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i.
Charles gazes at the roof, chest heaving, trying to gather himself up. Trying his very damn best to remember how to string a sentence together, as the back of his mind is still pretty much messed up, and he’s still seeing stars. Erik’s not so better himself, given by the long stretch of silence they’ve had the past three minutes.
“That was great,” Charles finally says, once words seem to be coherent. By the feel of Erik’s mind against his, he can tell Erik’s still not coherent enough to make a single comment, but he is so pleased and satisfied that Charles can’t help but smile. “We—my friend, we better start doing that more often.”
That cracks a smile out of Erik. “Oh, I plan to.”
It’s great, truly. The gap between them being finally closed, acting up on their feelings like Charles has been intending to for the longest time—it’s nothing like he’s ever experienced before. Maybe it’s the wholehearted genuineness and honesty of their feelings that’s got Charles so—so—so drunk in it, and perhaps why this first time has been better than all his other firsts.
And it’s not just guessing—it’s the whole truth. Erik’s mind doesn’t lie, the warmth, the happiness, the sense of ease that is so strange on him and yet such a sight for sore eyes. He plans on turning around and rest against him, but he freezes—he doesn’t really know Erik’s post-sex habits. Perhaps he’s the type to say good night and turn around, not really a cuddly person. It would be a shame, because Charles most certainly is a post-sex cuddler, but he’s not about to push his luck.
Almost as if he shared that thought out loud to Erik, Erik scoots closer. He turns Charles around, back against his chest, and he curves around him like there’s no safer or better place to be. He buries his face on his neck, arm around his stomach and legs tangling together, and thank God Erik is a post-sex cuddler. Charles laughs, “I cannot believe you take me for a small spoon.”
Erik smiles against his neck. “Why, does it offend you?”
“If you expect me to conform to this based on the—frankly quite old-fashioned—notion that I am shorter than you, then yes, it does offend me!” but he’s joking, and he knows that Erik knows. There’s a lightness to his voice that Charles can’t even recognize himself, something that he wasn’t sure existed until this moment. “As it is our first of many more, however, I’m willing to overlook this.”
Erik’s laughter makes the hairs on his neck stand up, so exhilarating—it’s not arousal anymore, it’s simply fondness and comfort. Erik’s lanky, but he’s solid and strong, as his arms tighten slightly and he drops a kiss on Charles’ head again. His grip loosens, but he’s so handsy—Charles can feel his hand on his stomach, going up, tracing little circles on his skin, all so very lovely.
“Erik,” he ends up saying, and then scrambles for words. What could he say, really? It’s way too early to drop an I love you, even if that is what is running through his mind. Thank you is way too odd. Thank you for the sex and cuddles?
“Charles,” Erik says back, waiting.
“I…” he licks his lips. All this education, useless when it’s most needed. “I really loved everything we did tonight. And this, too.”
“I don’t do this often,” Erik confesses quietly. “So you know that I loved this, too.”
Charles smiles. They readjust themselves, fitting in together a little closely, even if Charles has a feeling they won’t last the entire night cuddled up like this—realistically, someone’s bound to feel uncomfortable, a limb is bound to fall asleep, an arm is most likely to hurt. But he pushes that aside and closes his eyes, relishing on the warmth, Erik’s breaths steadying, and hopes to have pleasant dreams.
ii.
“We have a big night tomorrow,” Charles says to Erik, lying on his lap. “We need as much rest as we can get. I urge—no, I insist you take a nap.”
Erik blinks up at him, a small smile playing on his lips. “I am not tired, not even in the slightest.”
“I mean, that’s what you say. For how many years have you been living like this, Erik? Your body adapted to run on a few hours of sleep, sleeping anywhere, and God knows what else. Of course you don’t feel tired, but it does not mean your body agrees,” Charles lists off. The more he talks, the more he notices that Erik’s smile broadens, like he thinks Charles is so funny. “What is it, Erik? Do speak up if you think it’s funny.”
Erik finally grins up at him. “It’s a little hot when you lecture me.”
Charles frowns at him. “Oh, is it?”
Holding his index finger and his thumb up, parting them slightly, Erik says again: “A little hot.”
