[ Erik himself was never given much option when it came to clothing, of hiding his marks. No, he was shoved into white, metal bereft clothing and shoved into a plastic cell where he was barely capable of breathing properly for the first few months; being without his mutation, his senses, was like being robbed of who he was and it took far, far too long for him to get accustomed to it. He cared very little if the guards saw the markings on his arm, the black scar that reminded him of his history and the red-raw one, the one he could never quite bring himself to hate. It was as much of a safety net as it was a torturous reminder.
The plane ride is smoother, now, that he has calmed, his sleeves heavy around his wrists. The marks on his arm are adjacent to the numbers that are a vigil on his skin, a reminder of why he fights, and he barely thinks of them until Charles moves, leaning back and rolling down his sleeves. His mouth goes dry and he's forced to swallow, feeling his own wrist almost pulse with the need to reach out, to see, to wonder if he isn't as alone as he had thought he was. Instead, he reaches out and moves a pawn, tilting his head and flicking his eyes up to look at the other man.
He might not be able to look, but he could ask, in his own way. ]
I'm sure Beast will have a coat of some kind if you're cold, Charles.
[A moment of 'who?' flits across his expression, but then he hasn't heard the little used code name since Alex left for Vietnam.] Hank's a little busy at the moment. [The name of his friend isn't said with any pointedness, but given how intimate he's become with his issues in the past decade, he'll call him the name he wishes to use.
In the meantime, a rook gets slid into a risky space. He tries not to think about how those damn love marks can change depending on if the person falls in and out of love with you. He thinks about anything else. He would talk about anything else, too, but there's not a lot to talk about with a man who's been in solitary confinement other than the past and - well. Maybe that was best left alone for a while.
It's only when he sees Logan nodding off in the corner (or pretending, he can't be sure) that he replies:] But I'll be happy to fetch you something if you're feeling the chill.
[It's like a really vague, overly cautious I know what I am, but what does that make you.]
[ He shakes his head at the reminder of Hank's human name; of course, Hank McCoy, genius scientist that helped create the venom that cards through Charles' blood and blocks of his mutation. He doesn't blame his old friend anymore, not for what he chose to do; to sleep, he thinks, is a very good reason to block your mind. His own nightmares cast darkness over his own attempts at it more often than not and to have something that would erase them, for a time? It would be a blessing indeed.
He shakes his head, moving a bishop out to take the rook - it was a foolish move, risky, and he imagines Charles has some kind of backup, he always does. He considers skipping this rather depressing foreplay and simply rolling up his sleeves, showing off his mark to Charles, to show the deep impression of the mark on his skin. He cannot tell, now, if the line is red or black, ingrained as it is in his skin; it's been ten years and a handful of months and he's sure it's been there, without fail, since he'd first noticed it.
He made the first move in coming to talk, to offer a drink and a game. Erik demands, even if it's simply to himself, that Charles makes the next one. ]
I've spent ten years in a plastic cell, Charles, with no blankets or coats to be seen. I no longer feel the cold.
[ His eyes return to lift and look at the man, curious. It's true enough, no short of a lie; the plastic had been cold and unyielding, especially in the first few months, but like his loss of power Erik had learned to adapt. He survived. He's here to fight another day and that seems to be more than enough for now. ]
Besides, this is the first time I've worn my own clothing in some time. I'm enjoying the liberty.
[He usually does. He hasn't played in a long, long time and where he used to be good at focusing on people and tasks, he finds himself distracted by the presence of Erik. Or maybe just Erik in his entirety. He remembers, too, the days he would have made some cheeky retort about Erik's clothes and liberty (or the act of liberating them) during a game like this. A part of him that he doesn't indulge often aches for them to be those young men again.
He sighs; this is depressing and it is tiring. His eyes flick over to the corner where Logan is possibly dosing, before craning his head to check Hank is busy with flying the plane instead of eavesdropping. Once he's satisfied, his hand reaches over the table and stills Erik's, before turning it over palm up. He doesn't say anything but he keeps his gaze while he does so. It's a fine balance of making sure he hasn't overstepped while at the same time daring - daring something.]
