erik never felt more cherished in his entire life. He never felt more himself. Never had his mind been so a part of his body, so focused on being part of being this physical being. It was an aspect he wanted to explore more with Charles every chance he got.
To be forever lost in those fathomless blue eyes, not cruel or icy, but clear turquoise sea washing ashore like the beaches in Cuba. He could drown in them. Yet, Charles saved him from drowning in the anger, rage, cynicism he felt by the world. Charles was hope incardinate. Not a false hope or hope of passivity. But hope in action. Erik thought he would never get enough of him, his taste, or his warm scent. He could explore his body for ages and find a new untrodden skin to bring a gasp of pleasure to Charles’s lips.
Charles was so much more than just a lover…he was a teacher, an educator, another parental figure to his son. When all those who thought Pietro couldn’t be helped, stupid, or needed to be cured. As if there was anything to cure about his son. Having recess revoked, a time where Pietro could run and play, be himself, and explore the dirt, the trees, and warmth of the sun. Instead locked up having silent lunches by himself having his soul sucked out of him. Alienated and alone from his peers. All because he fidgeted and appeared not paying attention while the lesson was underway; couldn’t stand still for five minutes. Or flat out refused to give accommodations mandated by law by teachers and school principals and administrators who stonewalled and denied the bullying and allegations.
It was hard trying to protect his son that unkept burden of fatherhood…with Charles he wasn’t alone anymore as he shared some of the burden and stress which kept awake late at night, thinking something terrible would happen to his son. He was so desperate to protect.
For Charles education wasn’t just about teaching facts or preparing his students for the workplace, putting undue stress on students with high stakes testing and teaching for standardized tests instead of subjects of the real-world producing dead zones of imagination, treating students like consumers, and knowledge as a commodity.
It was one of the few areas where he and Charles agreed. Passionately.
Charles thought education was more than what the status quo wanted to be. There needed to be a better way, a better path toward the future. Education wasn’t simply an institution, but a way of teaching. Though education wouldn’t solve all of society’s ills Charles admitted. But a capacity to change.
That the centrality of education was to manifest into politics the responsibility to engage the world and provide students with the skills, ideas, values, and inward authority necessary to challenge all forms of domination founded on systemic of race, gender, and economic inequalities; and recognizing the scaffolding of frameworks of power, social agency, and identity; to nourish democracy. Learning in the interest of economic justice and social change, not being helpless, but critical engaged agents and attentive to ripples in the social fabric.
Erik had to admit it was a tiny bit sexy.
Charles spent hours on end reading, listening, and having so much patience when no one else had with Pietro. No harsh scolding or deadlines. Charles spent as long as Pietro needed on a concept or lesson for the younger mutant to understand and to fully learn it. It would be on Pietro’s terms in which the pace was set; it be as fast or slow as Pietro needed it to be.
The telepath didn’t back away from the uncomfort of the pain and unsettledness to truly engage topics. Despite how he lectured, Charles’s effervescent hopefulness about humanity shined through every word. When the lesson was over, he engaged the telepath in conversation, he wouldn’t say an argument, over the topic Charles taught to his son. Pietro sat between them and listened just absorbing the best of each of viewpoints and forming his opinion as much as the young boy could understand. It wasn’t if he was arguing to win but finding where Charles stood on topics and challenging him. On occasion hugging each of them which would cause a pause in the conversation.
For a long while, Pietro couldn’t shake his deep feeling of shame and inadequacies and despised learning. The worst days were when his son refused to get up from bed and get ready for school.
Then Shaw….
Erik shuttered. Darker memories surfacing.
He had failed his son. An error in judgement and Pietro paid for it.
Eventually, Pietro did return to his normal self far less afraid of the world. Full of life and energy and babbled questions in which he sought answers, so curious. It was so good to hear his son’s laughter fill their home again. It brought light and warmth back into his life that he so easily forgotten, and thought would never return.
He could never thank Charles enough for giving back his son’s confidence.
Charles did so much more, a keen gardener as well. The telepath took their dilapidated backyard overflowing with unkept bushes dead and alive, weeds, and overgrown planted ivy spung from its pot. Overgrown grass growing in the flower beds and rock features, where Erik couldn’t even tell there was any there was anything growing there before. Several giant bull thistle, sharp and prickly on every leaf edge, but hunch over like Biollante. The many, many fire ant mounds that Erik told Pietro frequently never to step on to watch the ants swarm as they were aggressive and bite repeatedly. The grass growing like prairies of free and flowing guided by the breeze; though the homeowners associations didn’t think so and was fined. Another stressor in his life that he hadn’t needed. On top of the chaos, he hadn’t gotten around to doing yard work. He had to focus on the now, Pietro and just surviving. The thought didn’t even cross his mind, let alone to ‘fix’ his backyard, nor did he have the time.