“I shouldn’t have to be lecturing you on what should be common sense,” Charles continues, “Frankly, Erik, it shocks me. We’re both grown adults, therefore we know what’s best for us. And if you think I’ll stop lecturing you because you find it slightly hot, you are entirely wrong, my friend. Again, I urge you to close your eyes and sleep.”
There’s fondness pouring out of Erik in waves. Charles is predicting that everything he’s currently saying is entering through one ear and coming out of the other, which shocks him coming from Erik, but… he’s also being endeared by it, damn him.
“No good night kiss?”
Charles levels him with another frown. “Will you actually sleep if I do it?”
“Not sure. We’ll have to see.”
Charles leans down and kisses him. Erik makes a happy noise, leaning up to meet him, hand coming up to Charles’ neck. After a moment, Charles pulls away, grinning against his will. Erik looks entirely too pleased, and worst of all, not at all sleepy.
“Close your eyes,” Charles says. He reaches for the table next to the sofa they’re on, grabbing his thesis—it’s been forever since Charles reread it, feeling like it’s been a whole century since that day at the bar. “Raven says my thesis sends her right to sleep. It can do the trick with you, I bet.”
To his credit, Erik closes his eyes. He turns around, his cheek resting on Charles’ thigh, and another hand coming up to loosely rest on it. “Will try my best to sleep. Will you lecture me if I don’t manage to do it?”
“I’ll lecture you until you start listening to me,” Charles promises, and Erik smiles with his eyes closed. Charles can’t help but lean down and kiss his forehead again. His right hand rests on Erik’s head, playing with his hair, and the other one holds his thesis.
He clears his throat and starts reading.
(Erik doesn’t sleep. He argues with Charles after every paragraph. Charles honestly doesn’t know why he didn’t predict that outcome.)
iii.
Charles had expected that after ten years, some of Erik’s habits had changed. He had expected to be forced to familiarize new patterns and new quirks, he had expected to be bewildered at how much Erik had changed, and in turn, he had expected to be entirely excited at the preposition of learning Erik all over again, as if they had gotten a new beginning.
But some things never change. When Charles comes down from his high, to his relief, he learns that Erik is still very much a post-sex cuddler. The thought should not be so relieving, nor should it be so funny, but Erik does it so naturally. He carefully drapes himself over Charles, cheek resting against his chest, sighing softly. For a moment, Charles is blindsided.
Erik, who had months earlier lifted an entire football stadium like it was nothing. Who had stood tall and powerful in front of the cameras, delivering a speech of hope and power, encouraging people to be themselves. Erik who had made a statement when the whole world was watching, fierce and fearless and relentless. Erik, who after all the fights and disagreements, had still called Charles old friend, who, when it came to Charles—softened up and opened up and trusted him. The same Erik he had let go of, that day, in front of everyone.
And here he is, soft, pliant, sleepy. Content. There is a strange feeling creeping up on Charles: fondness, relief, yearning, confusion, all wrapped up in a neat bow of love. He loves Erik so much, and the sensation of having him in his arms once more is not just exhilarating, but warm. The world slows down. All he can feel is Erik, and when Erik looks up—eyes searching for Charles’ own, as if he needed some reassuring, something to hold onto—it’s enough to make his heart squeeze.
“I missed you terribly,” Charles finally says, cupping his cheek. Erik leans into it, closing his eyes, holding his wrist now. He didn’t want to admit it, back then, had resorted to violence before processing his own emotions, but he feels it now: the yearning clawing at his chest, the desperate need to keep Erik right there and not let him go. “It has been far too long, old friend.”
The use of old friend gets Erik to smile. He leans up a little, enough to plant a kiss to his lips, but he quickly goes back to resting on his chest. Charles wraps his arms around him, not daring to let go. What if the moment ended the second he let go? He knows this isn’t meant to last forever. He knows this is a weekend escapade at most. But God, it is hard to not indulge in some of these emotions when he’s got Erik so close.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” Erik says quietly. “I thought you might reject me, given…” the obvious goes unsaid. Erik continues, “I wasn’t expecting to be on good terms with you again.”
“Believe me,” he says, staring at the roof again. His hand tangles on Erik’s hair, then he changes his mind—he runs his fingers through it, lightly brushing. “I am surprised as well. I, too, was not sure if I was going to come. It was sort of a last-minute decision.”