[ He's about to continue talking, to bury the silence with his own words, when Charles reaches between them and touches his own hand, twisting it so that his wrist is pointing skywards rather than hidden against the faux wood (he knows plastic too well now) of the table between them. He pauses, momentarily, before he looks up and wonders. Does Charles want the answer - really want it? Or is he deluding himself into thinking he wants something that he is afraid to hear the answer of?
Either way there is, really, only one thing that Erik can do. ]
Do you really care about what I felt, Charles? Or do you want to look? If you have a question I'd much rather you simply spit it out.
[ He turns, fingers brushing against the other man's palm, before he uses his free hand to roll up his sleeve, baring his skin to Charles. The scar is there, as familiar as ever; a love in a life he has chosen to forget. The second is still there, too, the one that he knew whispered Xavier against his skin long before he ever dared admit it to himself. Lifting his head, he finally looks over again. ]
No. [Erik's mark is red turning black, like water colours bleeding together and Charles cups either side of his arm. His thumbs smoothing around the edges of what might as well be his heart laid bare.] But I wasn't wondering what you were feeling.
[God only knows he's tried his best to fall out of love - with distance, by ruminating on Erik's crimes, and eventually by chasing the bottom of the glass. He'd even managed to succeed in deadening that part of himself for a period of time, if the red was anything to go by. But now it's coming back and happy - happy is the wrong word. He feels like he's let a mountain form on top of him and now some process of erosion has begun.
He keeps his gaze averted and his hands slide back, but not so far that Erik isn't welcome to take a look at Charles' arm for himself.]
You wanted to check your own, I suppose. Using me again, Charles? [ He raises a brow, watching as the other man strokes fingers along the marks on his wrist. He's not like other people he's seen in his time, littered with little red marks, black ones and, rarely, scars. He doesn't love easily and when he does? It is lengthy, strong, eternal. It's why the mark for Charles on his wrist hasn't faded in the ten years.
Reaching out, Erik's fingers wrap around Charles' wrist, but he doesn't urge him to move or show anything. He just rests there, feeling a pulse under his fingertips before he breathes out, bowing his head. Just a touch makes him feel more alight than he has in a very long time and he leans forward, blinking as he - well, stares. He can't stop looking at Charles, drinking him in, the first taste of him he's had in what feels like an eternity. He can almost feel as the mark on his skin flickers between one and two, trying to settle on how it feels Charles feels.
He pauses, then he moves his hand back, brushing his fingers over Charles' and resisting the urge to hold his hand. ]
You can see how I feel, Charles. It hasn't changed.
[Using him - Charles shoots him a look that communicates do either of us really want to go down the road of accusations again so clearly, he may as well be in full possession of his mutation.] Mostly I'm undecided on whether I can trust you.
[Messages from the future and the Kennedy assassination aside, the hurt he feels has become almost as companion-like as Hank. And while you can have love without trust, it's the sort of love that wrecks a person and he's already had his fill.] Not with any of this, of course. [It's something he feels he should clarify. No matter how twisted Erik might make the solution, he doesn't for a second think he would jeopardize the future of mutantkind. He lets his gaze flick away to the window.] You know what I mean.
[He's unsure if he's ready to open himself back up to something like what they once had.
- but his fingertips brush back against Erik's and there's a faint thrill, a reminder of the intensity he once felt. He glances back, eyes softening, and he looks like he's on the verge of saying something but doesn't. Some tiny morsel of whatever is changing the colour of Erik's scar is hell bent on clawing its way to the surface.]
[ It takes a little moment or two for Erik to work out what, exactly, Charles is making references to. He didn't believe for a moment that Charles would trust him, of course, beyond what promises he could make, but he knows himself to be a man that keeps his word - for whatever it's worth. He leans back, the pulse of the chess board and it's metal feeling like an anchor swimming in the uncertainty between the two of them. ]
I'd like to think that you could, on all matters, Charles. [ It's true that he has caused Charles pain beyond imagining, he's not fool enough to try and dismiss that, but all the same he has never, once, lied or broken a vow. He had told Charles plainly that he had intended to kill Shaw and, so, he did. He turned from him because of the fact that he had been wrong in the idea that he and Charles wanted the same things from their futures; they wouldn't be together, but apart, and that was how the world had to be. He had been mistaken, hoping that the blackredburn of the mark on his arm would be enough for the both of them.
