Chapter Text
It's stuffy. As it always is on the tube. Charles sighs, rubbing a hand over his groggy face and cursing the delightfully smelling old woman at Boots for promising that this face cream will definitely bring some colour to your cheeks, duck. It made his face smell like piss and stung when he put it on after severe stubble rash. Damn her and her flash lashes to hell.
He makes a noise like some kind of monster from one of Raven's favourite shows and blinks at his watch. There aren't any little numbers.
What time is it? Six? Seven?
Charles doesn’t know, frankly, he doesn’t care. It’s not like anyone at the university gives a bloody sod whether he’s late or not. God, it infuriates him to no end that despite how much work he's done for them, how much work he's done for the human genome, Lisa from PR still called him Chad. Oh yes, just Chad here from Oxford.
The point is, it's far too early in the morning for anybody in their right mind to possibly assume Charles was capable of rational and sensible thinking. Unless it's grumbling. He was a pretty fantastic grumbler.
He starts to lean forward slightly, body heavy with sleep. He can never fall asleep before midnight most nights and usually wakes up at five so this was an usual sight for the other passengers. They take no notice, having seen this happen far too often for it to be spectacle.
Everybody on this particular tube knew a little bit about their fellow commuters. Charles knew that Henry Pilston, sat opposite him, almost always carried a flask of instant coffee and a copy of The Guardian with him. Christina, precisely three seats down from him, always matched her lips and her nails and that she was itching to take Charles clothes shopping. The countless once overs she had given him over the past few months had told him that. There was Abdul, with his grime music playing so loud it was a wonder he still smiled at Charles, Erica, who constantly talked to her best friend on the phone, winking at him as she shook her full fringe out her face.
They were familiar with each other, they all knew that Charles would sit in the fifth carriage, the seat closest to the plastic panel, and as soon as they past Tooting Bec that he’d be out like a light. It was just a collective thing.
That being said, one would’ve thought the buggers would have at least warned him about the stranger who sat on his left.
Bastards.
Charles was blissfully unaware of his surroundings, briefcase secured between his feet and his jacket collar turned up. He fell asleep with his face smushed against the glass, as was his tradition.
Except he didn’t.
He drifted slowly into consciousness when the insufferable voice declared “Stockwell" and the first thing he saw was shirt. Shirt and jacket, to be more precise. Shirt, tie, jacket, chin, pecs. Pecs.
Bloody bollocks.
Charles jerked back to stare the man-pillow in the eye, mortified.
His pillow was staring at him with an eyebrow quirked and an insufferably handsome smirk playing on his ruggedly gorgeous face.
For gods sake man, calm down. He thought frantically at his beating heart.
That, however, was easier said than done. Especially when he took notice of his pillows eyes. Fuck me, Charles thought. This man was gorgeous. He had one of those faces that were made for television, made to be in some kind of glorified regency show, kissing dainty ladies' hands and bowing.
And Charles had drooled on his shirt.
"Oh my, bloody hell, I’m so sorry! Gosh, Xavier. I assure I will get that sorted for you," Charles rambled as he patted his jacket down for a business card to give the man.
The man just smirked at him and opened his mouth to reply-
"Charlie!" boomed a loud voice. Charles groaned and pulled a face, at which his pillow looked confused at.
Sod it all to hell. Today was just getting worse by the second.
Straining his face into a convincing smile, Charles turned from his handsome stranger to look at his work colleague.
"Kevin!" He cries with evident false cheer. Kevin grins at him from opposite the carriage.
Charles represses a shudder as he looks at the man. Kevin Elding was ten years his senior, a receding hair line and small bump of a belly implying to all his age, somewhere in the mid-thirties.
He was a typical lads lad. He drank too much at office parties, became far too touchy/feely for anybody to be comfortable around and popped out demeaning and narrow minded jokes like he had a handbook of them in his breast pocket. But then agin, he was exactly the type of man that probably did.
Now it’s a well known fact, in his incredibly small circle of friends, that Charles Xavier does not do well with relationships.
He’s a terrible partner, he barely has time for anybody, not even his sister. He misunderstands everybody and their mother. He’s boring, dull and fascinatingly dense. Honestly speaking, Charles knows he was not meant for relationships.
That does not, however, make it okay for Kevin to blatantly oggle his arse and repeatedly ask him round for dinner.
At first Charles was flattered by the attention, never having gotten it of that sort before. He’d play along, flirt with Kevin, drop innuendos like he was laying eggs.
At first it had been alright.
And then Charles had made it glaringly obvious he wasn’t interested, he’d even apologized if it seemed like he had been leading the poor man on. He took in his stride, accepting that perhaps he and Charles could still remain friends.
That had lasted for less than a week.
First it was texts. Then phone calls. Then home visits. (Admittedly this was only twice and Kevin had said he was in the neighborhood but it still unnerved him.)
They weren’t harassing, they weren’t threats. They were just very annoying and very obtuse. It was as though Kevin had completely forgotten that they had agree’d to a professional-only relationships, and Charles would receive incredibly inappropriate texts for three am in the morning.
Charles hated it, it made him squirm and he wished with all he was that Kevin could just forget about him.
