Chapter Text
Somehow, everything seemed to mean more and less at the same time when the two of them were around one another. It was confusing, really. A juxtapositioned (according to Erik, Charles would prefer to say dichotomous) feeling always surrounded their interactions.
While the mansion’s library itself had been large, open, and positively bursting with knowledge, the space that the two of them occupied was small and comfortably cozy. Charles leaned back with an elbow comfortably lying on the armrest of the ivory-colored armchair, legs curled up in a relaxed pose he was aware his mother wouldn’t have approved of, and turned a page. The copy, a compilation of classical works from various authors, was visibly well-loved with small scribbled cursive laying through the margins in jet-black India Ink. Erik, on the other hand, had long abandoned his own novel, a signed edition of The Once And Future King, taken off a long-forgotten shelf, in favor of closing his eyes in thought. He sprawled, much less conscious than the other man of his own position, one leg casually bent at the knee resting against the armrest of the matching ivory-white couch, and the other resting on the ground for stability, his hands calmly clasped one another in his lap while his head was tilted towards the heavens. There was no sound to be heard other than the just barely audible jazz that Charles insisted play in the library at all times and the soft turn of pages.
Bending the hours-long comfortable silence, Charles lets out a small noise of contentment while turning another page, “Erik?”
The other man offers up a questioning hum, so Charles continues, “I think Prospero had atmokinesis.”
Erik flutters his gray-blue eyes open with a spark of interest and leans forward, moving his foot from the armrest to the floor, about a shoulder’s width apart from the other, “From the play?”
Charles nods appreciatively with a small smile, “Who else do you know with the same name?”
Erik laughs indulgently, “You’ve got me there. If Prospero is atmokinetic, though, then Merlyn is definitely precognitive,” he gives Charles a challenging look.
Charles gave a bright smile, “I would go as far as saying he’s clairvoyant, my friend. Although, I suppose it depends on the version?”
With a smirk, Erik glances down at his bookmarked novel pointedly and then back to Charles, “T. H. White, obviously. You can’t seriously tell me you’ve read the originals’ true to form Middle English, Xavier.”
Charles rolls his eyes and retaliates with a sardonic smile, “I assumed Shakespearean would be enough to get me by as a professor. Alas…”
“Alas, Charles? Really?” Erik raises an eyebrow.
Charles lets out a sudden laugh of disbelief, “As if you’re any less showy when opportunities come up.”
Erik quirks his mouth, “Me? Never. As if you’d mind.” He casually flicks his wrist, letting Charles’ fallen pen do a small figure-eight before landing elegantly to its proper spot on the table.
Charles’ eyes shine with bright admiration, commenting, “I could never bring myself to stop you, Erik,” and nodding a wordless thanks.
The barest sense of surprise and satisfaction seems to roll off the older man, “There’s that fatal flaw again,” he retorts, bitter-sweet.
Instinctually in an equally wry, yet somehow natural tone, the response comes, “Ah yes. My fatal flaw, the irresistible mind of Erik Lehnsherr. Naturally,” as Charles gestures grandly to the person in question.
“Irresistible mind of Erik Magnus Lehnsherr, actually,” Erik replies in a tone laced with trust with a look of feigned arrogance.
A smirk catches on Charles’ face, “Magnus? Latin for great, y’know. Maybe that’s why you’re so…” He does a vague gesture toward Erik.
“Great? I’m honored,” his eyes glitter with amusement, “his Highness Charles Francis of House Xavier has such high praise.”
Charles snorts, “I don’t even want to know how you found that out. You best not use it against me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Your Highness,” came Erik’s mirthful quick response.
“I can practically see you lying, Erik,” Charles says with a roll of his bright eyes, “They’re in that annoyingly brilliant mind of yours.”
“I can’t tell if that’s a real compliment or one of your polite Englishisms,” Erik laughed.
With a tone of minor offense Charles retorts, “I’ve no idea what you mean. Your mind is plenty excellent. Why would I lie?” With that, Charles pushes a wave of thankfulness and admiration in Erik’s direction smugly.
Erik gives him a lazy look of pride, “If only everyone was as painfully optimistic as you,” he drawled, leaning back in the chair.
“You say that as if I’m not right,” Charles replies offhandedly, adjusting the bookmark on the now-closed compilation.
Erik waves him off, “You overthink. Maybe it’s that telepathy of yours. Makes you too interpretive to it all,” making a larger-than-necessary gesture at Charles. Suddenly, he sits up straighter with an enticing smile, “Open to a game?”
Charles shakes his head with a knowing look, “You’re insatiable. We played just this morning over breakfast, Erik!” Charles sends a flashing memory of his victory to the older man with a cocky glare, “So ready to lose again?”
“You were distracting me with all your cheeriness, biscuits, and morning talk about the weather and whatnot, that doesn’t count,” Erik scoffs.
This earns a smirk from Charles as he clarifies, “So what I’m hearing is that I’m distracting. How generous of you.”