Charles upon seeing the sorry state of the backyard and the fact Pietro couldn’t even play outside. Volunteered to spend his weekends to beautify his backyard. At first, he didn’t want to accept it was far too much work for one person to do. Charles insisted and with his help, they could do it together. So, they did. Mowing down the safari grass, digging up dead scrubs by the roots and bull thistle, while some of the smaller weeds were sprayed down with vinegar a few times a week. With shears trimming vines and getting buried rocks out of the garden. Preparing the flower beds for new growth tilling the soil and incorporating fertilizer making the whole yard smell like ammonia. Charles planted butterfly bush cone-shape with a thousand flowers lavender and deep violet, fluffy Gulf Muhly, steadfast yucca, rosemary bush, sunny nerve daisies delicate and sweet, along with a pomegranate tree and crepe myrtle. While Pietro captured butterflies and pill bugs off in his own world going in and out of the house getting toys and water and cold soaked towels for his father and his father’s ‘friend.’
Afterwards playing a game of football together.
Mini succulents started to fill his house on the windowsill, desks, dinner table, and tiered shelves; Jade Plant, Aloe Vera, Echeveria Runyonii, Bear’s Paw, Blue Chalksticks, and Echeveria.
The light was back in his life, he never wanted that happiness and warmth to leave ever again.
Rubbing tenderly over the delicate skin of Charles’s knuckle. Bringing Charles’s hand up to his lips and kissing it, “I want you in my life.” Erik was never so sure about anything in his whole life. Signing the Ketubah, displaying under the chuppah, afterwards in their house, proudly. Hakafot, circling Charles seven times and him doing the same before entering the chuppah together as equals. Singing the Sheva Brachot, Seven Blessing, joining together as a community blessing their relationship, afterwards wrapped in together with tallit. Oh, how he wished his parents could see how much Charles meant so much to him. Glass smashing underfoot. “I mean it.” A hushed breath barely concealing his wavering voice threatening to break. Taking Charles’s wrist into his own and bring up to his lips. Kissing briefest of moments kept between them, before coming back down to give another upward, feeling the pulse grow wilder, his unshaved stubble bristling and rough against the delicate lavender and lapis veins of the underside of Charles’s wrist. “In every part of it.” Erik added, his voice above the gentle hum of a whispering wind. “I want you by my side for Pesach.”
Charles pulled his hand away from Erik’s reverent grasp curling them inward toward his body as he shifted away. “I can’t—I would be intruding,”
Erik trying to reassure his partner, “Not if I invite you.”
“Erik—” Charles tried to center his thoughts. “I…Shabbat is one thing. But this —Is a massive step!” The telepath couldn’t stop smiling.
Had Erik planned this? For how long? Normally, he knew what exactly what going on in Erik’s mind. Growing up with his abilities, surprise party’s family and friends had planned were no surprise at all; he knew weeks in advance.
Charles could hear Pietro’s thoughts twittering. A little hummingbird going place to place in a hurry. Brushing his teeth. Washing his face. Making his bed. So much energy the day had barely begun. How Erik kept up with his son and still had time for himself and mutant rights activism was a testament to his parenting skills. The Master of Magnetism could conquer the world at any rate if raising his child was so easy.
The door clicked open a sliver blitz brought a tailwind behind it and for the briefest of moments cherub wings iridescent in the rays of sunshine filtering into the bedroom sprung from his back.
At the foot of the bed, a pair holding up a stuffed turtle, his shell, a dark seaweed green and his stubby legs and head a seafoam green, with black handsewn embroidered eyes, threaded over and over, before the beloved stuffie warrior, who protected his ward from monsters under-the-bed and in the closet, was placed on the duvet covers and blankets.
Sitting up in bed, Charles following, “Well…Hello Mr. Dibbles.” Erik greeted the stuffed turtle.
The young sliver haired mutant climbed up the hardwood bedframe
The worried father reaching out his arm, “Pietro—Careful!” Loose strains of hair fell across Erik’s forehead.
His son landing with an: “Oof!” Scooping Mr. Dibbles back into his arms, holding him close to his belly.
The young mutant was in his Star Wars sliver and navy-blue pajamas with a picture of Baby Yoda and above it the word: WANTED on his short sleeve shirt. On Sundays, watching The Mandalorian together every week with all the pomp and circumstance of a movie in the theatre. Popping popcorn and M&M, chocolate covered ice cream bites, and beer. Afterwards playing make believe as their soundtrack because Pietro insisted that they need musical accumbent for their adventure, so John Williams’s orchestra soundtrack Star Wars playlist blasted on the surround sound. Erik as ‘The Mandalorian.’ Pietro as ‘The Child.’ Charles as a Jedi knight. Moving the furniture around and making cushion forts.