Of course irony is his best friend and of course Kevin would be sitting opposite him on the forty five minute commute to work, glaring at the man he had just drooled on as though he had just personally insulted his mother and then jumped her bones.
"Who’s your friend?" Kevin says, with a voice like ice. Charles panics, he looks from Kevin to Pillow-man. Pillow-man keeps smirking, as though the entire ordeal has amused him greatly.
"Uh, uhm, that is- This is-"
"Erik. Erik Lensherr." Pillow-man says smoothly, turning that smirk on Kevin and holding his hand out.
Kevin looks between Charles and Erik. And Charles does his best to smile at him.
Charles was bloody shocked, but he knew better than to stare a gift horse in the mouth. Even if said mouth, was tempting in ways that should be illegal to poor, unsuspecting, graduates like Charles.
If he’s lucky this will only mean a couple extra text messages. If he’s not- Well- Charles doesn’t quite want to think about how annoying his life would become.
After a moment, Kevin takes his hand. Charles can’t help but glance at their handshake, noting the differences. Kevin had a dollop of mayo it looked like on the edge of his sleeve, Erik on the other hand, had a crisp suit, tailored perfectly to the length of his arm, and gleaming cufflinks on his sleeve.
"Kevin Elding." He says slowly, slinking back into his chair before dashing forward again and narrowing his eyes. “Doctor, Kevin Elding."
Erik just grinned at him.
It was all far too intense for the tube and Charles was going out his bloody mind trying not to groan in frustration.
"So, Charles," Kevin starts, his glare slipping away from Erik’s smug face fo focus on Charles. He almost breathes a sigh of relief, relaxing slightly as the tension oozes away from them. “Want to come back to my place after work today?" Charles chokes. He can’t help himself he starts coughing. How bloody blunt. Fucking Elding and his fucking nerve. Bloody twat. And in front of Charles’ Pillow-man too!
Charles is panicking. He flits from Erik to Kevin, mind trying to come up with something, anything, so that Erik doesn’t get the wrong idea. Because yes, it seem’s that Charles, the twenty four year old Ph.D Oxford graduate had a school girls crush on a man he had just met on the tube.
Charles feels an arm slide around his shoulders and he turns to look at Erik bewildered. The man leans towards him and angles his head slightly. To Thomas, or anybody opposite them, the gesture looks sweet, romantic almost.
"Play along," comes a heated whisper in his ear and Charles forces himself to think of anything but how much it turned him on. Grannies. Simon Cowells boob's. Jedward. Katie Price.
"Charles darling, I didn’t know you had plans tonight. I was going to take you to that new restaurent over at Canary Wharf, you know which one?" Erik slumps slightly, the movement bringing Charles closer into his embrace.
Kevin's fuming, staring daggers at Erik like he could kill the man by sheer force of will alone.
Meanwhile in Charles’ mind, however:
Oh my god. He’s touching me. He has his arm around me. Do not get starstruck, Xavier. The mans not even famous. Xavier, get your bloody head out his arse. This kind behavior is reserved for the likes of the Duchess of Cambridge. Not even Boris got this reaction out of you. Bloody hell, he smells nice doesn’t he. Don’t lean in, don’t lean in, don’t lean it. God dammit, his pec is so comfy.
"Uh, yes. Heard mixed reviews." Charles finally manages. Erik has a peculiar look on his face and his smirk has widened into something slightly more genuine.
Erik looks back at Kevin and as he moves his arm to grasp Charles hand tightly he says, “Sorry, seems we can’t make it. Another time?"
With every small circle Erik rubs into Charles’ hand with his thumb, Kevin's eye twitches and Charles most definitely does not purr a tiny bit.
"The next station is Moorgate. Change here for Circle, Hammersmith and City, and Metropolitan lines."
Charles jerks back.
He can’t even think straight. The tube is slowing down and in less than a minute he’s going to have to somehow say goodbye to his ‘boyfriend’.
Erik takes the worry out his hands when he grabs his face and pulls him in for a kiss.
The moment their lips meet Charles is fairly sure he let out a moan but he can barely focus on any thing other than the feel of Erik’s lips moving against his, his stubble sliding against his smooth chin. His strong hands under his jacket, putting what Charles presumes is his business card in his pocket.
"I’ll see you tonight." Erik says winking, and Charles is so caught up he truly believes it.
Mysterious Pillow-man just kissed me.
He stumbles out the carriage with barely any time left at all and turns to smile dopey at Kevin.
The carriage pulls away and Charles shakes his head, trying to rid the lightheadedness.
Thomas doesn’t talk to him the whole way to the offices. Charles tries very hard not to do a groovy dance in the elevator.
He can barely bloody believe it. Things like that don’t happen to Charles. And yet, it just did.
Sitting in the comfort of his desk, papers scattered idly and willy nilly about Charles brings out the card.
Erik Lehnsherr
C.E.O Magneto Industries
Chemical, Electrical and Aerospace Engineering
Charles stifles a manly scream.
He managed to bag himself the CEO of a global 500 company.
Charles flails a little bit on his swivel chair before whipping out his phone and doing what any self-respecting PR Director, getting paid by the deadline, with a promotion on the fence, in his position would do.
That’s right, he phones his little sister and spends three hours straight telling her absolutely everything.