“Tsk tsk. Not very modest of you, Xavier. I’m getting the board,” Erik clicks his tongue in mock disapproval.
Charles moves to stand up, “Yes, well. I have to actually get up to go get the alcohol. Chardonnay?”
“You’re horrible. Beer, German. Or I’m not playing with you and your severe lack of taste,” Erik asserted.
Charles nods, “Picky much?” rushing out before Erik can counter. Naturally, this results in a string of too-quick half-hearted German curses pushed toward him. Not that he minded much. The accent was quite soothing, Charles thought, while searching through aged bottles. Unfamiliar syllables mixed with familiar sentiment felt quite comfortable, he decided. Every so often there was a word here or a phrase there that he understood. He never did truly learn the language, though. Maybe he’d been in Erik’s head more often than he thought. Either that, or the reverse.
Around thirty minutes later, or about thirty-two minutes to Erik’s count, Charles came back with one glass stacked on top of another in one hand and two bottles of opened Erdinger brand Leicht beer precariously held in the other. He was decidedly more flushed than when he left, much to Erik’s amusement. The chessboard, though, was nowhere to be seen.
Charles sat down elegantly, and separated the glasses, filling them up quickly and sliding one towards Erik. He smiled, “It’s good!”
“I know. You look like you had a whole bottle’s worth already. That what took you forever?” Erik questioned with a smile.
“Maybe. Where’s the board?” Charles said with a shrug.
Erik gestures with another wordless flick of the wrist as he grabs a glass with the other hand, swirling it around before leaning back and taking a sip. Consequently, the drawer of the white marble side table opens, leaving the much too ornate chess board to make its way to the table. The small silver-colored clasp on the alternating black marble and silver board flicked open, allowing the similarly colored pieces to rearrange themself on the board in a matter of seconds.
Charles’ thoughts of praise, wonder, and awe emanated off of him in waves. The only word that came to mind was suave, that, and “Groovy.”
Erik, just recently gaining accustomed to Charles’ open show of admiration, offered him a teasing smile. “Suave?”
Charles nodded with a small look of shock and responded sarcastically with a light flush, “Yes, Erik. You’re smooth, very nice. Let’s start,” that may have been either the beer or something else.
“You’re projecting, Charles,” Erik adds after a beat, “You’re playing white. Tradition.”
Charles concedes, “It’s not intentional. Is it annoying?” Charles sits forward and moves e4 with a small look of concern.
Erik shakes his head, “Not really… I’d stop you before,” he breaks off to return with c6 before adding, “It’s just surface level, right? When you’re not actively going at it.”
Charles nods solemnly. “Of course,” he returns with d4, adding with a barely there bitter undertone, “Is this for clarification’s sake or because you think I would… intrude?” All the while, a sharp burst of admiration floated towards Erik in contrast, with the only discernible thought being ‘Caro-Kann defense, Erik?’
Erik gives a wry smile, “Bit of both. Mostly the first? Trust doesn’t come naturally to me, Charles,” he laments, moving d5. Erik pushes a snarky mental response of ‘Maybe,’ and it’s a little too strong, but refreshingly stubborn as his spoken word always is.
“I suppose it’s safer that way. Nonreliant,” comes Charles’ response. He moves his knight to c3 and takes down half the glass. Returned back by means of telepathy is another compliment, ‘Ace.’
Erik sighs and says curtly, “You think me harsh,” playing dxe4 promptly on the offensive, taking Charles’ kingside pawn. He takes another sip.
Charles smiles, “I think you steadfast, Erik”. He plays xe4, taking Erik’s kingside pawn with his own queenside knight. “It’s, forgive me for being repetitive, admirable. Admirable, but.. severe. Jarring.”
Erik nods in understanding, moving his queenside knight, d7. “Ironic, coming from you. You’re so often anything but predictable. Too present. You don’t linger,” he returns, swallowing the rest of his glass.
Charles lazily drains his glass and pours Erik’s near full, then his own. “I can’t,” he says simply. “Emotions are a very powerful thing for anyone, but even more so for a telepath, my friend.” He moves c3, furthering Karpov’s Variation, and taking further control over the center. “Or rather, I can’t because I’ve learned that lingering is a trap so many fall into. Often times when it’s unjustified anger.”
“When is anger justified, Charles? After the damage is already done? In retaliation? Or proactively, to prevent damage from worsening?” Erik questioned aloud in a serene rhetorical, moving his kingside knight, gf6. He mulls it over, taking a small drink.
Charles laughs quietly, taking a similar-sized drink from his own glass. “Erik?” he asks after a beat, moving xf6+, his knight taking Erik’s kingside knight.
Erik smoothly slides his own knight, formerly-queenside, to take Charles’, playing xf6. “Hm?”
“Do you ever wonder what it’s like?” Charles moves his kingside bishop, d3.
“To?” Erik moves his queen, playing d5 in the top left square of the middle of the board. His eyes shine with a challenge as he takes another sip.