“What made you change your mind?”
Erik lifts up his head for this conversation. He pushes himself up, settling next to Charles and leaning over him. When Charles almost looks away, Erik catches his chin, lightly redirecting him back to stare at his eyes. Charles sighs.
“I used to be under the impression that—perhaps if you changed, this would work out. Maybe if you gave up your ideals and came to see things differently, this would work. If you stopped your ways, we would work. If you were different, if you had done this differently, if if if. And then I noticed something.”
Erik tilts his head, questioning. He grabs Charles’ hand and brings it up, pressing a kiss to it.
“I don’t think I’d be in love with you then,” he laughs, half-teary, half-losing his mind. “I love you for who you are. If I changed everything about you—well, then that wouldn’t be Erik Lehnsherr, would it?”
Erik’s breath catches on his throat, lips frozen on Charles’ hand, like he’s not believing what he’s hearing. More than using his words, more than recognizing Charles’ incredibly intimate confession, he leans down and kisses him so— intensely, greedily, happily. Full of love. Charles is all too comfortable to kiss back, to let the moment drag on, to remember each and every sensation in case this is the last time he gets to do this in a long, long time.
Erik breaks apart, still very close. “My feelings are not too different from yours.”
Charles cocks his head. “You mean you have given up trying to radicalize me?”
They both laugh at that.
“Oh, I’ll get you to see that one day,” Erik grins, but it’s soft around the edges and too full of love, fully teasing. “I simply hope for you to continue to be who you are. Maybe one day you will come around to see things the way I do. But if you do not—” he pauses slightly, as if he’s considering the weight of his own words. “I don’t think it’ll make me stop loving you.”
Charles nods. “Does that make us hypocrites to our causes?”
“Does it matter?”
Charles considers this. He brings him down again, rearranging himself so that his left arm is extended. Erik settles on it, happy to do so, and he puts an arm over Charles’ body.
“You know what?” Charles says before leaning in for another, albeit short, kiss. “No, I don’t think it does.”
iv.
“When I said weekend escapade,” Erik says, “I actually meant something way more romantic, Charles.”
Charles looks up from the papers he’s grading. “I told you I was going to be busy. It’s finals week, Erik. I have a lot to grade.”
Erik groans, but he’s still dutifully sitting down to correct the other half of the essays. He’s even put on his reading glasses, which Charles has to admit—looks good. Very good. If Charles wasn’t a dedicated professor who cared about his students, that would’ve been enough to distract him.
Sadly, he does care about the grades. Erik’s sitting next to him on the dining table, two cups of tea served in front of them. They rented a cabin for a weekend, and every other escapade they had had actually been romantic and thrilling. Not this one, though.
“You know what’s the worst part of this?” Charles asks, putting down Illyana’s essay. “It’s not that it ends here. I correct and grade it, yes, but then I have to update my sheets. Simply annoying. Then I have to calculate the final grade, and then I have to write down observations and things to improve, and then—oh, you know. There’s always going to be students who fail the course, so I have to come up with extra ideas on what work they can do, or what new essay they can write to have one more chance to save their grade. Most of the time, kids don’t care, Erik.”
Erik makes a soft amused noise. “Oh, they don’t?”
“No, not at all. You know how teenagers can be. Sometimes they’re in that phase where they think they know everything. My God, did I tell you? This one instance where Roberto had started the ever-so-dreaded question of Why are we even learning this? Not like I’ll use it in real life! which of course leaves all the students to say nobody needs to learn math because they’ll never use it in their day-to-day life.”
“At least that means your kids are successfully developing critical thinking skills,” Erik comments with a lopsided grin. “Not too bad.”
“I hate it. And again,” he gestures at the other pile of paper, “it just means updating more sheets. And you know what?”
“What?”
“It’s not even just this. This is the tip of the iceberg. I will have to double-check that all teachers developed all their units according to the curriculum. I will have to check that they all signed their assistance at the end of the day. Then, I have to make sure they send me their weekly plans for me to correct. My God, I don’t know what I was thinking, running a school. I’m old. My back hurts. And after I double-check everything I have to write reviews on their performances,” he rubs his temples. He’s being dramatic by now, but Erik’s gaze is so warm and amused, he can’t help it. “Being a headmaster is hard, Erik. Not recommending it. Running a school? Terrible.”
