Work Text:
“Excuse me, but….am I too latte?”
Erik frowns, looking up from the five stainless steel milk pitchers that are currently under his supervision and churning with frothy milk. There’s a customer in a wheelchair next to the pick-up point, and his wide grin and arched eyebrow give him away as the culprit who just unleashed that appalling line on Erik. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Erik says, because he’s sure he heard wrongly.
The customer’s grin falters a little, but he arches his neck so he can get a clear view of Erik over the espresso machine. “I said, am I too ‘latte’. Well, it’s a joke, really,” he explains, as Erik floats one of the milk pitchers over to a very amused Darwin for him to make a cappuccino. “Because I know your shift ends in a few minutes and I was rather hoping to get a coffee made by you.” The customer is studying Erik very intently, playing with the frayed ends of his blue scarf. Erik should not find it endearing, because the guy’s lines are really horrifically appalling, but there’s something in the way he’s smiling at Erik, sheepish and earnest.
Then it all suddenly comes back to Erik in a rush. It’s that British guy who works at the faculty of mutant studies nearby, a lunchtime regular along with that blue-skinned girl who is always scolding him for wearing tweed.
“Hey, Charles?” Angel calls over from the register, and the customer looks over at her. “You forgot your change! You gave me a fifty.”
“Oops.” The man - Charles - wheels himself back to the counter with flushed cheeks, taking his change from a giggling Angel. Behind the counter, all of Erik’s colleagues are giving him shit-eating grins: Azazel, Janos, even Emma is smirking as she counts the number of coffee bean bags for their stocktake. Erik would dearly love to scald all of them with the milk he’s steaming.
“Right, where were we?” Charles is back, watching Erik floating the pitchers over to various cups with wide eyes. “Such a marvellous mutation you have. Telekinesis?”
There is a choked cough somewhere, and Erik glares over at his colleagues who are watching this exchange with barely suppressed laughter. “I can manipulate metal and magnetic fields.” He finishes pouring the last of the milk into a steel tumbler marked ‘C.F.X’ and belatedly realises that this must be Charles’ latte. It is purely a coincidence that the foam has formed the shape of a heart.
“How utterly magnificent.” Charles’ voice is pure, dripping honey, and when Erik looks up again, he realises Charles is closer than he thinks, peeking over the counter. “That explains why you’re so magnetic.”
Erik doesn’t know how to respond to that. In the meantime, his colleagues have escaped to the kitchen, probably to laugh their asses off, leaving him alone to deal with cheesy handsome professors who have terrible lines and terrible flirting skills. Erik wants to be rude, but he can’t quite bring himself to destroy that hopeful, mischievous smile that has no right to be so...disarming. Charles doesn’t mean any harm, after all. This is the first time he’s spoken to Erik directly, after months of longing looks and lingering glances. And Erik has to admit that Charles is ridiculously charming in a way that makes Erik want to peel off that tweed suit and see what’s underneath.
I certainly wouldn’t object to that, an amused voice says in his head.