Wondering but never asking. How do you survive, my friend. [ Once, Erik supposes, he survived on telepathy, gently brushing over the cusp of someone's mind and drawing out their thoughts, learning what he needed without breaching too much of their privacy. Learning to swim the ocean of human interaction without the mutated boost must be more than difficult for him.
The words, though, oh, they make Erik shift, leaning back a little. Does he mean well? He wants his kind to be free from tyranny, from anger, from pain, he wants them to be able to live their lives without people cutting them down, kidnapping them, experimenting on them. He wants mutants to be able to come out of hiding, step forward and be free, and what do they get? People like Trask that end up creating a world they have to save. It's disgusting. ] I have always wanted what is best for our kind. That has never changed, not in the years since we last saw each other, Charles.
[ He supposes it makes sense, though, that Charles keeps some things to himself. Erik is more than likely going to break his heart again no matter what happens; he has never been capable of handling fragile things -- and he's sure that Charles' heart, once strong and powerful, has taken such a beating that anything more would shatter it beyond repair. He cannot handle the thought of that happening, of him being the cause of Charles drawing into himself again. The very idea makes him feel sickly.
Charles' lips press against his skin and he feels like a new person.
His movements are slow, unsure, careful, his thumb brushing over what little parts of Charles' skin it can reach before he moves. The chess board between them shivers a little with the humming pleasure Erik feels, contentment swelling through him for the first time in a decade, and he lifts himself up barely, pushing over the table. He doesn't do much, just stares at Charles for a moment before he leaves a single, tender kiss against his forehead, his eyes flickering closed - and then he sits back, squeezing the other man's hand gently. ]
Perhaps you can take care of mine while you're at it.
[The truth of it is there hasn't been much interaction since the school closed, but he has no desire to reveal how low he'd actually sunk. He keeps quiet, lips tugging up in a quick, placating smile, before shrinking away again.
He thinks he hasn't been very good at taking care of things. He couldn't protect his students from the world crashing down around them, could barely manage to look after himself most days. Now he's expected to help avert humanity from being wiped out.
And Erik looks so much like he did those quiet, amber lit nights in the study together as he closes the gap to kiss him. He watches the chess pieces shiver and knows that despite saying he never wanted back in his head he didn't really need his telepathy right now to know that it sincere. Erik wasn't the sort of person to be light about sentiment.]
I think I could manage that.
[There's a slight rock in turbulence and slumbering Canadians - pretend or otherwise - jolt upright. Charles doesn't pull his hand away but he gives Erik a look that intimates if they want to discuss anything further, it should probably be done when they have more privacy.]
[ A part of Erik appreciates the knowledge that Charles can't slip into his mind. He never hated the other man's mutation, for all that he warned him to stay out of his head; it was simply because he knew his mind was a dark, desolate place to be, a broken, tangled mire of thoughts and nightmares that someone as innocent and gentle as Charles had no place wading through. He would be caught on a thorn of something from when Erik was still a child growing under the eyes of scientists and Shaw and never quite recover from the pictures that would be burned against the back of his eyelids (the way Erik still suffered, now).
But he knew that Charles was stronger than that -- it had simply taken him some time to realise it. That was why he was glad that Charles couldn't pick up on his thoughts because Erik imagines that the sheer weight of the love flickering through his mind, the way his internal voice was screaming it, a pulsing beat in the heart of his brain, would be enough to deafen even the most careful and clinical of telepaths. The last thing Erik had ever wanted was to hurt Charles - and he had so often failed at it that he wondered why he tried to avoid it anymore.
Still. Still. He squeezes the fingers against his own and nods his head, leaning back and letting his leg reach out to rub between Charles', enjoying the knowledge that this, at least, the other man would feel, would know and understand. They might not be able to speak too openly now, not with their cute little guard dog listening as if he cared, but he could still give signs, little nods. He could show Charles he meant what he said. ]
I'd like to think that, of anyone in the world, you would be the most capable, my friend.
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The words, though, oh, they make Erik shift, leaning back a little. Does he mean well? He wants his kind to be free from tyranny, from anger, from pain, he wants them to be able to live their lives without people cutting them down, kidnapping them, experimenting on them. He wants mutants to be able to come out of hiding, step forward and be free, and what do they get? People like Trask that end up creating a world they have to save. It's disgusting. ] I have always wanted what is best for our kind. That has never changed, not in the years since we last saw each other, Charles.
[ He supposes it makes sense, though, that Charles keeps some things to himself. Erik is more than likely going to break his heart again no matter what happens; he has never been capable of handling fragile things -- and he's sure that Charles' heart, once strong and powerful, has taken such a beating that anything more would shatter it beyond repair. He cannot handle the thought of that happening, of him being the cause of Charles drawing into himself again. The very idea makes him feel sickly.
Charles' lips press against his skin and he feels like a new person.
His movements are slow, unsure, careful, his thumb brushing over what little parts of Charles' skin it can reach before he moves. The chess board between them shivers a little with the humming pleasure Erik feels, contentment swelling through him for the first time in a decade, and he lifts himself up barely, pushing over the table. He doesn't do much, just stares at Charles for a moment before he leaves a single, tender kiss against his forehead, his eyes flickering closed - and then he sits back, squeezing the other man's hand gently. ]
Perhaps you can take care of mine while you're at it.
no subject
He thinks he hasn't been very good at taking care of things. He couldn't protect his students from the world crashing down around them, could barely manage to look after himself most days. Now he's expected to help avert humanity from being wiped out.
And Erik looks so much like he did those quiet, amber lit nights in the study together as he closes the gap to kiss him. He watches the chess pieces shiver and knows that despite saying he never wanted back in his head he didn't really need his telepathy right now to know that it sincere. Erik wasn't the sort of person to be light about sentiment.]
I think I could manage that.
[There's a slight rock in turbulence and slumbering Canadians - pretend or otherwise - jolt upright. Charles doesn't pull his hand away but he gives Erik a look that intimates if they want to discuss anything further, it should probably be done when they have more privacy.]
no subject
But he knew that Charles was stronger than that -- it had simply taken him some time to realise it. That was why he was glad that Charles couldn't pick up on his thoughts because Erik imagines that the sheer weight of the love flickering through his mind, the way his internal voice was screaming it, a pulsing beat in the heart of his brain, would be enough to deafen even the most careful and clinical of telepaths. The last thing Erik had ever wanted was to hurt Charles - and he had so often failed at it that he wondered why he tried to avoid it anymore.
Still. Still. He squeezes the fingers against his own and nods his head, leaning back and letting his leg reach out to rub between Charles', enjoying the knowledge that this, at least, the other man would feel, would know and understand. They might not be able to speak too openly now, not with their cute little guard dog listening as if he cared, but he could still give signs, little nods. He could show Charles he meant what he said. ]
I'd like to think that, of anyone in the world, you would be the most capable, my friend.