Charles drinks down half his glass, giving Erik a good-natured smirk, pushing the thought of ‘Nice try,’ towards him. Musingly, “To be like the others?” He moves f3, putting a secondary layer of protection in front of his room with the pawn.
Erik moves his black-marble bishop to f5, pushing towards him the resolute thought of ‘I’ve got no idea what you mean,’ while taking a sip. Incredulously, the verbalization comes, “To be human?” He empties the glass in one gulp.
Charles tilts his head ever so slightly, “No, well. Yes, that also, but no. To be able to settle down. Knowing we’ll be safe?” Charles moves his knight to e2 after a minute’s thought, then lets out a small sigh at the board.
Erik takes in a breath, “We, Charles?” He tips the rest of the first bottle into his glass, then with a small tap on the neck of the second glass bottle, grabs it. The top pops off, gracefully landing brand facing upwards on the table after a small single spin. He pours Charles’ now empty glass full. After a pause, he moves his bishop xd3 and takes Charles’, then leans back in the armrest to better gauge his reaction.
Charles sends him a thanks and quickly attacks Erik’s queen and bishop with his knight moving to f4. “You and I,” Charles starts. “Don’t give me that look, I haven’t finished my sentence. You and I, the children. They need us to take care of them, whether they admit it or not.”
Erik stills for a moment and then leans forward again with his gaze cast down at the board. A minute passes. A minute and a half, to Erik’s count of the metal tick of Charles’ pale gray watch. He leans back again. “You’ve forked me,” he says in a tone of mild inconvenience while looking back to the younger man, mind racing.
Charles offers him a smile. “It always was your choices that paved the road.” He takes a drink and makes a small hum in appreciation.
Erik nods, “It seems like it.” He moves his queen defensively to g5, putting up a shield around his kingside pieces.
“Erik, my friend. We might need another round,” he nods to the half-empty second bottle.
“Wait,” he says. “Make your move.”
Charles stops. He moves his queen to xd3.
“We,” Erik starts, moving his knight to d5 to attack Charles’. Charles sees a flicker of revenge laced into the move. The knight must be upset that the bishop and queen were attacked earlier. Erik, all the same, continues, “We can wait until it’s empty.”
Charles moves his pawn, g3. “If you say so.” He takes a sip from his glass, looking at Erik searchingly.
Erik moves e6. “Do you dream, Charles?” He swirls his glass once, twice, thrice, and pleasantly takes a sip.
Charles moves his queen to e2. “Don’t you?” He takes a drink. “Even if they’re not common, they do count.”
“They’re rare,” Erik responds evenly. He takes Charles’ last knight with his own, moving xf4.
Charles swiftly takes the last knight on the board off with his bishop, evening the score once more with xf4. “Cherished,” he says in agreement.
Erik says, “What’re yours of?” He moves his queen to d5 and takes a drink.
“When they’re comprehensible? This and that. Encounters, things, people. Events. Thoughts. Not just mine,” Charles wrinkles his nose, “which is rather annoying.” He moves his bishop to e5.
“Are they ever of settling down? Peace for mutantkind attained and living the domestic life?” Erik says, moving his pawn to f6.
Charles laughs quietly. “Do I seem the type?” He moves his bishop back to f4 with a teasing smile.
Erik takes a drink. He pauses for a second, then gives him an indulgent smile. “Sure. You’d have a job on the side, no?”
Charles hums softly in thought. “In the dreams or in a hypothetical?”
Erik castles queenside and finds himself responding on instinct, “Hypothetical,” then silently curses himself for it.
Charles castles kingside and pushes airy thoughts of sympathy toward Erik. “Something to help our kind anyway. I don’t think I’d have it in me to do anything else.”
“You could teach. You’re good with the kids,” Erik moves his remaining bishop to d6 and empties his glass.
“Children just want to be heard, my friend. Ours are no different,” he reasons, taking a sip and leaving his glass at a quarter full. He moves his bishop to e3. “What would you do?”
Erik moves a pawn to e5. “I don’t know. How at peace are we in the hypothetical?”
Charles clicks his tongue and moves dxe5, taking Erik’s pawn and emptying his glass. “You’re thinking too critically, Erik.”
“I have to know the scenario, don’t I?” He challenges. “How else do I make the choice?” Erik moves his queen xe5 to take Charles’ pawn.
“Erik.” Charles gives him a reproachful look.
“I don’t. Know. Charles. I can barely imagine what settling down is.” With a start, he realizes that they’ve at some point drained the second bottle. “There aren’t many places that respond well to people who are proud of who they are.”
Charles responds on instinct, “You’re always welcome here, my friend.” Charles moves his queen to f2 and flashes a smile mixed with hope and trust.
“I’ll go grab more,” Erik says abruptly, nodding to the empty bottles. He moves his farthest queenside pawn forward to a6, then stands up and strolls out. Charles’ voice settles in his mind after a few quick seconds, providing directions he knows Erik most likely doesn’t need. The accent is crisp and rather posh, but comfortable, laced with phrases only common in the Queen’s English. If it were anyone else, Erik realizes, he would be on edge.