Crawling on his hands and knees toward the couple. Charles sank back down onto the bed. Erik stretched out his other arm and encouraged his son to take hold of hands. Lifted his son up and onto chest and flopped down. Bringing his son’s face closer to his own, before rubbing their noses together in kisses. Pietro gave a toothie smile, a gap between his two front teeth.
Rise and fall of his father taking solace in his slow and steady heartbeats. Erik brushing through the sliver unkempt locks of Pietro’s fwoopy hair. “Pietro—” Erik started to ask.
A small gasp left the young mutant. “A-a-a-are you OK? Vati?” Hugging Mr. Dibbles closer to his small body. Tears threatening to fall, upon seeing love bites, bruising his chest scattered throughout.
“My sohn,” Swirling his palm over Pietro’s shoulder and rubbing up and down his arm, attempting to formulate an explanation that Pietro would understand for consent, “I gave Charles my permission. He did not hurt me.” Erik reassured his son. Still Shaw’s long shadow eclipsed these moments of sunlight and made his son afraid, that he could not allow. Glancing over at Charles meeting his oceanic blue eyes for the briefest of moments giving him strength, “It’s my duty to worry about you. Not the other way around.” Erik paused, before adding, “But, your concern is admirable and deeply touching.” Despite his son’s speed his heart was three times as big and full warmth and deep emotions, “I cannot tell you how much I love you. You can always come to me, Pietro when something is troubling you.” Pietro sank downward wrapping his arms around his father’s chest finding solace and the steady heartbeat, a slight shiver shaking his frame.
Erik’s soul couldn’t be contained as he began to sang—magnetic and deep, and of uncompromising force not ashamed of voicing the hurt and pain, but the intimate beauty found in his life. Pietro hummingbird pounding heart for a slowed as he smiled. Though Charles couldn’t understand the Hebrew, he could feel the intensity and spirit and he didn’t even need to use his telepathy.
A familiar morning ritual between father and son—now shared with Charles. The telepath reached over and combed back Pietro’s soft lithium colored hair. He could get used to this. Erik’s voice began to wind down and Pietro hugged his father harder, until all the hurt and pain that his father had suffered was banished from his soul. Pietro’s hair was like captured moonlight in physical form while his eyes were like dark of the moon in a total solar eclipse. Once in a while when the light came into the room just light Pietro’s hair caught it at just the right angle his hair turned the color of the wreath of plasmapheric ethereal white light of the corona.
Pietro perking up and scooted further along Erik’s chest, making him grunt as Pietro’s knee was right on his diaphragm. he quick son’s voice filled with sunshine and “I had’a dream where you lifted a submarine!”
“Oh really…” Erik bemused, glancing over his cheek toward Charles.
Barely able contain his little self, “A-a-a-‘nd you SAVED the WORLD! From SHAW!” Raising his hands in the air for emphasis. Flopping down like a pancake on his father’s chest again.
Erik, you should never had watched that Cuban Missile Crisis documentary with him. Charles sent the verbal thought to Erik.
The metalbender rolled his eyes, perhaps next time, we can watch Pride & Prejudice or Jane Avery or Ripper Street. If its suites your fancy, Charles. Erik sent back with a black cat’s sly smirk. What’s the harm, Charles? It isn’t any worse than the Mandalorian. Let Pietro’s imagination run wild. I know how much you enjoy listening to his thoughts when they slow down.
Stroking Pietro’s cheek back and forth, “Perhaps in an alternate universe, my darling.” Charles said with tenderness.
Clearing his throat to gain his son’s attention and steeled his expression, “Pietro, I was wondering your feelings on inviting Charles for Pesach?”
Pietro let out a large gasp. His head bopped back and forth going from Charles’s vibrant Neptune eyes, graceful and calming, and Erik’s blued steel, hardened in the crucible of blinding heat of the furnace. So fast that his little face blurred. Before, taking a second to rubbed his eyes and rapidly blink to replenish his dry irritated red eyes. Burying his face in Charles’s neck “Please-please-pleasepleasepleaseplease Charles! Please come over for Pesach! Oh, pretty please?!? You make my Vati so happy!” And gave the BIGGEST hug his little body could muster across Charles’s chest.
Dotting the sliver speedster’s nose, “For you, Pietro, my darling dear, anything.” Brought the quick son’s forehead down for a kiss.
The young mutant barrel rolled into the space between Erik and Charles landed with an ‘oomph!’ Couldn’t decide who to hug first, decided to hug them both.
Calling over the lithium batteries in the remote and flicked on the morning news to what the talking heads had to say about the mutant’s right protests, international relations, local traffic, and all importantly the weather.
Charles gazed over to the two loves of his life. The sunlight streaming in through the window.
Oh, he could get use to this.