“Good thing I’m not trying to change my career,” Erik grabs his cup of tea and takes a sip. “But you love doing this, do you not?”
A tired, dreary sigh. “I do love it.”
“And you love your children.”
“They are wonderful, yes.”
“So get to correcting, then,” he nudges Charles with his pen, and sure, why not. At least Erik is carrying half the burden. Who would have thought? Magneto had been on the news a week ago for blowing up a government base. Now he’s correcting English essays with Charles. Life is funny like that. “Truly deeply sorry about the spreadsheets and reviews. That part is boring.”
Charles sighs. “Do you want to take that part for me?”
“I don’t teach there, Charles. I cannot make stuff up.”
“It was worth a try,” he says. “How long have we been doing this for?”
Erik glances at the clock. “About an hour and a half.”
And we still have so much to go.
“My God,” he puts down his current essay. “I cannot bear this any longer. Join me on the sofa, would you?”
An eyebrow is raised in his direction. “I thought we were meant to get this over with.”
“And I have decided we need a half an hour break,” he continues. “My back is killing me.”
Erik doesn’t object any further, standing up and stretching as well. Charles wheels to the sofa, transferring to it, and lying down horizontally, propped up by the cushions. He pats the bit of space next to him and Erik is all too happy to climb on, resting on him and sighing.
“You don’t want a massage?”
“No, simply needed a break,” Charles says. “Thank you for putting up with my work. I truly wish this escapade had more romance than work, but seriously, you chose a terrible time to whisk me away.”
“It’s not so bad,” Erik says. “Your students run wild with their interpretations of classics. It’s certainly amusing to read.”
Charles chuckles, then kisses his forehead. “You’d be a good teacher. I think they’d like you.”
“Perhaps,” he concedes. He also grabs Charles’ hand and brings it close to press his lips against it. “Perhaps they would like me better than you.”
“Changed my mind. I think you would be a bad teacher.”
Erik laughs. “Don’t want to lose your children to me?”
“I’m afraid I’d lose my husband to the kids, thank you very much,” Charles says, and Erik laughs even more.
It’s a joyous sound. Without these escapades, it is rather possible that Charles would go mad with yearning. He clutches Erik tighter, suddenly incredibly happy to have him here, and Erik relaxes against him. God, he loves him so much, he could never begin to articulate it.
It’s okay. Erik gets it. He clings back, and their half an hour break turns into more than an hour. Not that any of them complain.
(Charles complains a lot, later, when he realizes that his workload is in fact in the same place he left it and not magically done.)
v.
For once, there’s no hurry to cherish the moment in case it’s the last one he has in a while. Charles wraps himself around Erik, hugging him tighter, bringing his back to his chest and breathing in. He’s warm, and he’s steady, and he’s not leaving today, or tomorrow, or the day after. They are both here to stay.
Erik holds his hands, equally happy about having something so solid after so many years of stolen moments, of stolen weekends, of stolen everything. And sure, maybe it had taken them a little too long. But there really is no better place to start than the present, and for the first time in a while, Charles is truly happy to be here.
He plants a kiss on his shoulder, then on his back, and continues to hold him close, as if he’d fall away if he didn’t.
“Thank you for coming with me,” Erik says quietly. “When I arrived in Paris, I didn’t know if you’d say yes. I just—had to try.”
Charles had considered saying no. He had considered that it was too good to be real, that he would ruin this, that it wasn’t worth it—he’d only destroy Erik like he’s destroyed everything else. And yet, Erik’s warm eyes and smile had done the trick—how could he say no to that?
Having him in his arms now—how could he say no to this?
“Thank you for finding me,” Charles confesses quietly, lips pressed against his shoulder. “I’m not sure if I had wanted to be found. But I’m glad you did.”
“I’m glad I did,” echoes Erik, turning around carefully, and burrowing impossibly closer.
He closes his eyes and Charles allows his own to slip closed. Tomorrow they’d wake up and they’d have all the time in the world, no more racing against the clock.
Isn’t that lovely?