Instead of works Erik moves, sliding his fingers against Charles' and turning his hand so he can link to press his palm against the other man's, thumb brushing against his skin as his eyes flicker up, over his face, words poised on both their tongues that neither of them dare speak. For a moment he's silent before he tilts his head and offers a soft, worn smile. ] Are you asking if you can trust me with your heart, old friend?
Wondering, perhaps. [He closes his eyes at the feeling of hand on hand, looking almost peaceful. Even in his darkest moments of cursing at Erik, some part of him had longed for something this simple again.]
You mean well. [He opens his eyes again, mouth curving at the corners slight and sad.] I didn't want to believe that before because it made it easier, but you do. [Although, granted, distance and time had helped in building him up as the monster that he'd scorned when Logan brought up the subject. That's also what makes it worse - knowing that Erik doesn't go about harming people because he's evil, but because he thinks he's doing what's best.
And so, Charles comes to a conclusion] I'll trust myself with my heart. [Because he can't think of a world where Erik can both be Erik and make such a promise. At least not yet. Either the promise gets bent - likely in the face of the next ideological crisis - and it causes Charles more grief. Or it gets broken and it's a case of who would be more disappointed. He can accept that, now.
Love isn't seeing only the good in a person and hoping it'll shine through, but loving their entirety.
Something catches his attention from the corner of his eye, however, and he examines Erik's scar again. The red is wholly disappearing. The small resolve isn't an end to the quagmire he's fallen into these past few years, but it feels like a part of him has knitted back together. He lifts Erik's knuckles to his lips and brushes a kiss on them.]
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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no subject
The plane ride is smoother, now, that he has calmed, his sleeves heavy around his wrists. The marks on his arm are adjacent to the numbers that are a vigil on his skin, a reminder of why he fights, and he barely thinks of them until Charles moves, leaning back and rolling down his sleeves. His mouth goes dry and he's forced to swallow, feeling his own wrist almost pulse with the need to reach out, to see, to wonder if he isn't as alone as he had thought he was. Instead, he reaches out and moves a pawn, tilting his head and flicking his eyes up to look at the other man.
He might not be able to look, but he could ask, in his own way. ]
I'm sure Beast will have a coat of some kind if you're cold, Charles.
no subject
In the meantime, a rook gets slid into a risky space. He tries not to think about how those damn love marks can change depending on if the person falls in and out of love with you. He thinks about anything else. He would talk about anything else, too, but there's not a lot to talk about with a man who's been in solitary confinement other than the past and - well. Maybe that was best left alone for a while.
It's only when he sees Logan nodding off in the corner (or pretending, he can't be sure) that he replies:] But I'll be happy to fetch you something if you're feeling the chill.
[It's like a really vague, overly cautious I know what I am, but what does that make you.]
no subject
He shakes his head, moving a bishop out to take the rook - it was a foolish move, risky, and he imagines Charles has some kind of backup, he always does. He considers skipping this rather depressing foreplay and simply rolling up his sleeves, showing off his mark to Charles, to show the deep impression of the mark on his skin. He cannot tell, now, if the line is red or black, ingrained as it is in his skin; it's been ten years and a handful of months and he's sure it's been there, without fail, since he'd first noticed it.
He made the first move in coming to talk, to offer a drink and a game. Erik demands, even if it's simply to himself, that Charles makes the next one. ]
I've spent ten years in a plastic cell, Charles, with no blankets or coats to be seen. I no longer feel the cold.
[ His eyes return to lift and look at the man, curious. It's true enough, no short of a lie; the plastic had been cold and unyielding, especially in the first few months, but like his loss of power Erik had learned to adapt. He survived. He's here to fight another day and that seems to be more than enough for now. ]
Besides, this is the first time I've worn my own clothing in some time. I'm enjoying the liberty.
no subject
He sighs; this is depressing and it is tiring. His eyes flick over to the corner where Logan is possibly dosing, before craning his head to check Hank is busy with flying the plane instead of eavesdropping. Once he's satisfied, his hand reaches over the table and stills Erik's, before turning it over palm up. He doesn't say anything but he keeps his gaze while he does so. It's a fine balance of making sure he hasn't overstepped while at the same time daring - daring something.]
Only the cold?
no subject
Either way there is, really, only one thing that Erik can do. ]
Do you really care about what I felt, Charles? Or do you want to look? If you have a question I'd much rather you simply spit it out.
