Work Text:
Erik sighed with exasperation, typing with a furious finger on the screen in front of him, which froze in less than 30 seconds. Next to him in the alley, people were squeezed against each other, fighting over the space in the compartments above the seats containing the luggage and not letting room for people to pass, creating a mass of complaining passengers. Most of them were impatient businessman or families with annoying small children. Everything Erik hated. He disliked every children, except from his own. He had raised them well. A teenager passed next to him and hit his arms with his bag, making Erik curse and remove his elbow from the armrest.
Normally, he’d always buy first class ticket when he’d take a plane. He’d have a reasonable personal space and free scotch. But this time he had booked his flight too late and all that was left were the seats in the sardine section, as he liked to call it. And to make it worst, he wasn’t even on the window side. He was just about to check if the damn screen worked again when a man stopped next to him.
“I’m sorry, do you mind if I pass?”
Erik looked up, surprised. The man who had talk was different from all the other persons in the plane. He was alone, but clearly not a businessman. His hair was perfectly brushed and his face freshly shaved. He was wearing a ridiculous tweed jacket with patches on the elbows with a dress shirt tucked into his pants, looking like he was directly coming out of the 60s. All that was left to complete the set were suspenders, Erik thought sarcastically.
The latter then realized he’d been staring a bit too long, and without a word, he glued himself as much as he could to his seat to make enough room to pass in front of him. The tweed jacket man made his way to his bench, and Erik couldn’t help noticing those extremely tight pants he was wearing, relieved the brunet man didn’t notice him looking.
There was no harm in looking anyway.
The stranger sat down, installing his bag on the floor before turning to look at Erik with a charming smile on his face.
“Those seats are just tighter every time, aren’t they?”
And this lame attempt at a conversation brought Erik back on Earth. He gave the man a ‘don’t try to have a small talk with me’ look. The brunet seemed to understand, a bit taken aback but not insulted. He repositioned himself in his seat and started to sort out the things in his bag.
To amplify the ‘you’re annoying’ message Erik was trying to emit, he took one of the books he brought with him and started to read it. But from the corner of his eye, he noticed the man looking at the cover of the novel and smile in recognition of the title.
Well at least he does have taste in something, if it’s not clothing, Erik thought.
During the next hours that passed, the tweed jacket man fell asleep, his head leaning on the wall next to the window, and Erik couldn’t help himself but steal a quick peek from time to time, against his will. Why was he looking? He continued reading his book until an air hostess arrived in front of him.
“What would you prefer to eat, sir, chicken or pasta?”
Eww. Plane chicken. No.
“I’ll have the pasta,” he answered, putting his novel away.
As he was being served, the woman asked him, gesturing at the sleeping man:
“Do you think he’d like to eat?”
Erik shrugged, not really caring. But something inside of him told him the man surely wouldn’t like to miss a meal. The flight was long. Gently, he shook the brunet’s shoulder, who woke up with a grunt.
“What?” he said, groggy, rubbing his eyes. His hair was a bit messy, probably an image he wouldn’t want to show in public, his appearance being so neat, but Erik couldn’t help himself but finding it cute.
What the hell was wrong with him?
“Time to eat,” he answered, letting go immediately.
“Chicken or pasta, sir?” the hostess asked the tweed jacket man.
“Oh, I’ll have the pasta, please.”
“And what can I get you for beverage?”
“Scotch,” the two passengers answered in unison, shooting a weird look to each other for a second.
“That’ll be 7$ each for the drink,” the woman informed them.
Just as Erik was reaching out for his wallet, the other man put a gentle hand over his forearm, stopping his movement.
“It’s on me,” he said with a corner smile. “I want to thank you for waking me up.”
Erik thought that was one hell of a big thank you for a shake of the shoulder, but then Erik really like free drinks so he shut up.
Once they both had their food and glasses, the brunet shot another glance at Erik.
“So, what are you going to do in Leipzig? You don’t look like a tourist.”
Erik did everything he could not to sigh in front of the man, mentally blaming himself for being nice and waking him up. This was what happened when he started being nice. People would like him and start talking.
“I’m going to visit my children. I’m a native of Leipzig.”
The man looked surprised. “Oh. They’re living with your wife?”
Erik didn’t even try not to raise his eyebrows at this oh so not subtle question.
“With their mother.”
The brunet seemed satisfied enough with this answer, even if he didn’t let it show.
“So you’re German then? How interesting! I’ve always been fascinated by this culture, the historical background is so complex and rich,” he answered, crossing his legs and putting his hands on his knee, the left hand on top.
A very ringless hand, Erik noticed, amused by the bad but charming flirting. It wasn’t annoying yet. More flattering, actually.
“You’re coming to visit the country, then?”
“No, sadly. I wish I had the time. I’m coming for a scientific convention that will last the whole week, then I have to go back home to work. I only have one day off at the end and I’m afraid I’ll be too tired for sight seeing.”
“You’re a scientist?” Erik answered, for once earnestly interested.
“A professor in genetic. Not as reputable as a scientist, I’ll admit, but I love my job. It’s amazing to watch the next generation so passionate about genetic. It warms my heart.”
“Where do you teach?”
“Havard.”
Erik almost choked on his pasta.
“You’re a professor at Havard?”
“Yes,” the man said, looking confused by Erik’s reaction.
“Well I wonder what you consider reputable, then.”
The brunet looked ashamed for a second, then extended his hand.
“Charles Xavier.”
“Erik Lenhsherr.”
“A German name indeed.”
They continued talking as they ate, Erik telling him about his job as an historian. Charles seemed fascinated by his words, asking him questions with a real interest, his blue eyes, the bluest eyes Erik had ever seen, sparkling with pleasure. Just like himself, Erik thought, it must do Charles good to speak with someone who finally had culture and intelligence, a spirit. The brunet surprisingly knew quite a lot about history and various fields, too, even if he denied knowing the subjects well. Erik had misjudged him, he had to admit to himself, irritated to have been wrong. And Charles’ accent was so pleasant to hear, the english brogue music for the ears. All the european accents always reminded Erik of somewhere beautiful, reminded him a bit of home, even if it wasn’t exactly a german one. And he just felt sort of… drawn by Charles. By the sweet melody of his laugh, the shade of his eyelashes on his cheeks, his obscenely red lips, the playful and amused way his mouth curved when they were having a debate and neither of them would let go just because they wouldn’t cave, even if they knew the other one was right. They shared their ideas and convictions over the glasses of scotch, then discussed about everything and nothing before Charles got his ipad out and they played a game of chess, time passing surprisingly rapidly. Erik couldn’t remember the last time he had a conversation that wasn’t necessary, but just for fun, with someone not being his family. This Xavier man actually was interesting, actually made him laugh.
And it did Erik good, even if he refused to admit it.
Before neither of them knew it, it was time to fasten their seatbelts and to lock the eating trays in the upright position, everybody getting ready for the landing. Erik realized it would soon be over, and after having cleared his throat (which he didn’t understand why he needed to do), he asked Charles where he was going to be staying.
“Oh, I’ll be in a hotel in Merseburg, on Oberaltenburg Street. It will be long to get to the conference in Liepzig, but I’ll be able to appreciate the surroundings in the cab. What about you? Do you have a house over there? Or do you stay with your children?”
Erik took a second to answer, too enthralled by Charles’ voice when he spoke german words. God, was it the most arousing sound he had ever heard. Just imagine that voice talking in German saying completely different things…
“I- er- I have an apartment downtown, in the heart of Liepzig. I never sold it before coming to the United States. I keep it, in case I come back someday.”
“You plan to come back, then?” Charles asked, a furrow of dismay marking his frown, and Erik wondered if the man knew just how much he was bad at hiding his emotions.
“Not right now, no. But I don’t know what the future holds for me. I just know I don’t want to end my days in the United States. I’ll want to be home.”
They didn’t really speak anymore for the rest of the flight, nor did they while passing the customs, even though they stayed next to each other in all the lines. After having taken the luggage, just in front of the exit door of the airport, one of Charles’ suitcases (what in the name of heaven did the man bring with him to have three suitcases for a week of travel, Erik would never know) fell to the floor, and the German practically jumped to pick it up. While taking the handle, his fingers brushed Charles’, and the both of them let go of the suitcase immediately, like having received an electric shock.
Charles looked up at him, eyes wide with a shallow breath, and Erik kept his gaze riveted to his. Neither of them said a thing. Erik took hold of the luggage, bringing it closer and taking Charles’ hand in his, gently positioning the fingers around the handle. He still hadn’t quit his eyes, the shadow of a smile forming on his lips.
“My apartment is really close to the town center. I’ve got an extra room, if you want.”
And even though his posture and voice and face showed assurance, he still held his breath for the answer. This man, Charles Xavier, had affected him like no one ever had before, and he really hoped their relationship would continue further than this.
The other man smiled, happiness making his eyes shine and his cheeks taking on a lovely shade of pink.
“That’d make me extremely happy,” he answered, letting go of the suitcase. Grabbing Erik’s collar, he got up on his tip toes and kissed Erik chastely on the lips. The latter smiled into the kiss, happiness swelling in his chest as he grabbed Charles’ waist, bringing him closer. He deepened the kiss, and he instantly fell in love with Charles’ mouth’s tea flavour.
Could this man be any more perfect?
“Let me invite you to dinner then,” the brunet said against his lips, looking at Erik through his eyelashes, and the German grinned, all teeth.
“I know a good place.”
Erik kissed him one last time before taking one of Charles’ suitcases, the two of them leaving the airport smiling at each other, walking pass the door and breathing the fresh German air.
Hopefully they’d be seated together on the flight back too.