[ He turns, fingers brushing against the other man's palm, before he uses his free hand to roll up his sleeve, baring his skin to Charles. The scar is there, as familiar as ever; a love in a life he has chosen to forget. The second is still there, too, the one that he knew whispered Xavier against his skin long before he ever dared admit it to himself. Lifting his head, he finally looks over again. ]
Are you happy now?
no subject
[God only knows he's tried his best to fall out of love - with distance, by ruminating on Erik's crimes, and eventually by chasing the bottom of the glass. He'd even managed to succeed in deadening that part of himself for a period of time, if the red was anything to go by. But now it's coming back and happy - happy is the wrong word. He feels like he's let a mountain form on top of him and now some process of erosion has begun.
He keeps his gaze averted and his hands slide back, but not so far that Erik isn't welcome to take a look at Charles' arm for himself.]
no subject
Reaching out, Erik's fingers wrap around Charles' wrist, but he doesn't urge him to move or show anything. He just rests there, feeling a pulse under his fingertips before he breathes out, bowing his head. Just a touch makes him feel more alight than he has in a very long time and he leans forward, blinking as he - well, stares. He can't stop looking at Charles, drinking him in, the first taste of him he's had in what feels like an eternity. He can almost feel as the mark on his skin flickers between one and two, trying to settle on how it feels Charles feels.
He pauses, then he moves his hand back, brushing his fingers over Charles' and resisting the urge to hold his hand. ]
You can see how I feel, Charles. It hasn't changed.
no subject
[Messages from the future and the Kennedy assassination aside, the hurt he feels has become almost as companion-like as Hank. And while you can have love without trust, it's the sort of love that wrecks a person and he's already had his fill.] Not with any of this, of course. [It's something he feels he should clarify. No matter how twisted Erik might make the solution, he doesn't for a second think he would jeopardize the future of mutantkind. He lets his gaze flick away to the window.] You know what I mean.
[He's unsure if he's ready to open himself back up to something like what they once had.
- but his fingertips brush back against Erik's and there's a faint thrill, a reminder of the intensity he once felt. He glances back, eyes softening, and he looks like he's on the verge of saying something but doesn't. Some tiny morsel of whatever is changing the colour of Erik's scar is hell bent on clawing its way to the surface.]
no subject
I'd like to think that you could, on all matters, Charles. [ It's true that he has caused Charles pain beyond imagining, he's not fool enough to try and dismiss that, but all the same he has never, once, lied or broken a vow. He had told Charles plainly that he had intended to kill Shaw and, so, he did. He turned from him because of the fact that he had been wrong in the idea that he and Charles wanted the same things from their futures; they wouldn't be together, but apart, and that was how the world had to be. He had been mistaken, hoping that the blackredburn of the mark on his arm would be enough for the both of them.
Instead of works Erik moves, sliding his fingers against Charles' and turning his hand so he can link to press his palm against the other man's, thumb brushing against his skin as his eyes flicker up, over his face, words poised on both their tongues that neither of them dare speak. For a moment he's silent before he tilts his head and offers a soft, worn smile. ] Are you asking if you can trust me with your heart, old friend?
no subject
You mean well. [He opens his eyes again, mouth curving at the corners slight and sad.] I didn't want to believe that before because it made it easier, but you do. [Although, granted, distance and time had helped in building him up as the monster that he'd scorned when Logan brought up the subject. That's also what makes it worse - knowing that Erik doesn't go about harming people because he's evil, but because he thinks he's doing what's best.
And so, Charles comes to a conclusion] I'll trust myself with my heart. [Because he can't think of a world where Erik can both be Erik and make such a promise. At least not yet. Either the promise gets bent - likely in the face of the next ideological crisis - and it causes Charles more grief. Or it gets broken and it's a case of who would be more disappointed. He can accept that, now.
Love isn't seeing only the good in a person and hoping it'll shine through, but loving their entirety.
Something catches his attention from the corner of his eye, however, and he examines Erik's scar again. The red is wholly disappearing. The small resolve isn't an end to the quagmire he's fallen into these past few years, but it feels like a part of him has knitted back together. He lifts Erik's knuckles to his lips and brushes a kiss on them.]
no subject
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.